Reuniting Loved Ones Is Effort Fueled by Legwork and Rumor Mill
***
By JENNIFER STEINHAUER
Published: September 12, 2005
FORT WORTH, Sept. 11 - Strand by strand, city by city, Darryl Hammler pieced his family together again.
That first Sunday, Mr. Hammler, a native of New Orleans and a resident of this city for the past 18 years, drove 240 miles to San Antonio to find Togma and Shannon. On the way there he got a call from Rickie, who said he was there, too. When he got to the shelter at the Air Force base, he weaved his way through the cots and the volunteers and the thugs and the babies, searching. He ran into Fernell, whose face he hadn't seen in 20 years.
Late that day, Mr. Hammler turned his truck toward Arkansas, and five and a half hours later, he had collected Evelyn and Gary, Phyllis and the children, then turned around and drove back to Fort Worth.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hammler's sister, Lori Irvin, had been searching the shelter in Dallas and trolling the buses that arrived at the basketball arena in Fort Worth. Guess who she saw in Dallas? Fernell's cousin, Eula. Mr. Hammler would have to find a way to get that news back to Fernell.
By midweek, more than a dozen members of the Hammler family, plus friends who were as good as family, had been found, through long drives from shelter to shelter, chasing tips (sometimes bad) and sleeping by the phone.
While the Internet is filled with lists of the missing, and tantalizing tidbits about where some of them might be - "Charmaine was on Channel 9 here in Baton Rouge!" - it is often shoe leather, cellphones and ample trips to the grapevine that conspire to reunite families separated by Hurricane Katrina .
The lists on the Internet are maddeningly incomplete, and many people have limited access, or none at all, to computers. But among members of the tight-knit circles of many neighborhoods in New Orleans, gossip, and the tireless will of others to chase it down, is most often the key to reconnection. "You hear about someone, you try to confirm it, then you go looking," said Mr. Hammler, 36, known to most of his family as Poppy.
In Dallas, where outsiders were not allowed into the shelter, family members have waited outside for hours, sending in scribbled notes with the names of their loved ones, hoping to hear something. Two sisters on opposite sides of the Astrodome in Houston were reconnected by another sister in Oklahoma who had heard from each one separately. At the Kelly Air Force Base in San Antonio, volunteers would sometimes walk through buildings, calling out names through a bullhorn, trying to connect those who were sheltered with those who were looking for them.
For Mr. Hammler, who left New Orleans in 1987 and now works as a computer systems administrator for Boeing, the shelters also took him back two decades, as people from the Ninth Ward suddenly stood before him, shadows of his playful youth, now homeless and desperate. "These are the people you went to school with, you graduated with, and now they're hollering for you. It didn't matter whether they liked you back then, didn't like you, whatever. They're hollering for you now."
The search began on the Friday after the storm at a football game at a high school here, where a neighbor told Ms. Irvin that buses of evacuees were arriving at a local arena. Ms. Irvin drove to the arena, walking up and down, shaken by the row upon row of cots. She searched the buses, and as more came in, she searched those. "We stood there until 3 a.m., but we didn't have any luck," she said.
On Sunday, Mr. Hammler drove to San Antonio with his cousin Patrick Hammler. They picked up Darryl Hammler's brother at a relative's house and moved on to a shelter to look for another cousin.
"There was a Red Cross table and you put your name on a list and they say they will call you, and the buses were still coming in," Mr. Hammler said.
Then he saw Fernell Augustine. "I told him he could jump in the truck with us, but he didn't want to leave because the one person who knew something about his wife was there. I gave him my number," Mr. Hammler said.
The group headed back to Fort Worth. After a little bit of sleep, Mr. Hammler set out for Arkansas late that night. The Sorapuru family - they may as well be Hammlers, growing up as they did in each other's homes - had called to say they were in Fort Smith, where evacuees had been taken to an Army base.
"They had people in separate barracks, and you couldn't see anything," Mr. Hammler said. He told the volunteers the names of those they were looking for, and then walked off to find their building.
"I thought I was in a dream," Evelyn Sorapuru said of seeing Mr. Hammler. "That's Darryl. He's that kind of person. He'll go out of his way to help a person."
On Monday, Fernell Augustine called. His wife had not been in Dallas at all, but, he had heard, she might be in Nacogdoches, Tex. Could Mr. Hammler call the church shelter there and find her? "I called and said I was a friend of her husband's," Mr. Hammler said. "She was real happy."
The vast array of friends and family members have been sleeping in Mr. Hammler's mother's home down the street, or at his house, stepping over the dozen giant garbage bags full of clothing and furniture donated by neighbors. They have food stamps, they have vouchers, and now they are on to low-rent housing and jobs. "It was all worth it," Mr. Hammler said on Saturday night, with one eye glued to television and the Louisiana State-Arizona State football game. "Anyone we could help was a blessing."
On Sunday, Mr. Hammler rested. Family members dispersed. "They all left here," he laughed. "Because they knew if they stayed I'd make them go to church."
