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The Shock of Recovery 

When it comes to rebounding from hurricanes, Louisiana's residents have been here before. But that doesn't mean it's getting any easier

'It ain't so much the heat as the humility."

— Leigh —Little Queenie" Harris, from —Dog Days"

After Hurricane Katrina's storm surge washed over us in 2005, it was the elderly man sitting near the Algiers ferry landing without shoes, having been forced out of his home by rising waters before anything could be packed or salvaged. There was also the St. Bernard Parish fireman, fatigued from days of search-and-rescue operations, who shaved different parts of his head at night to help forget the day's events. Following Gustav's landfall earlier this month, it was the young mother from Terrebonne Parish who was bused to a poorly supplied Red Cross shelter in Port Allen. Her only daughter — just 18 months old, like my own — had to endure two days without fresh diapers.

When your job involves writing about the devastation wrought by Mother Nature, particularly the kind that emerges from the Gulf of Mexico, it's difficult to forget some of the people you come across. Three years ago, when Hurricane Rita shredded Louisiana's western coastline, I met Al Trautman in Lydia, a small community just south of New Iberia. His story isn't uncommon. Three feet of water tore through his house, creating a panoramic view of his backyard from his bedroom. It took four months for an insurance adjuster to show up at Trautman's home — not that it helped any. Like others in the region, he felt bamboozled by the insurance industry and the federal government, neither of which could offer assistance. So he rebuilt on his own.

Last week, I received an email from Trautman with a single word in the subject line: Ike. Before I opened the email, I already knew the news wouldn't be good. Hurricane Ike hit Texas just days after Gustav, pushing its storm surge behind Gustav's lingering waters. We got one foot of water in our house, Trautman wrote. Sally and I are tearing out the floors and walls. I never thought that we'd see two hurricanes in a week. Al.

Now Trautman, along with hundreds of other folks from down the bayou and up the street, are starting over again. As expected, among the toughest issues to tackle first is insurance. While the wind-versus-flood debate was all the rage three years ago (as in, which caused the damage?), the biggest shocker this time around has been the special —hurricane deductible" attached to some policies — typically a percentage of the home's insured value — rather than the traditional deductible of $500 or $1,000.

For Steven Evans of Houma, that special deductible on his Allstate policy is $18,000. He has an unused home equity loan to put toward that sum but will need to consider another means to make up the difference. Evans says he may have to tap his child's college fund and his retirement, but he considers himself —lucky" — lucky to be living in a camper next to his home and lucky that the damage from Gustav won't drain him completely dry. Still, some assistance would be nice.

Evans then took the next logical step: He turned to the Federal Emergency Management Agency. However, FEMA told Evans that his home was —livable" and therefore he was not eligible for any type of assistance. —The ceiling fell in our dining room and in my daughter's room," Evans says." They say that is livable. My main question is what is the government going to do to help people like me, that aren't eligible for most if not all of the assistance? I am only asking this because I need help financially to get past this and I feel that we — the middle class — have the burden of supporting all of these programs, but we are turned down when we need to use them."

Trautman understands Evans' predicament. He had to become self-reliant in the aftermath of Rita, which is why Trautman didn't bother getting any kind of hurricane insurance on his home after the first rebuilding process. Trautman, who recently turned 66, now calls that decision an —error" and, since Ike made landfall, he has attempted to secure FEMA assistance for the temporary apartment he is renting with his wife. In short, it was a rerun of 2005. —FEMA told us that they won't be able to help us out with that," Trautman says.

In the Baton Rouge area, where some residents are still without power, there's been a call to action by the region's congressman for FEMA to help out with the cost of generators. They can run anywhere from $800 to $5,000 or more, depending on their output, and the financial burden grows with the need for fuel. For now, if you want cash from FEMA to cover the costs of a Gustav- or Ike-series generator, you'll have to prove that it was needed to —power a medically required appliance or piece of equipment."

Congressman Don Cazayoux, a Democrat from New Roads, has asked FEMA — and the agency is considering the request — to allow all residents to be reimbursed for generators if they have incurred a loss of electrical power for more than seven days. He rightly argues that a lack of electricity leaves —many of our most vulnerable citizens at risk." Lawmakers also are asking the feds to improve and expand the Disaster Food Stamp Program because so many residents have lost the contents of their freezers and refrigerators.

Any assistance at all goes a long way, Trautman says. After long days of gutting his house, Trautman likes to enjoy a scoop or two of ice cream with his wife. It's a taste of normalcy, if nothing else, and helps to put life back into perspective. A little bit of assistance from the federal government could do the same thing, Trautman adds, although he frames it as only a Cajun could, in a language FEMA definitely wouldn't understand.

"It would really help us get rid of that coullion," Trautman says laughing. —That's all."

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