My husband has been in touch with his friend Matt Baldwin through all this chaos. Here is what has been going on... "This is a series of email's I've been getting from my friend Matt Baldwin who's still in NOLA. I've cut and pasted them in the order I've gotten them. They've got some good info and are quite funny at times. Hope you find them interesting, if not actually enjoy them. Mateo del Mar "Once upon a time, we all lived happily ever after."" "From: "Matthew Baldwin" A Date with Katrina Hey everyone, There's a category 5 hurricane barreling down on N.O right now--biggest in the history of the state, they say. My girlfriend is evacuating toMississippi. I'm staying in the city, as I am essential emergency staff at the hospital. It's a new building and up to code, so I should be safe enough. Just hope my apartment survives all right....If any one needs me I can be reached at (XXX) XXX-XXXX, my cell phone. I'll get back in touch afterwards. Matt Approaching the wolf's hour Half past midnight and a glance at the sky makes me feel like I'm in a H.P. Lovecraft short story--the sky is an inky expanse ribboned with gray streaks, and it moves and undulates like a seething mass, heralding the rise of something ancient and batrachian from the depths of a brutal and uncaring sea. Street signs are bending to 45 degree angles, and I forsee them becoming deadly projectiles before this thing is done. It'll be a long night. I'll update as opportunity allows. M. It's about 3:30 pm right now. The worst of the storm seems to have passed, and by the looks of it beat the living daylights out of the hospital front--there's broken glass, metal debris, sidings from the buildings strewn everywhere. I haven't looked around too much, as I just woke up. The hospital is currently without main power or running water, and all the TV and radio feeds seem to be down so I haven't gotten an update on the rest of the city. Initial reports last night indicated the French Quarter and Downtown were taking it like Ned Beatty in Deliverance. The odds seem high that I'm going to have a home to go back to tomorrow. In a very surreal turn of events, as the storm raged outside, I found myself sleeping in an OB/GYN exam room. On the exam bed. More as it comes, Matt Hi everyone, My cell phone is currently dead, as all the local towers have lost power. Although the hospital is still running on emergency power, we've managed to restore AC to most of the building, and have hot running water in places. We are currently the only functional medical facility within the metropolitan area, and this is the most devastating storm to hit the U.S., which means that I am an active witness/participant in a historical event. The restoration of AC is crucial. It's been so hot over the last three days that people's tempers have been flaring, and my crew and I have had a great deal of peacekeeping to do around the hospital. Stress and anxiety aren't helping either, and on the average most people are getting about 4 hours of sleep for every 24. Last night one of my friends in the ER gave me an IV of fluids to fight off dehydration. The Red Cross, National Guard and Salvation Army are here, distributing food (our stockpiles were getting low) and blankets. A local grocery store has a distribution warehouse across the street, and they gave us permission to raid it at our whim, which means there's all sorts of canned food and dry cereal now. People are kind of on the barter system right now: a can of peaches for a change of scrubs, a tube of toothpaste for a spare blanket. I traded off a spare razor for shower priveledges in the ER. There have been several shootings in and around town as of last night. Two individuals assaulted a police station with AK47s, and there are reports(which I'm getting from the cops stationed here to help us out) that medivac helicopters and ambulances are being fired upon. Looters downtown are turning on each other, and some of the bodies floating around downtown aren't drowning victims. Other hospitals have been attacked as well. The hospital has issued each member of my team a sidearm. Last word I heard is that my neighborhood has stayed fairly dry, even with the resultant flood from the levee breaking. Flooding elsewhere has stablized, not really increasing, not really draining. My car is in a different neighborhood, and is probably underwater right now. I haven't spoken directly to Tristyn since Saturday, although word has reached my ears that the town in Miss. she fled to was hit by Katrina but rode it out all right. Which helps me sleep a little better, but.... I'm doing okay. A few nights ago I found a nice, quiet conferance room to camp out in (no more sleeping on an OB/GYN bed for me!), and in my off hours hole up in there to read/write by flashlight. Given that I'm using my Swiss Army knife to open and consume all of this canned food (Vienna Sausages! Campbell's Spaghetti! Del Monte Pears! SPAM!!) it's a lot like Boy Scout Camp. Except without the fun. I'm currently on my last set of clean clothes, but there's talk that the hospital laundry may be functional again, so we can get some stuff washed. The mayor's office is going to allow us to attempt to return to our homes on Monday, and if I can I'll grab some more clothes. As far as civvies go I only have 3 t-shirts and a pair of jeans, and