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Katrina’s AftermathLessons in Rebuilding: A House and a NewspaperAfter embracing ‘the value of persistent patience,’ an editor shares what he learned inthe transformation of the newsroom and the place he calls home.By David MeeksItook my usual route to work onerecent morning, thinking alongthe way that The Times-Picayunewas closing in on 700 days of stayingin business since Katrina’s floodwatersforever changed one of America’s greatcities. It’s a milestone that few otherstook note of, and it seems a minor accomplishmentfor a newspaper that’sbeen around for 170 years. But it’s theway I think these days, living in a placewhere one searches for signs of hope aday at a time. After all, to have been heretwo years ago, when the levees brokeand our readership was disperseddown interstates to anywhere dry, thethought occurred that we might notbe here at all.Yet in this disaster, we learnedsomething about our readers: Theydidn’t leave us, they went to a safeplace and found us—online—in staggeringnumbers, counting on us, likethey always have, to tell them whatwas happening to their homes andneighborhoods. And we were therethen, a ragtag bunch of volunteerjournalists, on bicycles, in kayaks andcanoes, wading in the water all overNew Orleans, doing our best to gatherthe information and get it out.My 10-minute drive to work is adaily demonstration of both what hashappened to this city and what’s possible.It’s also epitomizes how I see thenewspaper business as it sorts itself outin similar ways—forced, in some placesout of desperation, to figure out what’shappening and what’s possible.I live in Old Lakeview, just one of theneighborhoods that suffered massiveflooding in a city where the devastationzone was seven times the size ofManhattan. I saw my home via kayakthe day after the storm (swam throughit, actually, in an illogical, ill-plannedbut ultimately successful mission tosave the family dog). As I floated up tomy house, I drifted on black water andcried. I thought it was over. Our home,our neighborhood, it didn’t seem arecovery would ever be possible. Mydaughter had evacuated. I rememberthinking that I did not want her to seewhat had happened here.We are living in that home today,on a block where recovery now seemsnot only possible, but also inevitable.My 75-year-old neighbor is back, havingbeen diagnosed with cancer andundergone two surgeries while he wasgone, but never losing his determinationto come back home. There’s ayoung couple building a new home afew doors down. The local coffee shopon the corner is gone, but a Starbuckstook its place. The locally owned pizzajoint came back, doubling its pre-Katrinaspace.Driving out of my neighborhood, Isee homes brought back to life rightnext door to residential ghosts, hauntingwalls stripped to studs that propup tattered rooftops. But the picture ofwhat this place is going to be gets a littleclearer every day. I notice each change,the demolition crew surgically haulingoff the misery, the beautiful sound ofa carpenter’s hammer that tells mesomeone is going to live there. Crossinginto Mid-City, which straddles the floodline, the recovery is more complete. Asurprising cluster of restaurants havetaken root on North Carrollton Avenue,some of them old favorites renovatedand reopened, others new offeringsmaking an investment of faith.It is interesting, what is happeningJohn Nemeth works to get his yard in shape on Hay Place, just 200 yards from thebreach of the 17th Street Canal, while his next door neighbor’s house lies in ruin, untouchedsince the storm. August 8, 2006. Photo by Ted Jackson/The Times-Picayune.34 Nieman Reports / Fall 2007