The Big Misery
Former Winnipeg Free Press reporter in New Orleans witnessing grief, trauma as virus devastates city
NEW ORLEANS — A perfect storm struck New Orleans this spring.
It wasn’t a hurricane this time. An ominous set of circumstances combined to create the optimum breeding ground for the coronavirus. It turned the city from a popular tourist destination drawing 18 million visitors annually into a hot spot of a less appealing kind.
New Orleans, my adopted hometown, is a long way from Winnipeg, where I was born and raised. When I first got to New Orleans 15 years ago, I wasn’t a tourist. I showed up after Hurricane Katrina to help rescue the animals left behind. Despite the sweeping devastation, the way of life here captured my heart instantly. I vowed to come back to live one day. Frequent trips to visit The Big Easy turned into months that eventually melted into years. Back then, I thought I was witnessing the biggest disaster this battered city would ever have to overcome. It was hard to imagine anything worse. But then COVID-19 came to town.
The visitors have vanished and the locals are taking cover indoors to prevent the spread of the highly contagious respiratory illness. Streets that used to thrum and pulse with music have fallen eerily silent. Hurricane shutters and sheets of plywood cover the windows of establishments in the French Quarter because proprietors fear door locks won’t offer enough protection to deter looters.
A city that has already survived so much now has another life-threatening battle to overcome. People are thanking their gods that at least it isn’t hurricane season, too.
Following the first confirmed case of coronavirus in Louisiana, the number of people diagnosed ballooned to 837 in just two weeks, spreading faster, per capita, than anywhere else in the world, according to data compiled by Gary Wagner, a business economist at the University of Louisiana.
Many of those infected are located in and around greater New Orleans. Their names, faces and personal contributions to their communities scroll across my newsfeed with alarming frequency, citizens who were deeply woven into the vibrant, utterly unique fabric of one of the most unusual cities in the world. Musicians, artists, community leaders, health-care workers, all taken by a silent deadly predator that can’t be seen or heard.
Gone are jazz patriarch Ellis Marsalis, cultural historian Ronald Lewis, and football coach Wayne Reese, Sr. Gone are people who were treasured by their circle of friends and family, such as Antoinette Franklin, the mother of 12 who died along with three of her sons in a little more than a week, all four testing positive for COVID-19 along with three other family members who survived the disease.
Epidemiologists believe the rapid rate of spread in New Orleans can be attributed to the fateful timing of Mardi Gras, the annual event that draws 1.4 million visitors from around the world. To put that into perspective, the city’s population is just 391,000 (when the metropolitan area is counted, that figure rises to nearly 1.2 million).
Mardi Gras officially kicks off on Jan. 6, and the event’s magnitude builds up to the final day of celebration on Fat Tuesday. The party ends at midnight when Ash Wednesday begins. This year, Fat Tuesday landed on Feb. 25. The first coronavirus case in Louisiana wasn’t diagnosed until March 9, too late to issue a warning, but just in time to expose numerous people before social distancing and business shutdowns were being seriously considered here.
The last days of Mardi Gras are the grandest. For two resplendent weeks of indulgence, the festivity-filled days melted into endless nights of non-stop revelry. Throngs of local residents and tourists mingled in close proximity at parties and parades and competed for beads and trinkets tossed off floats. Merrymakers crammed into bars and restaurants shoulder-to-shoulder, hugged and kissed and shared food and drinks.
In a flash, the city went from a safe status of “no known cases” to a state of advanced community spread that was impossible to contain. Patients began filling intensive-care wards, and a much higher proportion of them were dying than in other regions. Medical officials believe that higher mortality rate is attributed to a higher occurrence of obesity, diabetes and hypertension than other parts of the nation.
Mardi Gras has always been considered an affirmation of life and celebration, even after New Orleans was gutted by Hurricane Katrina. Regrettably, it will go down in history as being responsible for the loss of many lives this year.
About 20 members of the Mardi Gras Krewe of Zulu, for example, have fallen sick and six have died. Four were diagnosed with COVID-19, and two died before they received test results. As of Tuesday morning, Louisiana reported its largest loss of life in one day since the crisis began with the deaths of 129 more people. The state now has a total of 21,518 confirmed cases of coronavirus and 1013 deaths.
While the loss of life cuts the deepest, New Orleans has faced significant economic impact, too. As a tourist destination, the workers who depend on visitors to make a living have lost their entire source of income in one fell swoop — musicians, bartenders, servers, cooks, cleaning staff, drivers.
Desperation is setting in. On a rare outing to pick up supplies recently, I saw people being led off in handcuffs by police at Target. At the drugstore, distracted employees working the cash register interrupted transactions repeatedly to bounce shoppers for stealing.
Talking to health-care workers on the front lines reveals a horrifying picture of what’s happening inside. The descriptions of what they are seeing are chilling. (Their names aren’t being used because they can face reprisals from hospital administration.)
One ambulance attendant returning from his shift told me three hospitals had refused to take in any more patients that day because there was no space for them. Two doctors walking their four dogs told me they have limited capacity to treat patients with illnesses other than coronavirus, which is causing other conditions to worsen.
“A patient might lose his legs because we can’t do surgery,” one doctor said.
An intensive-care nurse reached out to say that equipment is in short supply, and tough choices are being made as resources are starting to be rationed. One man she treated last weekend still haunts her.
“He was the sickest person I had ever seen,” she said, adding he was unlikely to make it. In this crisis situation, they couldn’t afford to let him keep fighting, which would have been the case under normal circumstances.
“We needed staff, ventilators, and medicines for people who were more likely to survive. We are not able to save them like we used to. We’re just doing the best we can, and that’s not good.”
The morgue at her hospital was already full, and a refrigerated container is now stationed outside the hospital waiting for the overflow.
Despite all the dreadful news, there are also glimmers of hope. New Orleans is exhibiting its hallmark spirit of survival and strength of community.
One inspiring story is the brainchild of the Mardi Gras Krewe of Red Beans. That group created an organization called Feed the Front Line NOLA, raising funds to buy meals from local restaurants struggling to survive mandatory closures. The food is delivered by out-of-work musicians to health-care workers at hospitals and coronavirus-testing stations. The project boosts morale and provides sustenance to people in the trenches. In the past three weeks, they have raised an impressive US$350,000 and delivered 24,000 meals to health-care workers. They are also helping other cities launch similar projects.
The loss of life makes many people here wish they could turn back the clock and somehow convince residents to take measures to protect themselves before it seemed really necessary.
Given the relatively small number of COVID-19 cases diagnosed in Manitoba so far, I can imagine social-distancing measures might seem extreme and unwarranted at this point. That’s the cruel trick this virus plays — by the time advanced measures seem necessary, it’s too late to stem the crushing tide of lives lost. There is a small but rapidly shrinking window of opportunity to save Manitobans from this heavy heartbreak.
That window has slammed shut for us here in New Orleans. All we can do now is pull together and get through it.
