by Sean R. Grogan (Photo Credit: Cesar Kuriyama)

Close your eyes for a moment.

Imagine you're in a place where houses sit on top of cars. Where there is nothing but devastation. Every neighborhood, every street, every home – destroyed. Imagine a place without electricity, where signs warn against drinking the water. Where an abandoned tricycle collects dust in front of a home that has been torn off its foundation. This is the heart and soul of Jazz country. This is New Orleans in May 2006 (below taken just two Thursdays ago in the Ninth Ward), nine months after back-to-back hurricanes tore through the Gulf Coast and left a path of destruction in their wake.



Much of New Orleans is still in shambles. Last week, I traveled there with 17 close friends and worked to help try to restore the lives of those who were most affected by the storms. We wanted to be on the front lines, instead of sending money from the confines of our cozy apartments. As we flew from New York to the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, we could see, even from the air, that there was still much to do. Blue tarps sprawled for miles in every direction on homes that waited for roof repairs. On the drive to our hotel we passed row upon row of homes split by the force of wind and water. That wasn't the worst of it.

Our first evening was spent on a tour of some of the most heavily affected areas of the city – those closest to where the levy breached. In some neighborhoods, the breaks were so sudden it looked like a massive shotgun blew off the entire back half of homes. But, words cannot describe the complete and utter devastation of the Ninth Ward. In this stricken area, countless homes were stacked atop cars or squatted atop multiple cars. Others were torn in two, their innards of precious family memories splayed like the guts of eviscerated fish.

And yet, amidst all this devastation, there was hope. Immediately following the storm, street medics entered the Ninth Ward and set up an outpost. What grew from their initial efforts was the Common Ground Health Clinic (www.commonground.org) a group that do their best to provide fresh food, water, and Internet access to those most affected. All around, people have opened their hearts and homes to help friends, neighbors, and strangers.



We were not in New Orleans to rebuild, but rather to demolish so homes that would later (hopefully) be rebuilt. In the three days we toiled, we demolished two homes. We stripped their interiors to the studs. Everything inside went because everything was covered in mold. Recently, the city passed a law stating that homes must be gutted by Katrina's anniversary or they will be claimed by the city. We gutted homes owned by elderly couples who were unable to do the work themselves or afford to hire professionals. Though we worked long and hard, every time someone discovered a Tickle Me Elmo buried inside a wall or an American flag trapped in the ceiling, we would stop, heartbroken and speechless.

While there, we were visited by political candidates who thanked us for our help. The city was overflowing with gratitude. And music. After a hard day's work and a hot shower, we hit Bourbon Street en masse. From each bar and club rose the sounds that have made New Orleans famous. Jazz bands of all types and talents took to the stage to play for the city they love. There is still so much left to do and it will be years, possibly decades, before New Orleans returns to its pre-Katrina state.

Go to New Orleans. Volunteer, even if only for a day. It may feel like a drop in the bucket, but the gratitude of those you help will make you want to do more. We're already talking about going back and if we do, you'll know.