At George R. Brown, evacuees adapt to the new normal

Posted: 11:20 a.m.

More than 100 people from all walks of life were waiting quietly in line to enter or re-enter the George R. Brown Convention center midday Tuesday. A man shifted foot to foot in a light rain, one with a towel draped over his head to avoid the drizzle and wind. A baby cuddled in deep sleep on the chest of a man in a T-shirt, shorts and soccer slippers.

About halfway down the line Shauntray Jones, 24, and her sister Montekela, 17, were eager to get back inside with two fragrant boxes of barbecued brisket, green beans and rolls they’d just picked up. Shauntray’s three children and three kids they’d befriended inside the shelter—whose mother was disabled—were waiting for the feast.

“It’s not for us,” Jones said. She had posted on Instagram that the kids were hungry for barbecue and DJ Mr. Rogers from 97.9 saw the post and covered the meals with a cash app.

Everyone in line — evacuees and volunteers and throngs of reporters from around the globe — must pass through this bottleneck to get inside, where they are patted down, wanded and security officials review their bags. Signs in the convention hall indicate there are no weapons of any kind permitted. Also no alcohol.

A volunteer bellows out, “Coming through,” as two massive carts wheel past with towels.

Those taking shelter are given several boxed meals, snacks, water, sheets, towels and all the clothes and shoes they need.

Spanish, Vietnamese and sign language interpreters are hosting a busy table. There are tables for parolees to touch base with a probation officers and for families to report missing persons — dozens have been reported lost from their groups inside the convention center, which was reporting 10,400 residents by Tuesday evening.

More than 100 people stood in line to sign up for FEMA assistance, including children in Mickey Mouse robe and Homer Simpson slippers. David Gerino, from FEMA, was working his way down the line, talking people through how to register for assistance on their phones so they didn’t have to stand around.

Crews of volunteers stood in groups of 30 or so as coordinators conduct orientation. They wander through four massive convention halls outfitted with cots handing out coloring books, toys and deodorant. A volunteer handing out deodorant got swarmed as she approached a cluster of people seated on cots.

“All they want is deodorant,” she said.

In the four giant, airy halls, families, friends and neighborhood have set up cots in clusters, stowing shoes and purses on concrete posts hanging towels up on convention center pipes. In one hall is a trailer with showers.

Four girls and a boy who had been helicoptered out of Tidwell lay flat on their bellies coloring in a circle. Six boys, fast new friends, from Sunnyside, Lockwood and Greenspoint played pick up mini-Nerf football in their socks and shorts.

In each cluster of cots, one or two people appeared in deep sleep midday while relatives scrolled through their phones, thumbed through magazines or newspapers or just sat and stared.

One of those deep in slumber was Neptali Cabrera’s wife. Meanwhile Cabrera, 30, a restaurant worker, lay prone on a cot with his chunky 8-month-old propped up beside him, surrounded by cots of his sisters, brother, cousin and their families — 25 in all. Cabrera’s older daughters and son drew pictures in a circle on the floor — a happy face emoticon, purple hearts, a princess and a bed of dry flowers on dry yellow land.

“Yo me sali con ellos con el agua hasta aqui,” he said, tracing a line across his neck: “I left with them when the water was up to here.”

Family members had waded to a nearby school where they were plucked one by one in a helicopter basket.

“A mi se me dio susto, pero a ellos nada,” he said, looking at the kids entranced in their drawings. “I got scared. But they didn’t at all.”

In the hall devoted to people who evacuated with their pets, a feisty mutt sniffed around on a leash, looking for treats. Petra Cervantes, 58, and her husband and a friend had set up their cots in a little hub around the crates and cages for the animals they’d brought with them by bus and boat from their home at Mesa and Tidwell. Cervantes counted off 10 puppies, four rabbits, two cats, two chickens and a guinea pig that made it out. She left behind 23 chickens, 15 parakeets, and her big dog, Chapo. She said she felt confident that the chickens survived because they were roosting on her roof.

But she’s worried about Chapo. “I hope my big dog is OK,” she said.

Taking a break in the drizzle were Germaine and Tasha Williams, who fled their home in Greenspoint along with their four brindle pitbulls — Runt, Big Girl, Chubby and their mom, Jada— to Discovery Green to take care of business and for Germaine to grab a smoke. The couple’s two daughters were staying elsewhere in the city when floodwaters from Addicks overflowed chest deep into their house.

Tasha, 40, said the cots at the shelter were “not bad at all.” She was impressed with the sense of community among the women where they’ve set up their cots. “Everyone keeps bringing each other food and asking if people need anything,” she said.

“They’re taking good care of us and they’re taking care of the dogs,” she said, smiling. “They’re doing the best they can.”

Tasha brought along her uniform in case she gets called to work as a heavy machine operator for the city. Her job is filling potholes, but she has not yet gotten the call.

It was strange to be on the other side of the equation, asking for help, since she had taken a dump truck to rescue 18 people and 12 dogs and a flooded out Harris County Sheriff’s Deputy at North Rosslyn and Little York during the Tax Day flood.

“I look at it as a blessing,” she said.