Katrina Voices: Deborah Centola
Deborah Centola
Photo by Jeffry Pike
I was in Dallas for a family wedding the Saturday before Katrina hit. The hurricane kind of snuck up on New Orleans fast, so we didn’t really have any clue how bad it was because we were all busy that day. Saturday night when we got back to the hotel everyone realized it was worse than we thought, and my dad made plans to leave first thing Sunday morning. My brother thought we were idiots to come back, but not having the local news, we didn't realize how bad it was. So I was in Covington, north of Lake Pontchartrain, across the causeway, during the storm.
A tree split my next-door neighbor’s house in half Monday morning before 9, and they ran to us with their three little kids. We had a few trees fall on the house, but only one punctured it. It was one of the scariest days of my life, waiting for the next tree to fall and possibly split my house in half. I watched pine trees do things they're not supposed to do. We sat in the dark Monday night listening to the radio and made a plan to go to our apartment in the French Quarter because they would surely have electricity before we did. This was obviously before the news of the levees breaking. It didn't take long to realize that was not an option.
Covington had no way of communicating with anyone else, which included my brother, who had evacuated to Baton Rouge, and my sister in New York. There were trees down everywhere, but once the neighbors used a chainsaw to carve a path out, my mom and I drove to Baton Rouge. We knew enough people there that someone would take us in, so we just took off. About 30 minutes out my phone got service and exploded with text messages from people wanting to know if we were okay. The phones were messed up forever and no one could call out or get calls in, so everyone communicated with text messages. We stayed that night at a cousin's house.
Though my things back in New Orleans were undamaged, they weren't allowing anyone into the city. The last time I saw my friends was Thursday night before the storm. Our good-byes were, “See you Sunday when I get back from Dallas.” I had no clue that Sunday would turn into Thanksgiving weekend.
My school, Delgado Community College, was flooded and had roof and structural damage to some of the buildings. Even though my apartment was fine, I couldn't get to it and had no idea when I would be able to go back. (We actually were able to sneak in on Thursday and grab some of my stuff to bring with me—one of the eeriest feelings ever to see no cars on my street, on any street.)
Through connections we eventually got an apartment in Baton Rouge (they were hard to come by). My grandparents live near the hospital in Covington and their house was spared—the only one in my family. They got electricity a little over two weeks after the storm. We had family dinners for about 20 people and slept on the floor in their house, lined up on air mattresses.
I heard that pretty much every school in the nation was reaching out to students in New Orleans. I had looked at Harvard Extension School over the summer when I dabbled with the idea of moving to New England. I looked at other schools up here too. I chose Extension because I am 23 and still in undergrad. I stayed with relatives in West Roxbury until Harvard found us a beautiful house near campus. It was very generous and I appreciate all that they have done for us.
At first the adjustment was hard. We sat on our front porch a lot, and would sometimes get really weird looks. In New Orleans, that's our way of life. I miss the food. New Orleans is home to some of the best food in the nation. I miss the southern boys who hold doors open for you and the strangers on the street who smile at you for no reason. I've never lived outside of Louisiana, and that was a big factor in deciding to stay here to finish my degree. But I feel bad about leaving New Orleans. I feel I need to do something to prove that my time away was worth it. I feel if I earn a degree from Harvard then that will be something to bring home with me.
Deborah, who was continuing to study at Harvard Extension School this spring, returned to New Orleans after receiving news of a family illness.