at this point the pants can walk around without me. Right before the hurricane hit I worked an unbroken week, which means that I am currently on my 12th day straight without a break. The hospital is paying us, so it's going to be a big damn check. All proceeds will be going to the"Get My Ass Back To Cali" (GMABTC) fund. I'll take an earthquake any damn day of the week. Oh, and thanks to everyone who's been able to call/write. I'm just as tired/nervy/anxious as everyone else, and you're really doing a lot to help keep my spirits up. I'll try and update as often as I can, and apologize for how sporadic it is--I know everyone's on the edge of their seats. Love, Matt Subject: Rome Burning, OPERATION: THUMPER, and Fun With Herpetology! Date: Sun, 4 Sep 2005 08:31:11 GMT It's been longer than usual between posts, which I regret. It's been a long and weary 24 hours. I have successfully conducted a commando raid of my own house, avoiding looters, wreckage, and miscreant reptiles. My will is a thing unto iron and my kung-fu strong. After the night (friday morning I think, it's hard to tell these days) of the explosion one of my coworkers volunteered the use of his car so that I could conduct an inspection of my apartment. What was normally a 10-minute drive took almost an hour. I had to go through a sheriff's checkpoint. The sheriffs and depuities were all wearing fatigue pants and flak jackets and were armed with assault shotguns and AK 47s, which they kept trained on my vehical until I identified myself. Katrina has turned the Riverbend (my neighborhood, in the westernmost portion of N.O. by Tulane University) into a Mesazoic wasteland, uprooted oaks and cypress trees forming a dense maze--in some places the tree rubble is so thick you can't seen the houses beyond them. Coupled with the downed power lines, it was difficult terrain to navigate in the car. I passed a Rite Aid that had been looted; someone found a forklift and used it to smash open the rolldown security gate. Earlier reports weren't accurate--there is flooding in the neighborhood. From Oak St south to St. Charles is dry, but north towards South Claiborne is a different story. I had to park the car and slog through five or so blocks of nasty water up to about mid-thigh the rest of the way. I had my PR24 riot baton ready in case of itinerant looters (I can't take a firearm off the property). There were stray cats roaming everywhere around, watching me expectantly, and I had the creepy thought they were waiting for something tragic and fatal to happen to me so they'd have something to eat. The water was cold and brown, and covered in a sick oily sheen. Here's where the narrative gets strange. This may be the most truly surreal thing that has ever happened to me, and I wish all to hell that I was making it up. About halfway there, around the intersection of Plum and Burdette Sts. I was bitten by an alligator. Yes, that's right. Go ahead and read it again. A fucking alligator. I didn't believe it either. I was walking down the center of the street, as it was the highest point, although by no means easy going; the street underwater was littered with branches and god only knows what else, not to mention the ever-present New Orleans potholes. My left foot went down in one of these unseen holes and I stumbled, reflexively reaching for something to steady myself. And that's when the little bastard bit me. I guess he was in the water around the branches or something, and I spooked him. I didn't even know what it was, just that something latched on to my left forearm. I pulled free and finally saw him--pretty small, really, about two feet long or so, the size of a well-loved iguana. Looking at the wound, I'd guess his mouth was just big enough to fit around my arm but not bite down, which is why he didn't do much other than scratch me. He came at me again, and that's when I hit him with the PR24, an underhand strike that knocked him several feet back in the direction I came. Normally the environmentalist in me would shriek at the thought of treating an endangered species that way, but it's a different matter when said endangered species is treating you like so much beef jerky (several of my coworkers have chastized me for not finishing the job and bringing the carcass back so they could eat him in turn). He plopped into the water and didn't come back up. I made it to the apartment without incident, broke in (my keys, cowards that they are, fled to Memphis with my girlfriend), and rescued Dervish aka General Woundworte, my supremely disgruntled Dwarf Rabbit, who had been left behind. (Before you accuse me of further cruelty to animals, let me say that between the two cats and the dog there simply wasn't room in Tristyn's car for the rabbit cage. She got fresh shavings, 2 weeks worth of food and water, and a hearty good luck). We got water in the basement that destroyed some things but the upper floors were completely untouched by water and looters. Aside from the rabbit, items rescues include: 1 copy of Highwire Moon, autographed; 1 copy of Ghost Orchid, autographed; birth certificate; all relevant computer disks pertaining to Patchwork Monkeys, my unfinished novel(200 pages and counting, baby!), as well as all my other stories, poems, and screenplays; the entire contents of my sock-and-underwear drawer (manna from