The Word - Here From New Orleans, In some cases there is none

In the shocking early hours after Hurricane Katrina tore a swath through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, and as water poured over weakened levees into the city of New Orleans, an amateur radio operator in Montauk worked with the United States Coast Guard to engineer several rescues.

In the process, Marshall Helfand said, he got a distressing view of just how unprepared and vulnerable the city was.

Mr. Helfand is no stranger to natural disaster. He has been an amateur radio operator for over 30 years. He works within a network of operators who specialize in coordinating radio traffic during emergencies. He has been at his home-based post on Fairview Avenue in Montauk during volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and floods.

"But this one was so shocking, different from all others," he said.

It was different, Mr. Helfand said, because the staging of emergency help that usually occurs prior to a hurricane by government agencies and even, he said, by organizations like the Red Cross, was absent. Emergency hams around the country had tracked the storm, and were ready by late in the day on Aug. 27, over 24 hours before it struck, with agreed-upon radio frequencies and links to first responders, including the Coast Guard.

"As it hit, we became aware. I know because I contacted one of [New Orleans Mayor C. Ray Nagin's] staff. I asked if there was a local amateur [radio operator] in City Hall, the emergency center, the normal procedure."

"There was. I asked what they needed. He said, 'Basically everything you can do because we're not getting any help from anybody. Nobody is returning calls.' Not to say the mayor's office wasn't negligent," Mr. Helfand said. "They could have stored water, canned food in the Superdome."

At one point, a disabled Vietnam veteran contacted the Red Cross. He was trapped on the second floor of his house in New Orleans and the water was rising. Mr. Helfand said he was unable to reach local police because the loss of electricity had knocked out their communications, but the man had a cellphone and called the Red Cross.

A radio operator at Red Cross headquarters sent the Mayday out on the amateur network with the stranded man's street address. Mr. Helfand picked it up and contacted Senior Chief Boatswain's Mate Nick Pupo at the Montauk Coast Guard station, who relayed the information to rescue operations in New Orleans.

A helicopter was able to rescue the man. Mr. Helfand said several other rescues were coordinated through the Moriches station, headquarters for the Coast Guard's operations on the south shore.

"The only people who were ready was the Coast Guard. They were magnificent. They were there first, and at the most dangerous times." As for the overall response, Mr. Helfand said, "The people should demand an investigation and it should start immediately. Nobody did it intentionally, but I would categorize it as negligent homicide."

Hiding From Looters

Charlene Quinlin and her husband, Tom, who live in the Riverbend section on the west side of New Orleans, were able to get out of the city the day before Katrina struck. Ms. Quinlin is a Bridgehampton native, and they are staying there now with her mother. Her husband is from New Orleans, and members of his family are missing.

She said her neighborhood remained relatively dry, but quickly became very dangerous, according to sporadic communications with those who had stayed behind.

"One out of 10 cellphone calls go through, and we have been able to contact people via messages. The Times Picayune has a Web site. A lot of people are unaccounted for. There is lots of lawlessness."

Ms. Quinlin said her neighbors had asked that they be called only at certain times of the day to prevent the ringing of cellphones from alerting roving bands of looters. "No lighters, no candles. Don't talk loud, no radio."

"They were trying not to be seen," she said on Tuesday of her neighbors, adding that some had formed a militia to protect a supply of food and water, and were moving around in canoes. In one, a broom served as a paddle.

Ms. Quinlin said the ad hoc militia had succeeded in working out a "semi-truce" with looters. When the members of the National Guard finally arrived, they took control and seized the militia's weapons as a precaution, Ms. Quinlin said.

"We're in a state of flux, a limbo situation. We were told the Red Cross was issuing vouchers. I don't have refills for my prescriptions. My husband is trying to get back. He's a retired paramedic for the City of New Orleans Health Department," Ms. Quinlin said.

Tulane Is Silent

Samantha Edwardes of Gardiner's Lane in East Hampton is - or was - a sophomore at Tulane University in New Orleans. She is leaving to attend the University of Colorado at Boulder this week to spend at least the fall semester, "but I feel it's going to be a year. The school hasn't told us anything," Ms. Edwardes said.

About 130 Tulane students have accepted the hospitality of universities that opened their doors to those who were attending college in New Orleans. Ms. Edwardes said she had decided to move on despite the fact that Tulane had still not officially canceled classes.

"I think it will take at least nine months for the city to be pumped out and made safe," she said.

She had driven to New Orleans from New York for the start of school, arriving just two days before Hurricane Katrina blasted ashore.

"I had just moved into my new apartment. I had spent over $1,000 furnishing it. I slept on my mattress once, woke up, and heard the news. The city didn't warn us. They said to leave if we could, but that it was not necessary. I only brought a small bag with me, left on Saturday with the contra-flow - both sides of the highway were going north with police at every on-ramp."

By the time she reached Atlanta, about nine hours later, she realized that Katrina was a Category 5 storm. "I realized we should have boarded up."

According to news reports, the university was not badly damaged, but the sophomore said she had heard nothing about the surrounding area. Her apartment is about three blocks from campus. She has not been able to reach her landlord.

"Everything I own is at my apartment, including photo albums," she said. "I wish I had brought the albums."