Our group stood in the parking lot, debating the right thing to do. They had three options, take the items, take them and pay for them later, or put them back.
At this point, James put down his notebook. He stood frozen on the bridge for several minutes as it dawned on him that his house was drowning, that there would be no coming home when this was over. Then he shook himself back into reporter mode, grabbed his pad and continued writing.
Can you come by today?
If the (Super) Dome and Convention Center had harbored large numbers of middle-class white people, it would not have been fertile ground for this type of rumor-mongering.
I don't think there's any member of my staff who wouldn't trade all of it to get our city back.
Over the years, Mark's colleagues had grown numb to his warnings of the swamped-bowl scenario. But that afternoon his voice and his pallor made me listen.
When a group of reporters and editors showed up at the New Orleans Convention Center with a bundle of those first papers, people grabbed for them as if they were food.
We're both covering the story and we are part of the story. One of our roles that was thrust on us was to make sure the story is told as accurately as can be.
His view prevailed. The goods went back to the shelves and on they drove, empty-handed.
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