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On Patrol with the NOPD

Hurricane Katrina Has Pushed New Orleans Police to the Limit

By Matthias Gebauer in New Orleans

For days now, 1,7000 police in New Orleans have been working around the clock, bringing help wherever they can. But the police corps is exhausted. Two officers have committed suicide and others have disappeared. The US Army is now on the scene, and the hope is that it will give the local forces a small break.

If they weren't carrying machine guns on their belts, the men and women standing in front of the casino on Canal Street in New Orleans could be mistaken for any normal group of people on an outing. Some wear jeans and t-shirts. Others are walking around shirtless, with shorts and sandals. A nearby stand is serving hamburgers and vegetables -- and though that may sound perfectly normal, in this city it's practically a gourmet meal these days. It may look like a casual lunchtime barbeque, but this is currently the command center for the New Orleans Police Department. Few of the officers have access to a clean uniform. "I borrowed my jeans from a friend, my own house is under water," one officer explains.

Small groups of police are sitting on folding chairs that are scattered all about under the blazing midday sun. Some officers have pulled their hats down to cover their faces. Others just look around lethargically. "It's been more than a week, and many of these people haven't even had enough sleep, let alone a shower," says John Pfeiffer, the officer in charge of the police force. He's got dark rings under his eyes. As he deploys officers in a boat, he grabs the arm of one of his cops. "Things can only get better," he tells him, almost lovingly, "just hang in there a little longer." Then another announcement emits from his walkie talkie.

More than a week has passed since Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, and the city's 1,700 police are running out of steam. Shortly before the flood and during the days after, practically the entire force was deployed 24-hours a day. In great desperation, but also with a good deal of pride in their city, the New Orleans Police Department (NOPD) has fought against looters, rescued people from waterlogged homes, recovered dead bodies and conducted patrols of the city. Their deployment is far from complete.

From narcotics officer to rescue captain

Many try to hide the stress they are experiencing. "I'll keep driving my boat until there's nobody left in the flooded areas," says 53-year-old Paul Toye. Normally, the 6-foot-tall man works as a narcotics investigator. But as the storm arrived, he shifted his duties. First, he drove his wife and daughter to the airport and sent them to Florida. Then he prepared his motorboat and waited to be dispatched. Since then, he's been cruising around town in his boat from 6 a.m. until sunset each day -- repeatedly rescuing people who were trapped in their homes by the flooding.

Toye's son also rides along with him in the boat. Together, they launch the boat from highway exits that descend into the flooded city and then they motor off. During the afternoon, Toye's son asks whether they should call it a night. "We still have time for one more trip before it gets dark," his dad snarls back. Afterwards, he asks for a strong pain pill. Only four weeks ago, he had back surgery, and now he's suffering from migraine headaches. He's smoking 60 cigarettes a day, he's hardly had any sleep and the sun keeps blazing down. "But I'll keep working as long as we're needed," he says. "And that's going to be for quite some time." For now, his priority is to tank up his boat with more gas.

Toye's days right now mirror those of his colleagues. They knew Katrina would be strong, yet they were all shocked by the enormity of its scope. Almost all of them got their families out -- sending them to relatives or farther inland so they could escape the hurricane's brunt. In the absence of their spouses and children, the police officers have become an ersatz family to one another and the area beneath the casino's marquee has become their living room in this time of crisis. Here, the officers swap tales of their work, they complain about a military they feel is paralyzed and they also try to bolster each others' courage.

Everyday brings new traumas

On Sunday morning, a looter attacked one of their colleagues and the police battalion at the casino followed the call. A few minutes later, a report came over the radio that five suspects had been shot. Spontaneous applause erupted. Somehow, the enemy looters have brought the police together -- even if many police fear for their lives these days.

But despite the many small victories in the face of adversity, Vice Police Chief W. J. Riley is deeply concerned about his force. On Sunday he had to inform the men at the casino that two of his officers had turned their guns on themselves and committed suicide. It's still unclear why the police spokesman and an officer killed themselves. "The force is undergoing traumatic experiences everyday -- and at the beginning, at least, there was little they could do to help people and they had to wander around town without any kind of radio communication," he says, describing conditions. "Now they're fighting every day to restore order in the city." He says his officers have done their jobs "heroically."

Riley says several dozen of his officers have been missing since the hurricane and flooding. "We don't know where they are, whether they've abandoned the force or if they've just brought their families to safety." Riley's boss, Eddie Compass, has expressed his understanding for these instances. Compass himself first rescued his own family from their flooded home before rushing to the command center. On Monday, when a reporter described the men as cowards, Compass shot back angrily that he would like to see the reporter do his job for a day.

Narcotics officer Toye has had similar experiences. On Sunday, a colleague suddenly jumped into his boat and asked him to take a detour from the rescue mission. He drove past bodies floating in the water and into a residential area in St. Bernards, where the water levels reach almost up to the ceilings of homes. The water is expected to remain here for weeks to come. They were looking for the colleague's home, and only found it because of a street sign. "Don't worry," Toye told his colleague, trying to cheer him up, "you can stay with me for a while." Otherwise, "you can sleep in your boat," he says, looking over at the small craft, bobbing on the water, trapped between trees and power lines above sunken house.

R & R in America's other sin city

With the military's arrival in New Orleans over the weekend, police are now hoping it will help lighten their load. Military convoys are rolling into the city at a frequent pace and they're taking over patrols and checkpoints that have been installed at all major intersections. Police have also been sent in from almost every other state to provide backup for the overburdened NOPD officers. Everyone's arriving here, mounted rangers from America's national parks are even wandering through the French Quarter. Many of the sheriffs who have travelled here from small hamlets all over the United States are still struggling to get oriented in the metropolis. But the NOPD is grateful for the show of solidarity. "We'll take any help that comes," says Riley, "and God knows we need it."

On Monday, New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin announced that he will reward the city's emergency services workers with a special vacation. He's planning to send every member of the police force who helped in the flood for five days to either Las Vegas or Atlanta, so that they can catch up on their sleep and relax again. There are no hotel rooms available anywhere near the hurricane-stricken area, and Las Vegas hotels have said they will cut a deal on rooms for the fatigued police. Nagin has said the city will pick up the tab for flights and hotel rooms. "I will do everything I can so that the police can get a bit of rest," he said. "They've got a huge amount of work to do in the months ahead."

But not everyone is rushing to take advantage of the offer to fly to Las Vegas. "What am I supposed to do in the desert?" Toye says, chuckling. He then lights up another cigarette. "Even if I weren't a police officer, I would still have tons to do here." Most of Toye's work in the coming months will be helping to keep order on the streets and rebuilding the city's infrastructure. But he doesn't mind. With the city empty, it's going to take a while before hunting for drug dealers becomes a priority again. "It's hard for me to say this, but for the time being, they can do what they want," he says.

Tomorrow, he'll be driving his boat back into the flooded area -- it's become his routine.