Makeshift militia patrols Algiers neighborhood
Armed to the teeth, but they haven't fired a shot
By Susan Langenhennig
West Bank bureau
Just after dusk on Tuesday night, with the rumble of helicopters and
airplanes still overhead, Gareth Stubbs took his spot in a rocking chair on
the balcony of an Algiers Point house, a shotgun, bottle of bug spray and a
can of Pringles at his feet.
It was night No. 9 of his vigil, the balcony turned into a makeshift watch
tower, with five borrowed shotguns, a pistol, a flare gun, an old AK-47 and
loads of ammunition strategically placed next to the blankets and pillows
where Stubbs, Vinnie Pervel and Gregg Harris have slept every night since
Hurricane Katrina slammed into Southeast Louisiana.
In the bedroom off the balcony, its lace curtains blowing through the open
windows, Pervel's 74-year-old mother pulled her rosary from her pocket, a
shotgun resting near the antique cherry wood bed and the .38-caliber pistol
her son gave her nearby. "Oh dear, what would Father John think," Jennie
Pervel laughed as she fingered the beads.
Vinnie Pervel and Harris, who own the 1871 Victorian house on Pelican
Street, rigged a car battery to two floodlights and aimed them into the
deserted road below. With the floodlights off, the home's gas lanterns
formed golden hallows on the porch, the only illumination other than the
periodic sweep of searchlights from the military helicopters buzzing
overhead.
It's been a terrifying nine days for the four, scrambling for food, water
and gasoline for their generator and an arsenal of weapons they feared they
would need if complete lawlessness broke out in the historic neighborhood of
renovated 19th century homes. The neighborhood having survived the storm
without flood damage, Pervel and Harris, both former presidents of the
Algiers Point Association, worried that looters and others seeking high
ground would invade the community.
Yet they have not had to fire a shot.
And that's a good thing for them. They were not sure if any of the borrowed
weapons even worked.
But their fears were based on actual experiences. The day after the
hurricane, Pervel was carjacked as he tried to check on his other properties
in the neighborhood. Two guys clubbed him on the head with a sledgehammer,
grabbed his keys and stole his van, which he had filled with hurricane
supplies, a full tank of fuel and his credit cards.
The next afternoon, as Pervel and his mother, Harris and Stubbs stood on
their porch, a gunfight between armed neighbors and "looters" erupted on the
corner of Pelican and Valette streets, half a block away. The neighbors,
whom Pervel would not identify, shot two of the men. "We screamed to Mrs.
P., 'Hit the deck,' and she did," Harris said.
"We just couldn't comprehend it, a gun battle in front of your house," said
Stubbs, a native of Wales, who lives across the street from Pervel and
Harris but has stayed since the storm with them at their "Fort Pelican."
"You would walk outside, and your knees were wobbly and your lips would go
dry."
After the violence, the men decided they needed protection. Other residents
who had stayed during the storm were armed and taking turns checking on
neighbors, some of them elderly, who remained in their houses. It was
decided that everyone would keep an eye on his block, sharing essential
supplies. Pervel, Harris and Stubbs joined them, keeping watch on Pelican
and nearby streets.
"There's about 20 or 30 guys in addition to us. We know all of them and
where they are," Harris said. "People armed themselves so quickly, rallying
together. I think it's why the neighborhood survived."
But Pervel, Harris and Stubbs had a problem. They were without weapons other
than a 40-year-old shotgun with no shells. Pervel, who had stayed in contact
with many evacuated neighbors through the NOLA.com Web site and by his
still-working telephone, got permission from residents to retrieve their
guns and supplies from nearby houses.
"I never thought I'd be going into my neighbor's house and taking their
guns. We wrote down what gun came from what house so we can return them when
they get back," he said.
One neighbor used his dog, T-Bone, as a lookout, chaining him at night to a
fire hydrant on a corner. The dog barked if anyone approached, Stubbs said.
The first few nights after the hurricane, Stubbs said they heard gunfire
popping all around and saw people walking with flashlights through the
streets. A tree had fallen at their corner, spilling a recycling bin full of
cans. At the sound of a can rustling, the balcony watch group would flip the
switch to the car battery, flooding the street in light, blinding whoever
was below.
"We angled the lights so they wouldn't see us on the balcony," said Stubbs,
rocking in the chair, smoking a cigarette.
With the area dry and mostly evacuated, they saw only one New Orleans police
officer in the first four days after the storm.
"We kept hearing on the radio, 'The military is coming, the military is
coming, troops on the ground,' and we kept thinking, 'Where are they?'"
Stubbs said. "We really felt alone."
During the day, Pervel's phone rang constantly, with residents calling from
Texas, Mississippi, Florida, asking him to check on their homes, feed their
pets. The men also made daily visits to deliver food and water to elderly
neighbors. "I asked this one 84-year-old lady if she'd eaten, and she told
me all she had was a can of Vienna sausages," Harris said. "I wanted to cry
when I heard that."
By Tuesday, they'd checked on human beings as well scores of cats and dogs,
a parrot, pet rats, two mice and a guinea pig.
"There are several guys in the neighborhood. They had this little task
force. They knew everyone who stayed and where we were," said a resident who
would only give her first name, Betty. "If it hadn't been to all those guys,
making a statement to the looters, I don't know what would have happened.
"Our great fear was fire. If one started, it would have spread so quickly
throughout the neighborhood," she said. On Tuesday, she made rounds through
the neighborhood, feeding cats and dogs left stranded on the streets.
By Sunday night, tension in the neighborhood had started to release, Harris
and Stubbs said, as more and more military vehicles were spotted patrolling
the streets. "We really all breathed for the first time when we saw an
armored personnel carrier come through," Harris said.
On Tuesday night, two Humvees crept down the road, flashing their lights at
the balcony as Pervel lay down on his blanket, removed his glasses and
rubbed his eyes. With the military on patrol, maybe the balcony watch group
could finally get some sleep.
Some 19 year old kid walks into a unoccupied house. Goes to the bedroom and finds jewelry or other valuables, paintings, whatever. Think those things are going to be left alone? Our troops during WWII did a lot of looting and people were, in my opinion, probably generally more honest then than now.
How sad.
