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The dog trotted alongside our bus as we rolled to a halt next to a small park flanked by a Mississippi River seawall.The green space here was littered with debris—downed tree limbs, trash, an abandoned grocery cart lying on its side.The wall had been tagged by some anonymous vandal who memorialized his sentiments with, “RIP.Whore Katrina.” Sort of a gang-banger version of a cave pictograph, I guess. It was an emaciated German Shepherd without tags or a collar.“John…John, let’s go,” I turned from the window to see Sergeant First Class Vince “Vinni” Jacques calling to me from the front of the bus.
Coupled with late summer humidity, the weather was so severe that people were dying from it as they awaited rescue at evacuation points elsewhere in the city.The day before we left Portland, the ran a front page photograph of an elderly African-American sprawled dead in a lawn chair he had unfolded in front of the New Orleans Convention Center. I followed Vinni to the seawall, where most of the soldiers of 2 Infantry, Oregon National Guard had lined up to relieve their bladders.I watched the spectacle of three hundred and fifty men urinating in a public park and whispered, “Well, you don’t see that every day.” Through tight lips, Vinni replied, “Say goodbye to civilization for awhile.” Then-Sergeant First Class Vince “Vinni” Jacques.Taken at the Portland Airport the evening before our departure for New Orleans.