Faith After New Orleans' Darkest Days

He grew up in New Orleans and was devastated when Hurricane Katrina hit his hometown. Harry Connick, Jr. talks to us about having faith when starting over doesn't seem possible.

By Colleen Hughes

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What a year this has been! Even as little as six months ago, I couldn't have imagined what lay ahead. If I've learned just one thing from this past year—and I've learned a lot—it's that life can change completely in the blink of an eye.

Back in August, the last person I thought I'd be on the phone with was piano player Harry Connick, Jr., a beloved son of the Crescent City. All I cared about and was praying for then was the safety of my own family in and around the Big Easy. You might remember my story in the November 2005 issue of Guideposts. Since we prepare the magazine in advance, I told my story in the immediate aftershock of Katrina. When we went to press there was so much we still didn't know.

Now some time has passed, and this Christmas, believe it or not, we're going to count our blessings. Mama called me the other day. "Colleen, I don't care what's happened. This will be the best Christmas ever."

I had to swallow a lump in my throat before I replied. "I know what you mean, Mama." She has certainly been on an emotional roller coaster these past months. We had good news and bad news as the waters receded from Katrina then rose and receded again in the wake of Rita.

Best Christmas ever? I didn't know about that. In the excitement of the holidays, and with the way our culture moves so fast these days, I wondered if the poor people of the Gulf Coast would be forgotten. I could no longer turn on CNN at any time and see pictures of New Orleans with up-to-the-minute reports of what was happening. My new worries extended far beyond my own family's troubles to the entire Gulf Coast region and what we could honestly expect over time. How would we keep the country's attention focused on our crisis when we knew there were other challenges at hand? Had the media moved on before we'd had a chance to address this tragedy with all our collective might? It didn't seem right to be buying Christmas presents when there was so much work to be done, rebuilding neighborhoods and schools, churches and levees. Lives, families and entire communities were still torn asunder.

I knew that Harry Connick, Jr., was involved with Habitat for Humanity and dedicated to the long-term effort to rebuild the Gulf Coast. Guideposts arranged for me to talk to him. "I'm from Metairie," I said by way of introduction. "We used to see you at church with your daddy sometimes at St. Louis King of France. My brothers went to Jesuit"—Harry's high school too—"and my parents are friendly with your aunt Jessie and uncle John."

"Cool," Harry said. "I used to go with a girl from Metairie." Famous or not, every New Orleanian was connected in one way or another. If you reached back far enough and told enough stories, it would come out that somebody knew somebody that you knew. Probably because people who grew up in New Orleans tended to stay there. Harry and I are unusual in that regard. We'd moved to New York.

"I was up north when I got a call from my dad saying Katrina could be a bad one," Harry said. "He and my stepmom left for higher ground. Hurricane passed. We thought we could breathe easy. A day later I couldn't believe the images I was seeing on TV." Harry did exactly what I wanted to do but couldn't: He went back. Right into the chaos. "These people," he said, "our people, needed help and nobody was coming. Nobody! I took what I had and hoped it would bring attention."