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Natural Disasters

On Seeing New Orleans for the First Time

By Leigh Handal, Director of Communications & Public Programs

Historic Charleston Foundation

November 1, 2005

I wish people could see New Orleans through my friend Katherine's eyes.

It was pitch black the night we drove into the city last October, five of us having driven more than 13 hours to volunteer for a week delivering cleaning supplies, educational materials and tarps to returning residents. Two of my HCF colleagues - Jill Koverman and Katherine Saunders - and I were joined by Michelle Baker of The S.C. State Museum and Karen Nickless of the Edisto Island Historic Preservation Society to be the first team in a new hurricane recovery program, a joint effort of the Preservation Resource Center of New Orleans and the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

I had visited New Orleans several times before, attending professional conferences - one ironically a coastal hazards workshop in the mid 1990s. As we entered the city that night on Canal Street and the first functional street lights illuminated our surroundings, my mouth dropped open and I gasped. My mind numbed as I struggled to process the magnitude of the destruction. The beautiful city I had enjoyed visiting lay scattered and broken all around me.

But Katherine missed it! As one of the most dedicated preservationists I've known, Katherine's first reaction upon entering the city was to marvel at the magnificent architecture that surrounded her. You see, Katherine had never visited New Orleans before, so unlike the rest of us whose first instinct was to mourn the loss of what we remembered, Katherine's innate impulse was to absorb the inherent beauty of what was still there - the uniquely fabulous shotgun houses and Creole cottages, the delicacies of the Victorian architecture, the colors and craftsmanship of the houses. Where I saw devastation, Katherine saw beauty. She instinctively looked right past the mountains of debris and rotting, abandoned cars to fall in love with the essence of New Orleans.

Like our own beloved Charleston, New Orleans has bred a unique culture unparalleled anywhere in the world. Its language, its cuisine, its architecture, ironwork and music are distinctly its own. Though damaged, much of the historic fabric of the city's centuries-old buildings survives and is salvageable - salvageable, at least, from the floodwaters. Now an even greater threat looms: can it be saved from redevelopers' bulldozers?

The winds had hardly died down before officials began talking about wholesale demolition of New Orleans' historic neighborhoods. Conglomerate real estate brokers began circling like vultures, itching to quickly buy out exhausted, desperate small property owners for pennies on the dollar and consolidate much of the city's landscape into the hands of a few corporate interests. Gentrification in the “new” New Orleans now threatens the poor and lower working class residents, many of whom risk displacement and may have to be bused into the city's heart for service jobs in the tourism industry. For these reasons and others, what is left of New Orleans' historic neighborhoods must be preserved.

It won't be easy, as those of us in Charleston can attest. Nor will it be quick or financially painless.

As the eye of Hurricane Hugo passed over Charleston in 1989, our treasured colonial and antebellum buildings were thrashed by the worst storm most of us had experienced in our lifetimes. Giant, centuries-old live oaks were uprooted throughout the city and with them our streets, sidewalks, waterworks, communications and electrical infrastructure. Pilasters, piazza columns and all types of historic architectural elements were tossed about the streets without rhyme or reason.

Within days, our leaders committed themselves to re-establishing one of the most historic and culturally rich cities in America. Charlestonians refused to accept any more loss than had already occurred. Everything that remained standing was waterlogged and damaged, yet the architectural heritage that made our city great still existed, just as much of New Orleans' exists today.

We learned that, ironically, a historic community's greatest threat may not be winds and water, but rather the short-sighted, economically driven redevelopment that follows. Insurance money and government grants can do wonderful things for preservation when in responsible hands. When not, they can afford to tear down what's left of the irreplaceable. It's not going to be easy, cheap or quick to save the architectural heritage of New Orleans. We remember still how hard - but right - it was for our Board of Architectural Review to hold firm in its commitment of demanding the highest quality building materials and restoration. Even though it is easier and cheaper to tear down our architectural treasures in the short term, the effort to restore everything that's salvageable will be worth it in the long run.

My hope for New Orleans is that as the shock wears off, residents will be able to step back for a moment and see the city as Katherine saw it that October night: an architectural and cultural treasure that, though damaged, in more cases than not still exists. Don't exacerbate the staggering losses New Orleans has already suffered by allowing further demolition of what remains.