heaven!); changes of shorts and t-shirts, cuz it's damn hot; all remaining canned/preserved food; and food/shavings for extended care of the rabbit. All this weighed about 50 lbs, strapped about my body in 2 duffle bags and a backpack, with the rabbit cage held precariously out in front of me. Walking back took about twice as long as getting there did, and by the time I finally made it back to the hospital (unmolested this time by either man or animal) I stank like bilge rat. I got Dervish checked in to the makeshift kennel, went to the ER for treatment of the bite, and fell asleep with 4 hours to rest before my next shift started. Since then it's been nonstop. New Orleans is burning along the Riverfront/French Quarter, and the police are actively exchanging gunfights with looters on the street. The wounded are coming here for treatment, as well as the evacuees (don't get me started on how badly FEMA dropped that ball) that are too ill to make it Texas without treatment. We're doing our best to keep them safe and get everything staged for their departure. Last night a medivac chopper rescued a pregnant woman who had gone into labor while trapped in a water-filled attic; she was actively giving birth as we sped her stretcher through the hospital up to Labor and Delivery. I spent the first part of today helping FEMA crate up the bodies of our deceased. In my first two months on this job I saw more dead bodies than ever in my life; in one day I saw more than triple that number. My body right now feels like a wad of Silly-Putty slapped hard up against a wall and left there. Spirits are stating to lag all around, mine included. We now have main power back on line, but the stir craziness is really getting bad, esp. after the 11 pm curfew, when the dyed-in-the-wool smokers get profoundly hostile about not being allowed to outside to smoke (the internal fire alarms go off at the slightest hint of smoke, which means you can't sneak one in a bathroom somewhere). I need rest, mostly, a little time to read a book or work on my own. I miss Tristyn terribly. Two NOPD officers shot themselves today. Several of you have asked me when I think the city might recover. Honestly? I think this wound might have been fatal, and now it's going to slowly bleed out. Had more premptive work been done by the local government and response time been faster by the federal, that might not have been the case, but alas, our own Nero Georgie Dubya was hung up on a fiddle solo (we'll call it "The Devil Went Down to Florida") until it was too late. And as much as I've espoused contempt for N.O. and am generally a capital-B Bastard, I'm still a humanist deep down, and this is horrible. I don't want to go off on an editorial, but let me get this off my chest: Kanye West can go fuck himself. I'll never buy an album by that man again. 85% of the crime here is black on black (they constitute 90% of the murder victims), and many of these people were looting the day of the hurricane, before any relief could be organized. In a situation like this, breaking and entering to get what you need to survive is understandable; assaulting the less fortunate, or worse, using violence to prevent treatment to those who desperately need it is intolerable. The lives of the people trapped downtown are far more important than those of armed, anarchic thugs--that further violence is necassary is utterly regrettable, but those very people who West claims are being "executed" by troopers and police voluntarily and gleefully initiated it, putting a lot of lives in danger that don't need to be, including my own. Tonight I had the blood of a police officer shot while trying to protect a medical team on my clothes. West wore a pink Izod polo. Okay, I'm done. Onto happier topics, here's two pieces of Blantant Self-Love: Author Neil Gaiman (writer of American Gods, Neverwhere and the Sandman comics) posted my last long letter on his blog. It's at www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp about halfway down the page, just past the Satanic Tomato. And when I start to kick myself for being a damn fool to stay down here and help, this comes from the wonderful J.V.: "I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you, and that you're in my prayers. You're a real hero - not this 9/11 crap, hero-for-a-minute b.s. that gets tossed around and means nothing, but an honest to God hero. Your bravery, your good spirits, your humor, and your absolute dignity in the face of this destruction are absolutely incredible, and I count myself lucky to know you and call you my friend." Which I think is going to make me cry. Thanks, Jen. Jesus, this is long and rambling. Sorry. Too much time away from a computer and too much crazy shit going on to keep it all contained. One last bit and then I'm done. Due to popular request I've started a blog archiving all these letters for anyone who wants to read them. I seem to be about the only person giving a ground-zero view of what's going on here outside of the Associated Press. It's not complete yet, but should be in a day or so. Send interested people to www.nevertoyield.blogspot.com. Going to shower and go to bed now. My brain has the shape, texture, cognitive ability, and most likely taste of a bowl of day-old oatmeal. By Ganesh's trunk, I need a cold beer. Drink one for me, guys. Matt"