Lethal chaos: Professor describes scene at New Orleans hospital

Jennifer Van Bergen

A first-hand account of the New Orleans devastation from leading human rights attorney

Loyola University law professor Bill Quigley, best known for his work with Haitian pro-democracy activist Father Jean-Juste, spent some time speaking to Raw Story뭩 Jennifer Van Bergen about his experience inside New Orleans뭩 ground zero.

When the category-four Hurricane Katrina made landfall early last week, Bill Quigley was volunteering at Memorial Hospital, at the heart of what would be later described as the worst-hit area. His wife Debbie, a medical doctor at Memorial, was on duty that night.

Speaking to RAW STORY, a shaken Quigley attempted to reconstruct what occurred after the power and communication lines went down. The hospital, he says, became intolerably hot.

밫he conditions were abysmal,?Quigley said. 밯orse than abysmal. The toilets were full. There was no running water, no electricity, and we were running out of drinking water. There was no food. And it was hotter than hell.?

The power went out early Monday. The sickest patients, roughly seventy or so, were evacuated by helicopter Sunday. Not until Wednesday morning did more helicopters appear. Quigley and other volunteers tried to get the attention of the numerous helicopters they could see hovering over the city. The sickest patients were brought up eight flights of stairs in sheet slings to the roof. Some patients were kept on the roof as long as 24 hours.

밯e were standing there waving a sheet to get their attention,?he said.

Quigley says they saw helicopters from the Red Cross, the National Guard, the Coast Guard and the Army. One Army helicopter, which the volunteers on the roof managed to 밼lag down?wouldn뭪 land and refused to take anyone, even those remaining critically ill patients, because 뱓hey were full with rescue workers and could only pick up individuals one at a time off of roofs, which they stated they had been doing all day.?/p>

Instead, Quigley says the Army helicopter dropped some food supplies that turned out to be just three or four boxes with tin cans of Vienna sausages.

These were not enough to feed the patients, let alone the staff or volunteers. Food and water supplies were dwindling.

After that the helicopters never returned to Memorial Hospital.

밯e couldn뭪 figure out why they didn뭪 come back,? Bill said.

Tulane University Hospital had been evacuated, Quigley heard, but those at Memorial 뱖ere left to die or get out as best they could.?

At least ten patients died while awaiting rescue workers. Many died because their life-sustaining medical treatment required electricity.

밫hese were patients with oxygen tanks, on ventilators, and with IVs,?he explained.

밫he nurses were heroic, the doctors did terrific work, and the administration, well, they didn뭪 know what to do,?Bill recounted, because 뱓hey were relying on information that didn뭪 come.?/p>

One road to another

As the hours and days wore on and no help came, floodwaters continued to rise. Medication and supplies ran out. Quigley says he saw no National Guard, local or state police or security forces of any kind.

Around midday on Thursday, air boats operated by private volunteers began arriving and taking four or five persons at a time. The remaining hospital patients and staff ?approximately 2000 people -- were evacuated by citizen volunteers.

밫hey made a LOT of trips, those boats,?he said.

The volunteers, however, could take the victims only so far because the water became too shallow for the boats. The hospital staff, along with volunteers, walked through the muddy water to the corner of Napoleon and St. Charles.

Quigley describes the shocking spectacle hundreds of mostly black survivors, gathered at this location, awaiting their next hope. A constant stream of people kept arriving, as though 뱔p out of nowhere.?He describes an elderly man with a satchel and cane, and a man with a nine-day-old baby. People were milling about, having lost everything, in the rain, wet, cold, hungry and thirsty.

An old lawn company truck 뱈aybe thirty years old with wooden slats,?pulled up and allowed roughly 100 people to board. The truck was an open flatbed, and it was still pouring rain. Quigley sat beside a pregnant woman who had only thirty dollars and a bottle of antibiotics with her. She said she had been turned away from the Superdome twice.

밒t was a scary ride,?he remarked. 밯e had to duck trees and power lines.?/p>

When they got to the drop point, Bill said, 밻veryone gasped?because it was just an underpass at Interstate 10, where thousands of people were already waiting for buses. 밒t was pouring rain; there was mud, no portalets.?/p>

The only security there were eight police officers who were 뱒hell shocked?themselves, according to Bill, and did little to organize people, so that when a bus did arrive, 뱎eople surged.?

밒t was survival of the fittest,?said Quigley, 뱎eople were really agitated. It was horrifying. People were shouting and pushing. My heart was breaking all along because of the lack of organization. There were resources, but they were not used well.?/p>

Finally, Bill and his wife decided to give up trying to get on a bus, hoping instead to volunteer to help those in need of medical attention or simply just start walking toward Baton Rouge. They noticed several people with stethoscopes around their necks who turned out to be nurses, one of whom was about to drive to Lafayette, which happened to be near where Bill뭩 wife뭩 family resides.

Thus, the Quigleys managed to escape New Orleans Thursday night. They were among the last to be evacuated from Memorial Hospital, but there were thousands left behind at the drop point, waiting to be transported ?somewhere. By the time the Quigley뭩 got out of New Orleans, Bill says the city had become a 밫hird World mass unit.?

Questions, questions and no answers

Bill, tired and still dazed, wonders what happened.

밯hy were the Red Cross, Coast Guard, National Guard and Army helicopters there one day and gone the next??he opined. 밯ho changed priorities??

He estimates that there were a quarter million people still in the city through Wednesday. By Thursday, he estimated ?0,000, or maybe double that.? People from the poor neighborhoods didn뭪 want to go to the Superdome. They tried to stay home because, Bill said, they knew the Superdome was 밺angerous and nasty.?/p>

Bill says that now, up in the Lafayette area; there are 15 police officers at each shelter. 밫hey all talk about the looting, but 99 percent of the people weren뭪 looting.?

He asserted that there had been no plan for evacuation. ?/p>

The plan was self-evacuation," he quipped. "A very small percentage stayed by choice but most had no choice.?

He뭩 heard that people showing up with boats were turned away. He knows there were supplies, he saw the helicopters carrying them, but he doesn뭪 know why the supplies were not provided to those who needed them. He says that 밻verybody was systematically stripped of their possessions.? He left the hospital with one quarter of what he had brought with him and people were told they couldn뭪 bring stuff with them. He says 밒 just feel fortunate to be alive.?/p>

When RAW STORY first spoke to him earlier in the day, he said he was 밺ecompressing and disoriented.?

밒 can뭪 watch television,?he said.

Traumatized, Bill nonetheless wanted to underscore that he felt that what has transpired so far, 밽etting out -- is not even the first quarter of the game.?

밫here are hundreds of thousands of people without homes, without jobs, and without any way to connect," he remarked. "There are people just GONE.?

He says the image he gets in his mind is of a glass paperweight and a 50 pound mallet that just smashed it. 밐ow do you fix this??

If there is any silver lining, Bill, ever-hopeful, ever-socially conscious, says, it is that there is nobody to bomb in response.

밫here is no enemy to blame,?he says. New Orleans was one of the poorest cities, but it is not the only one. 밠aybe now,?he hopes, 뱓here can be a renewed national commitment to rebuilding the cities.

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