The conversation that cost me $116

The names have been changed but the following story is true.

Meet Lynn and Dave Gefford. They have two children ages 3 and 7. Dave works as a short order cook at a local restaurant. Lynn is a part-time waitress. They have a household income of approximately $26,000.

Lynn and Dave live in East Biloxi. Their lives changed on August 28, 2005 when Katrina stopped by.

East Biloxi is not a wealthy part of town, but even here, for a family of four to live on $26000 you have to be creative and the Geffords were definitely that. They had purchased a house that had was condemned due to fire damage and fixed it up themselves. They were not flashy but the type of solid hardworking people that make the world work.

After work on Saturday August 27th, the Geffords went to some friends’ house for a party. They stayed out quite late and went home and went to bet blissfully unaware that Hurricane Katrina had now mushroomed into a Category 5 storm.

The phone started ringing early on Sunday morning. “Are you evacuating?”

“Yes, but there is no rush.”

“Yes there is!--Haven't you heard? Katrina is now a category 5 storm and you and everyone else has to get out. The roads will be packed. You better hurry!”

Turning TV on to see for themselves, the Geffords were startled to see that sure enough the storm had grown significantly in intensity since when they last watched the news. And the callers were also right, everyone, or nearly everyone was leaving. One of those “nearlys” was Ashley Tanner. Ashley was a neighborhood friend. “Why aren’t you leaving? Lynn asked. “I can’t afford to.” Lynn ended the discussion “you can’t afford not to.” Ashley joined the convoy out of harm’s way.

The next four months are at once a never ending nightmare and a fast forward blur. The days flew by, the days dragged by. They felt lucky to be alive, but life was awful. Their house flooded, their yard had downed trees and the neighbor’s shed everywherre, and their neighborhood a hollow shell, but they were alive. The Geffords and 6 others lived first in Mobile, Alabama and then in Mrs. Gefford’s parents’ home just north of Biloxi. Paperwork, which always included standing in line and hours of frustration, was filed with the insurance companies, with FEMA, and whith most ogther orgamizations that were handing out aid. Contractors estimated the cost pf repair and insurance adjusters told the family how much, or more appropriately how little, insurance money will be paid for the damages.

Which brings us to January 3, 2006. A group of HandsonUSA volunteers are gutting the Geffords house as Mr. and Mrs. Gefford are out back helping to clean the yard. After a while curiousity gets the better of Lynn as she enters the house and is almost immediately in tears: “what are you doing to my wood?, my walls? Can’t you leave them up?” I stop swinging my crow bar and attempt to explain the unexplainable. Unsuccessful and speechless, I get Mark who is our crew leader. In the time away, Mr. Gefford has entered the room and has convinced his wife of the necessity of the walls' destruction for the soon-to-come mold abatement process.

We start back up on the walls, but the momentum had been lost. My heart was no longer really into it. It is the last full day of the trip, the house is crowded, and awkwardly simultaneously loud and quiet with no music and little talking, almost most no joking, yet loud with the clanging of hammers, crowbars, and the grunts of gutters. Additionally, because I am foolishly wearing tinted safety glasses, everything appears very dark.

We remove nails and wall paper, and drywall (doubled layered in many places in part due to the fire), and grooved wall boards. It was just not fun. They were the type of walls no gutter enjoys and that is on a good day. By now they were drudgery.

After some progress on the bathroom walls, I stop to take pictures and Mark asks me the time. It is 3:56. He hollers “let’s clean up and call it a day.” We do, gladly.

In the front room Lynn Gefford begins to tell us her story. We pose for pictures together and then the group begins the process of “packing up”. I am torn. I want to go, but I know this will be it for a while. I have to go home.

Mark sends me pna "tool sweep" and I meet Lynn standing alone in front of her house.

It is here that my conversation begins. Maybe it had been floating around in my mind before, but here is where it really took shape. As the rest of the volunteers wait patiently taking pictures and pacing, I listen as both Geffords, Dave has now joined his wife, recount their lives since the storm. After a few minites, I say “Good Bye” to the couple and wish them well on their endeavors. Afterall, I am now holding up the crew from returning to base.

Still anxious to talk, Lynn doesn't stop, but tells me of how the neighborhood was changed by the storm, how the paperwork for assistance is difficult and time consuming, and what has become of each neighbor. Her neighbors, she assures me, all have it worse then her family.

She tells that while many former neighbors have moved elsewhere, other non physical problems facing are still facing those still in the area. She tells, and her husband agrees, that there are of two mindsets on what to do: wait and hope that a casino buys you out, or fix up your property and hope that your neighbors do too so that you are not left in oasis within a desert of destruction. They tell of how this dichotomy of thought has led to many problems and disagreements between former friends.

And then with tears again in her eyes she tells me how they had just found out that repairing their house will cost over $50,000 (and that does not count appliances etc). Oh, and one other thing, they found out last month that their insurance will pay $20,000.

It’s hard enough to get by on $26,000 a year, let alone having to somehow come up with nearly another $30,000 to repair your house.

With still more tears in her eyes, they tell me that all they can do is to try. Try to make things better. Try to make the house a home again. “Sure it is going to be hard, but what choice do we have. We can’t just sit and wait for a casino to buy us out. They probably never will. So we are going to try again. I don’t know how. I just don’t know how.”

Pretty much at that moment I knew I had to call Northwest Air. If Ok with my family, I was staying an extra day. I could at least play a small role in the gutting work on their home. This was another step for them. It has to be done. If they want it that bad, if they are in such dire straits, then me staying an extra day is the least I could do.

$116 dollars later (including an extra day for the rental car), I announced at the after-dinner meeting, I would be here another day. It may be some of the best dollars I have ever spent.