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Katrina’s AftermathAngela Perkins pleaded with the world with her cry, “Help us, please.” September 1,2005. Photo by Ted Jackson/The Times-Picayune.would soon find myself in the samesituation. I needed some clear thinkingand decided to settle my ethicalquestions then and there.After a few minutes, I decided thatif I saw people swimming or wadingin deep water, I would help them intomy boat. If they were safely out of thewater on rooftops or bridges, I wouldleave them there for search and rescueteams. I was comfortable with that planand started paddling. Less than fiveseconds later I saw a head bobbing inthe water. I yelled, “Are you OK?”The swimmer turned my way andyelled, “Ted!” It was fellow photographerAlex Brandon, with a freezer bagfull of digital camera cards clinched inhis teeth. [See Brandon’s photo essayon page 27.] He was evacuating thebuilding like me but trying to get tothe police SWAT headquarters just afew blocks away, where he planned toembed. We both made it to a nearbybridge ramp and decided to go ourseparate ways, wishing each othersafety and good luck.I paddled into the neighborhoods,not knowing where I was going orwhat I was going to do. I progressivelyfound myself surrounded by people.Luckily for me, they were all high anddry. I spotted a man waving for helpon the edge of an interstate ramp. Iraised my camera for what promisedto be a great composition. As I watchedthrough the lens, he raised his handsin disbelief and shrugged his shouldersas if to say, “You’re going to shoot mypicture but you’re not going to helpme?” I decided that if I couldn’t help,neither could I shoot. I put down mycamera and started rowing.What I needed now was dry land,wherever that might be. I needed toreplenish my resources: food, waterand transportation. But deeper down,my primary goal was to get word tomy wife, Nancy. She had evacuatedto Mississippi and was surely besideherself with worry.I rowed under a bridge where aman pleaded for help. I ignored him.I didn’t even look his way. I could hearhim conspiring with others: “If we worktogether, we can take it from him.” Theycame running down the ramp tryingto catch me, but I outpaced them. Iremember thinking how glad I was tohave been a Boy Scout.Five hours after I left the newspaperoffices, the bottom of the boat scrapedthe pavement of Airline Drive at CausewayBoulevard in Metairie. I walkeda couple of miles to the Interstate 10interchange and collapsed. It turnedout to be a lucky spot, for a short timelater rescue helicopters started landingall around me. The interchange hadbeen designated as a triage center andeventually a pickup point for transportationout of the city.I watched a few helicopters landwith tattered victims being helped byparamedics. Finally, I summoned thestrength to begin taking pictures again.By now, other media were starting toarrive. As rescuers begged for help,the photographers zoomed in tighterfor the increasing drama. I disgustedlyslung my cameras over my shoulder andstarted helping. I remember thinking,“I’m done with this. I just don’t wantto do this anymore.”But of course I couldn’t quit. Thestory wouldn’t let me. I hitched aride in the back of a military dumptruck headed back to the city. Whenwe reached the water’s edge I caughta ride with a rescue boat. From therethings started to improve. I was nowable to help when it was needed andshoot when it was appropriate.Later that evening, I teamed up withfellow photographer Brett Duke, whogave me a place to sleep for the nightand even brewed coffee for me on acamp stove the next morning. I gotout a brief call to my brother Ken inMississippi, who could relay a messageto Nancy that I was OK. That’s all sheneeded to know for now.The next day Brett and I paddled hiscanoe through New Orleans’ CentralBusiness District. We made our ethicaldecisions early. If we found peopledesperate for help, we would summonrescuers scouring the area. Aswe paddled near the Louisiana StateUniversity School of Medicine, teenagegirls screamed to us for help. Theycould see an elderly man clinging toa chainlink fence, growing weary andabout to fall. We summoned a boatnearby and shot photos as the rescuershelped him into their boat. I wasfeeling better about myself.As we paddled back near the LSUbalcony, the young girls cheered us.“You saved a life,” they swooned. “No,you saved a life,” we told them. Theirvoices made the difference. This is howI wanted to work. I was happy to beable to help and get photos, too.Thinking About My PhotosWednesday night, I joined five otherphotographers as the city began to fall12 Nieman Reports / Fall 2007