From left: Phoenix House volunteers Emily Rudnick, Suzanna Finnegan, Terry Matthews, Jay Koonce and Laurie DeLong outside the Austin Convention Center. |
Jay Koonce is one of many Phoenix House employees who volunteered their time to help with the relief effort following Hurricane Katrina.
During the past two years, I have trained to become a certified mental health responder for the Office of Emergency Management in Austin. In the past few weeks, I have been working at the Austin Convention Center with evacuees from New Orleans. I’ve talked with people who have lost everything, who have lost touch with family members, who were caught up in the madness at the Morial Convention Center in New Orleans, who have survived the horrors and brutality reported in the media. Austin is like heaven to them. There is food, medical care, shelter, clothing, a place to sleep that is safe, and relief workers who listen to them and offer a friendly word, a smile and comfort. |
While their physical needs take priority, what seems to make a difference is to have someone listen to them, look them in the eye, and show sincere interest in their welfare. I don’t hear a lot about the material things they have lost. The concern I still hear about most: finding missing family members. Part of my job is to check in, again and again; to remember names, faces, and stories, so that the people I meet feel that they matter as individuals, not just another face in a very large crowd. It is a very rewarding experience. When someone I’ve previously spoken with smiles and waves from across the room, I know that he or she is feeling a little bit better. I know that we are making a difference.
On my third morning at the shelter, I noticed that many people slept later – a sign that they felt safe enough to let down their guard and get the rest they needed. The crowded rows of beds seemed to stretch endlessly, and I was struck yet again by how many of those beds were neatly made, linens smoothed and tucked in, blankets and towels folded carefully, peoples’ names printed on strips of masking tape at the foot of their beds, bringing some order to the chaos.
I spent most of my time stopping to chat with those I sensed were experiencing a moment of panic, grief, loss of hope, or simple confusion. One day I helped a little girl, about 5 years old, find her mother. She didn’t seem scared. She took my hand with complete trust and walked with me to the center for lost children, chatting constantly. She came up to me again the following day, bright and smiling.
Re-connecting with some of the same people, day after day, gives them a sense of security and continuity. I make a special effort to seek out people who have told me their stories and follow up with them. It is the beginning of a sense of community. That it is temporary doesn’t seem to enter their minds. It’s enough for now for them to think, “I’m in a strange place, but here is someone I know and can count on seeing again.”
A slightly different version of this article was published in the September 9-15, 2005 edition of the Austin Business Journal.
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