CMC Magazine, Spring 2006

It is a mid-October evening at Los Angeles International Airport, and I stand nervous amid the smell of cigarettes and the sounds of police whistles. Twelve hours from now, I will be in Kiln, Mississippi, knee-deep in the wreckage of Hurricane Katrina. Surrounding me now are six students from Claremont McKenna College, from all disciplines and classes, spanning multiple ethnicities and hometowns.

I wonder what the South will be like, and it hits me: these next six days could change my life forever.

A few layovers and breakfast burritos later, I wake up in the back of a rented Chevy Impala as we head toward the FEMA tent city set up in Kiln. On the way, I glance through the mirror at 100-foot trees cut at the waist—most likely from piercing winds—and toppled cars strewn across the shoulders of the highways. At the tent city, accommodations far exceeded our expectations. With a fully furnished shower, multi-course dinner, and laundry services, the enormous canopied tents and Southern hospitality kept us warm. The next day, the six of us cleared fallen trees and mended loose wiring at the house of 67-year-old Larry Bennett, former mayor of Bay St. Louis. "Nation, family, and faith; that is all you need in life, and I am happy to have all three," he says, striking a chord in me as I admire his ability to endure.

That night, the ex-mayor invited us to the city's first high school football game since Katrina, a chance to see his grandson at tailback. Under the Friday night lights, a group of us sat on the 50-yard line, rooting for Bay St. Louis High. I find smiling families sharing laughter and food, and wonder if a hurricane ever did cross paths with this hopeful community.

The next few days included the efforts of the entire CMC crew, including the second flight reinforcements, who were a definite boost to our morale. Equipped with safety masks and determination, we worked ankle-high in feces from severed septic tanks, with dead animal carcasses lingering and piles of muck in every corner, clinging to the carpet and caked onto windows. During late night reflections, we discussed the burial of a child's dog, and mused at the "Yard Sale" sign outside of the estates, depicting how Southerners take it in stride. The more we spoke to each other, the closer we became.

The following day, as we said our farewells to the families we came to know so well, I did not want to leave. I said goodbye to the mother of one family, and she looked at me and said, "You are such a beautiful boy, thank you so much for what you have done." As she gazed into my eyes, my nostalgia for home vanished as I saw a motherly figure standing right before me, an embodiment of the Southern spirit. We spent the next day at a Baton Rouge church organizing donated clothing and building camaraderie through spontaneous karaoke and personal anecdotes. Late that night, we arrived at Jackson International Airport, a few hours from leaving a place that we all had come to hold deep in our hearts.

Now back in Claremont, I stand amid the smell of dirty work clothes and the sounds of home sweet home. Twelve hours from now, I will sit back in my economics class, with Mississippi still on my mind. Surrounding me now are my best friends—intellectuals from Claremont McKenna College—young women and men who are passionate in all they do.

Almost adjusted back into the College's atmosphere, I recall the entire experience, along with the College's support, and realize that although a College boasting a classroom that teaches the world is great, there is something extraordinary about a College boasting the world as its classroom.

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