T he words are just going to come and the punctuation will be atrocious but I have to tell this, as quick as I can before it fades away. I don't get this feeling too often and I don't know how long it will keep. Mankind does not impress me too much, as a rule.

9:00 Thursday morning: September 1, 2005.

I will have hot coffee and croissants for breakfast this morning. It is cool and comfortable here and I am secure. But a few miles south of here something big is happening. Houston is opening her heart and wallet to the people of New Orleans and we have to go see what we, as individuals, can do to help.

11:30 AM: Houston time.

We are there, but there is no way we can approach the Astrodome. The scene is like something out of Dante's Inferno. There are cars stretched as far as the eye can see up and down the 610 Loop, and we wonder who all these people are. Are they here to rubber-neck? Get a peek at the 'accident'? We thought so at first, but we thought wrong.

There is a make-shift free market taking shape alongside Kirby and we inch over there to drop our bundles of clothing and water. We come to deliver and stay to help. We sort mounds of clothing, hopefully into piles according to size and sex, and as fast as we can separate, more items arrive.

These are not looky-loo's. These are the people of Houston, turning out en masse in a time of need.

The citizens of New Orleans are here and more are probably coming.

2:30 PM

I have mentioned that I have a CPR credential and we are allowed inside. But we are not going to the top flight medical facility that has appeared out of nowhere. We still find ourselves outside, sorting clothing and diapers. It's alright though. Help is needed everywhere you look. People are everywhere. Scared, frightened, shell shocked people far from home, still wondering what happened. It hasn't sunk in yet. You can see it in their eyes.

I direct a buxom woman in run-over shoes to a pile of larger sizes ( I'm a larger size myself and know where the good stuff is ) and point to where the cases of water are starting to pile up. She looks so tired. Meanwhile a diamond-encrusted white matron drops off a car-load of clothing and we pull it from the trunk of her late model Jag. Amazing. The poor and rich of Houston have turned out in full force and more are coming. But the buses are coming too and we wonder, will there be enough?

4:00 PM, I think. But I've quit watching the clock.

A small black woman asks where she can find a toilet. She has wandered away from the induction line and before I can answer, a lady in a SBC t-shirt takes her hand and leads her to the facility. SBC is here to install thousands of phone lines, but today they are pulling double and triple duty. I see an old black man, his jaw trembling, holding a clean white shirt and tears are in his eyes. "Bless you, " he says, over and over again. "Bless you, bless you, bless you."

What a glorious site! Buses, buses, buses! But not just more refugees. Buses full of volunteers, 18 wheelers full of groceries. HEB, Randalls, all the big grocery chains have turned out and are rolling in. The cavalry is here! More medical supplies, all donated, more para-medics and care-givers, giving of their time and expertise.

A tiny little girl comes up to me and pulls on my jeans. "Where my Momma?" Oh My God! Is this child alone? Did she make the trip from New Orleans to Houston by herself? As I bend to bring myself to her eye-level huge black arms snatch the child away and I rise to find myself face to face with an angry lady. I reach out my hand to her and her face collapses, tears run down her cheeks. We don't say a word. There are none. How would I feel if I were she? How, if I had very little to begin with, would I react if I woke up one morning and what little there was was gone forever? And I'm 45 years old and uneducated with a young child and no time left to start again. I don't know that I would have the courage. I'm thinking I'm not that strong.

I started out to write a piece about my wonderful Houston but Greta Van Susteren from Fox News has already used up all the words, and the people coming off the buses, smiling for the first time in days, crying and kissing the ground, have said it far more eloquently than I ever could.

A doctor from the Houston Heart Institute, who probably pulls down $ 200,000 a year presses insulin into the hands of a man who probably never made over five grand per in his whole life and has no possible way to ever pay for this kindness. The doctor smiles and reassures him and the doctor doesn't care. He's been here all night and will remain as long as he is needed. There are hundreds of his colleagues right behind him, waiting for the call.

There are scenes like this everywhere you look. And they go on and on. If anything it grows stronger and bigger as more and more Houstonians stream in from the suburbs and the outlying cities and towns. Bringing their gifts of love and time.

A 2 year old girl with a fist full of fresh orange smiles in her mother's arms as the cool juice drips off her chin. Yesterday she came here dehydrated and nearly comatose.

My hair is soaking wet and blowing in the breeze. A while ago I gave my ball cap to a sunburned little red-headed girl. Her only clothing is an extra-large t-shirt, it's dirty hem dragging the ground. Her hair is matted and tangled, but I've always had a thing for red-heads. And I've got plenty of ball caps.

My contributions are very small but I feel I am part of something bigger now and the thing keeps you going on. This is not about Me. This is about America.

A big mean-looking National Guardsman cradles an old black woman in his arms. She needs oxygen and she is too weak to walk to the triage area on her own. There are not enough wheel chairs yet, but you get the feeling there will be soon. There will be if Houston has anything to say about it.

My legs ache and my arms are heavy but this is no time to stop. Three big trucks from WAL-MART just got here and they have more supplies to unload. The citizens of Houston, chief executive officers from Merrill-Lynch, and short order cooks from Denny's help bring the supplies into the bulging Dome. There are no political agendas here and there is no finger-pointing. It's not about Iraq or gas prices. It's only about a burning need that must be met.

The Dome is full? Open up the Reliant Center! The Reliant Center is full? Open up the Convention Center! We can't turn these people away! We need more cots and the National Guard magically makes them appear. Endless loads of blankets are desperately needed and nobody goes without. Groceries and diapers and blankets and toys! Toys for the children!

An angry-looking black teenager, mad at what, he doesn't know, steps off a bus and is met by a member of the Red Cross who hands him a package full of essentials: comb and brush, shampoo. And his brow un-clouds as he humbly says "Thank You." I can't imagine it. It is we who have been humbled.

I never knew what 'give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses' meant, if indeed I ever cared that much. But here they are, right before my very eyes and I find that America knows what to do about that. Yes she does.

I am so humbled right now and at the same time I am so proud. My city has stepped up to the plate as I knew she would and done me proud, as I never doubted she could. My senses are overwhelmed by what I have seen here today and will see in the days to come. I've watched terrified people become smiling people again. I've seen folks who have wallowed in filth and fear for the last week begin to laugh again when they hear there is a hot shower waiting for them and a clean dry place to lay their heads.

My Houston, my beautiful Gulf Coast jewel has opened her heart and her arms, her pocket book and her eyes to the people of New Orleans. And we know there are rough days ahead, but it doesn't make that big Texas heart skip a single beat. Our shoulders are big enough.

"My country 'tis of Thee."

Dylan
Sept 3, 2005