Elmer Street

"Nobody ever comes down Elmer Street," Andria Harris says, standing next to her husband. "The Red Cross, FEMA... Nobody. Except for Hands On, who comes down it every day." Elmer is a narrow street running through a poorer neighborhood in East Biloxi. I watch as dogs run up and down the street, Andria's children laugh and play next to her 3 foot tall, plastic Christmas tree- a beautifully decorated tree. A Christmas toy, given to her kids by Hands On volunteers, is playing Christmas songs, one after the other. The people on Elmer street embody what it means to be a good neighbor; they watch out for each others kids and, "tell their parents when their kids get out of line." Their FEMA trailers are lined up 5 feet apart, lined up in the neighborly way their homes were before the storm, in a lot where a home once was, not seperate and hidden like most FEMA trailers in the city. Each and every home on Elmer street is nearly collapsed.

Mr. and Ms. Davis stand next to their FEMA trailer, their home stands in the background. It is damaged to the point that it looks like it has to be demolished. "We still have some people living in tents, we have some people who don't even have tents, they're living in their cars. But at the same token, yesterday our president said things were going back to normal. What's normal? This is not a lifestyle we are used to. We are not from South Africa we are not from the Middle East, this is not a lifestyle we are used to, but if this is normal, I want to know what I had before that. Because in my eyes, this is not normal, and in the eyes of other people in Mississippi and Biloxi, this is not normal. Where's the normalcy? We have 11 days till Christmas, but what is a Christmas if you have nothing to give? Granted we have a life, we have each other, we have our friends we have our neighbors, but where's our real Christmas, where's our life, who's gonna give us our lives back? We can only do so much."

Andria takes me into her trailer. I ask her how it is working out for her. "It's not. There is a leak in the roof the trailer guys can't fix, the fridge is so small that I have to go shopping every day." She shows me the bathroom. The bath tub is about 4 feet long and two feet deep, "infant-sized," she says. The toiled has no leg room. She laughs and says it is funny when her husband, who is at least 6'4", uses the bathroom. I had this image of his feet in the bathtub while using the toilet. These are "travel trailers," and there is one bed for Mr. and Mrs. Harris, and their two little children. They recieved a trailer in mid-October, and before that they were living in tents.

Much of the attention in post-Katrina Biloxi has gone toward bringing back the Casino's. Lots of time and energy was spent passing legislation to allow the Casino's to open up on land. The Casino's aren't having problems with their insurance companies, like nearly every Biloxi resident. The only construction workers I have seen so far have been at the Casinos. "The Casinos are going up rapidly. They want to open up Sin City, for the tourists, granted you have tourists, thats revenue, but what about the people? The tourists are in for a week, but then they're gone, what about the people who are living here, who grew up here. All of the houses on this street are inheritances, our home was here since 1932, passed on through generations. The Casinos are not here for generations, they've been here for a few years and we've been here for a lifetime, so what can they give us, because we have nothing." Their belongings are all in their 5 foot by 25 foot trailer.

Because the Harris home is part of eminent domain, they are worried that the city will come seize their property for a public project. Because of this, Andria stays home to protect her property and is not working. She says that if the city tries to take her property, she will put up a giant wall and plant giant oak trees where her house was.

Mr. Harris, says,"I was 4 when my mom purchased this home. I remember when this street was oyster shells. You have so many deep memories of this place, it is just too hard to leave it."

Ted Mathias '09