Link Here
By JENNIFER STEINHAUER
Published: September 12, 2005
FORT WORTH, Sept. 11 - Strand by strand, city by city, Darryl Hammler pieced his family together again.
That first Sunday, Mr. Hammler, a native of New Orleans and a resident of this city for the past 18 years, drove 240 miles to San Antonio to find Togma and Shannon. On the way there he got a call from Rickie, who said he was there, too. When he got to the shelter at the Air Force base, he weaved his way through the cots and the volunteers and the thugs and the babies, searching. He ran into Fernell, whose face he hadn't seen in 20 years.
Late that day, Mr. Hammler turned his truck toward Arkansas, and five and a half hours later, he had collected Evelyn and Gary, Phyllis and the children, then turned around and drove back to Fort Worth.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hammler's sister, Lori Irvin, had been searching the shelter in Dallas and trolling the buses that arrived at the basketball arena in Fort Worth. Guess who she saw in Dallas? Fernell's cousin, Eula. Mr. Hammler would have to find a way to get that news back to Fernell.
By midweek, more than a dozen members of the Hammler family, plus friends who were as good as family, had been found, through long drives from shelter to shelter, chasing tips (sometimes bad) and sleeping by the phone.
While the Internet is filled with lists of the missing, and tantalizing tidbits about where some of them might be - "Charmaine was on Channel 9 here in Baton Rouge!" - it is often shoe leather, cellphones and ample trips to the grapevine that conspire to reunite families separated by Hurricane Katrina .
The lists on the Internet are maddeningly incomplete, and many people have limited access, or none at all, to computers. But among members of the tight-knit circles of many neighborhoods in New Orleans, gossip, and the tireless will of others to chase it down, is most often the key to reconnection. "You hear about someone, you try to confirm it, then you go looking," said Mr. Hammler, 36, known to most of his family as Poppy.
In Dallas, where outsiders were not allowed into the shelter, family members have waited outside for hours, sending in scribbled notes with the names of their loved ones, hoping to hear something. Two sisters on opposite sides of the Astrodome in Houston were reconnected by another sister in Oklahoma who had heard from each one separately. At the Kelly Air Force Base in San Antonio, volunteers would sometimes walk through buildings, calling out names through a bullhorn, trying to connect those who were sheltered with those who were looking for them.
For Mr. Hammler, who left New Orleans in 1987 and now works as a computer systems administrator for Boeing, the shelters also took him back two decades, as people from the Ninth Ward suddenly stood before him, shadows of his playful youth, now homeless and desperate. "These are the people you went to school with, you graduated with, and now they're hollering for you. It didn't matter whether they liked you back then, didn't like you, whatever. They're hollering for you now."
The search began on the Friday after the storm at a football game at a high school here, where a neighbor told Ms. Irvin that buses of evacuees were arriving at a local arena. Ms. Irvin drove to the arena, walking up and down, shaken by the row upon row of cots. She searched the buses, and as more came in, she searched those. "We stood there until 3 a.m., but we didn't have any luck," she said.
On Sunday, Mr. Hammler drove to San Antonio with his cousin Patrick Hammler. They picked up Darryl Hammler's brother at a relative's house and moved on to a shelter to look for another cousin.
"There was a Red Cross table and you put your name on a list and they say they will call you, and the buses were still coming in," Mr. Hammler said.
Then he saw Fernell Augustine. "I told him he could jump in the truck with us, but he didn't want to leave because the one person who knew something about his wife was there. I gave him my number," Mr. Hammler said.
The group headed back to Fort Worth. After a little bit of sleep, Mr. Hammler set out for Arkansas late that night. The Sorapuru family - they may as well be Hammlers, growing up as they did in each other's homes - had called to say they were in Fort Smith, where evacuees had been taken to an Army base.
"They had people in separate barracks, and you couldn't see anything," Mr. Hammler said. He told the volunteers the names of those they were looking for, and then walked off to find their building.
"I thought I was in a dream," Evelyn Sorapuru said of seeing Mr. Hammler. "That's Darryl. He's that kind of person. He'll go out of his way to help a person."
On Monday, Fernell Augustine called. His wife had not been in Dallas at all, but, he had heard, she might be in Nacogdoches, Tex. Could Mr. Hammler call the church shelter there and find her? "I called and said I was a friend of her husband's," Mr. Hammler said. "She was real happy."
The vast array of friends and family members have been sleeping in Mr. Hammler's mother's home down the street, or at his house, stepping over the dozen giant garbage bags full of clothing and furniture donated by neighbors. They have food stamps, they have vouchers, and now they are on to low-rent housing and jobs. "It was all worth it," Mr. Hammler said on Saturday night, with one eye glued to television and the Louisiana State-Arizona State football game. "Anyone we could help was a blessing."
On Sunday, Mr. Hammler rested. Family members dispersed. "They all left here," he laughed. "Because they knew if they stayed I'd make them go to church."
Link Here
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