Thursday, September 1, 2005. Early Afternoon.

We traveled on back streets, driving around downed trees and power lines. Thirty minutes later we arrived in Kenner, the temporary "base camp" for the CBS News crews. Several large satellite trucks were parked in front of a building, from which most of its bricks had blown down and smashed into two parked cars. The rest littered the parking lot.

A Blackhawk helicopter landed in a field just behind us. "Will you have the sound of that chopper in one of your stories?" I asked him. "Hey, the sound of choppers in the background always makes it a great story," Jim said, smiling.

We were parked next to a Radisson Hotel with several shattered windows. Was it open? When I walked into the lobby the hotel manager immediately approached me. “Can I help you sir?” he asked.

“Yes, are you open?” I asked.

“No sir, our last guests are leaving right now,” he replied.

“I need to get to Baton Rouge. Do you know of anyone going that way? I asked.

“No sir, I’m afraid not. The best you can do is ask someone with a car for a ride,” he replied. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help and for being so forward in confronting you in the lobby. You just can’t be too careful right now.”

I approached people loading their car in front of the entry. No, they didn’t have any room for an additional passenger. I crossed the street and walked by the two brick-smashed cars, looking inside for keys. Had I found keys and been able to start one of them, I was going to take it and drive myself to Baton Rouge, cracked windshield, smashed hood and all. I didn’t know what I would do with the car once I got there, but that detail wasn’t important at the moment. Neither car had keys.

I walked up the line of parked CBS vehicles and noticed John Roberts, who at that time was anchoring the CBS Evening News. He was dressed in neatly pressed khaki trousers, a "safari" shirt, and his hair was nicely done. I took one look at him and thought, "Well John, it's clear that you haven't spent anytime in New Orleans yet."

I went back over and borrowed Jim’s phone to call Kathy. She told me that if I could get to Baton Rouge, my late stepfather’s niece, Carol, would take me to their house, where Brian would pick me up the next morning. I thought that was a great plan as well, but I hadn't found a way to get there. Carol had tried to drive to Kenner to get me, but had been turned back at a roadblock just outside of Baton Rouge.

Kathy also told me that one of Brian's friends had a private plane and was ready to fly down to pick me up if I could only get to the New Orleans airport. "The weather is so bad I wouldn't get on a small plane, plus I have no idea where the New Orleans airport is," I told her.

When we had driven in I had noticed a Louisiana Highway Patrol center on the other side of the freeway. I screwed up my courage and asked Jim if he could drive me over to see if I could find a way to Baton Rouge through them. "No problem," he said.

Jim pulled into the parking lot, which was crowded with highway patrol cars and vehicles from other police departments. While Jim waited in the car, I walked in and explained my situation to the officer at the front desk. "Do you know of anyone or have any officers who might be going to Baton Rouge?" I asked.

"No sir, we can't spare any officers to drive you up there," he replied. I didn’t bother to explain that I was simply hoping to ride with someone.

"Well, do you have any other suggestions as to how I might get there?" I asked.

"The freeway on-ramp that takes you north to Baton Rouge is just over there. You might try hitchhiking," he said. I walked back out and got in the van with Jim.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"No. No luck."

We drove back over to the Radisson and I decided to take a look at how many cars were taking the freeway north. I stood on the corner watching for fifteen minutes and no more than half a dozen cars took the on-ramp toward Baton Rouge. It didn't seem wise to give up the seat in Jim's van to try hitchhiking.

As I walked back, a couple pulled into the closed Shell service station next to us to use the pay phone. I waited for the man to hang up and asked if they were going to Baton Rouge. He politely told me that they might be the next day. I thanked him and returned to the van.

When I got back, Jim had just finished broadcasting his report. He asked me if I'd mind giving an "eyewitness" account for CBS Radio and within a couple of minutes I was on air relaying my story. As I finished, the gentleman from the gas station motioned for me to come over by his car.

I walked back over and he pointed to two young men, who were standing by the pay phone, and said, "These two gentleman might be able to help you." I thanked him, at which point he got in the car and drove off. His kindness touched me.

I introduced myself to two guys wearing "CBS News" caps, and asked if they were going to Baton Rouge. "Well, we usually do each night, but we won't know if we're going tonight for about an hour. That’s when they will tell us if we are done for the day," one of them said.

"Well, if you do go, can I ride with you?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.

Their names were Sean and Keith, they were both from New Orleans, and had been hired by CBS News to be local guides. They would also drive to Baton Rouge each night, buy water, food, and gasoline, and then bring it back the next morning. They were pulling an aluminum fishing boat that they used to ferry the news crews around in the floodwaters.

Before they left to go see if they were done for the day, I made them promise to come and find me. I told Jim that I might have a way out, but he said that I could stay with him in the van as long as I needed. I began to settle down.

About an hour later, I found Sean and Keith who had just been released and were, in fact, driving to Baton Rouge. I ran back to Jim's van to get my things, my heart racing.

It was hard to leave Jim. In the short time that we had been together, he had become my "guardian angel." When I said goodbye, he said that he didn't really do much, but that he was glad that he could at least help out one person in this whole mess. I swore I'd never forget him.

Sean's truck was a "king-cab" and I expected to sit in the tiny back seat, but Keith insisted that I sit in front. "Is that gas I smell?" I asked.

"Yea," Sean said, "on the drive down yesterday we spilled a gallon in the cab. I know it's pretty bad." I felt like I had my nose jammed into the end of a gasoline pump hose. Never mind that I might throw up or that we might blow up from even a small spark, I was headed north.

The drive north took just over an hour. "So what's your story?" I asked them at one point. I meant, what do you do, how do you like working with CBS, and stuff like that.

Turns out that Sean was actually a minister for a small Pentecostal church and waited tables on the side to make ends meet. Keith was heavily involved in the church as well.

This might explain how they interpreted my question about “their story,” as "How did you first come to know the Lord?” They didn't try to convert me and their testimonies took my mind off the fumes. Keith told me about the time he spent at a small Christian college back East. In fact, he had been recruited to play football. "Oh, how did that happen/" I asked.

"Well, the head of the college at first thought they'd have an ‘all preachers’ football team, but that didn't work out too well. They kept losing, so they decided they had to change that rule and that's when I got recruited," he said.

“An all preachers football team," I thought. We drove on.

When we rolled into Baton Rouge the city lights were on. All of the stores were open, the shopping centers were busy, and the traffic lights worked. It was a shocking re-entry, so close to New Orleans, but like another world.

I offered to buy the boys dinner and they said it wasn't necessary, but that it would be fine. We stopped at a Texas barbecue chain. While the cool air in Jim's van and Sean's truck was nice, it was nothing like walking into that restaurant. "I'll never take air-conditioning for granted again," I thought.

The restaurant was full of people sitting back, eating, talking, laughing and smoking. Table after table was loaded down with massive plates of barbecue, beer, wine, Cokes and ice water.

As we walked past all those tables I thought, "They have all the water they want and they're not even drinking it." I felt like collecting the full glasses of ice water to bring to our table.

I studied the pictures on the enormous menu and finally settled on a small barbecue plate. After my rations, those "Texas sized" portions were just too much.

What was familiar was now completely alien. I wanted to stand up and shout, "Don't you people know what's going on in New Orleans? Don't you give a damn?"

When our food arrived I could only pick at mine. Something didn't feel right about taking that much for myself. Sean and Keith had great appetites and I was amazed to watch the ease with which they ate. I called Carol to tell her where to pick me up and then said goodbye to the boys.