If you've been reading the recent comments, you know that the big, shiny bus full of Hurricane Katrina donations made it down to Louisiana just fine. The bus driver, Aaron Ellringer of Just Local Food, sent us an account of the trip. Here's an excerpt...
The sun was sinking fast and we were just outside of Shreveport. Our hope of arriving in daylight faded and we just wanted to get there. On the edge of town, Reverend Henry Martin called to check in on us - and we reported we were close. He said some media would be there and that they were waiting for us. Through the spaghetti bowl of concrete, we found the place - a brick building amidst urban decay. Our destination that night was a long-standing mission house for the homeless of Shreveport. We parked the bus and were greeted by hugs and tears. They couldn't believe the bus—it looked brand new to them. They were almost speechless, just walking around and thanking us and the community of Eau Claire for the support.
Here's Aaron's complete, start-to-finish journal of the bus trip...
Just a Drop - Bus Driver Journal
Respectfully submitted by Aaron Ellringer, Just a Drop relief bus driver.
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Wednesday, September 7
I woke myself up around 5am, 15 minutes before the alarm was set. I rolled out of bed, got dressed, shaved, brushed and got a few things together before heading out the door for my early morning TV interview at 5:45. WQOW is just south of town on Highway 93. Rachel Licht, the morning anchor, has always been a good supporter of Just Local Food, bringing me on her show for regular appearances. I emailed her on Tuesday asking if she could make a plea for our donation drive on Wednesday morning, giving the viewers one last reminder. She invited me to come down and make the plea myself, so there I was. It was a quick interview, just the basics - listing who we were, what we were doing and why, and of course what we wanted other people to do. She and the others in the newsroom gave their sincere thanks and wished us well as I left.
From the TV station I went directly to the warehouse, as I had to pack the truck and open up our farmers market stand by 7:30. The market was fairly slow, and Joe stopped by around 10 to give me a break. I rode my bike down to our warehouse and I was shocked - cars lining the streets, lots of orange shirted folks sorting through boxes and bags, and the bus was filling up. I stayed for a bit, overwhelmed by the action, but returned to the calm of the market. It started to rain around 11:30. Lori was picking things up at the market and offered to help take down our setup - I accepted her offer and for the first time left the market before the 1 pm closing time - feeling a little guilty, but hoping for a nap or some rest.
Back at Gibson Street it was still organized chaos, the rain sent people under tarps and into the Next Step warehouse for sorting. The bus was nearly full and there were a lot of boxes of clothes and other items low on the priority list for this trip. I ate some donated Sammy's Pizza and chatted with a few volunteers. A TV-13 reporter asked me if I could answer a few questions, and I agreed. He interviewed me standing on the steps of the bus. He asked some standard questions, but then threw a screwball - "some might ask - aren't you just doing this to get yourselves on TV? To promote yourselves and get in the media". I chuckled uncomfortably at his question. Gave him an "are you serious?" look, and seeing no shift in his eyes as he held the microphone, I tried to respond to the ridiculous question. Now, I know I should have stopped the interview right then - the TV coverage at that point was useless, we wanted media to help fill the bus, and now that the bus was full, we just needed to get it to Louisiana. Disturbed by his out of line question, I went home to see my family and put a few things together for the trip.
Packed to go, we took the car down to the warehouse where Jen dropped off me and the kids and she went to work. Joe took the kids back up to block party and I helped pack the final boxes into the bus. Zeus bolted the back emergency door shut; I gave some hugs and climbed into my home for the next two days.
We left on Wednesday at around 3:30 pm from Eau Claire. The bus was packed full. Even as we drove from the warehouse up to our homes on the East Hill, an enthusiastic college student followed us the whole way so that he could donate a backpack. He stuffed some school supplies he had just purchased into it as we said goodbye to our families. Lori came running from her house with a box of freshly prepared food, fruit, teas, and coffee. I was glad to head down Altoona Street and turn onto Highway 53 - the organized mayhem was behind us and open road in front.
The bus was slow to get going up to highway speed, but tracked well on the road and was easy to handle. Turning onto Interstate 94 heading south, I found a way to wedge my foot pushing the accelerator pedal all the way to the floor, thinking this was a temporary move. With the "pedal to the metal" the bus made it up to 60 miles per hour on the interstate. Approaching a slight incline would bring the speed down to 40. Going downhill I let it top out at 70 once, but rarely let the rig go over 65. From the beginning, truckers and cars would honk, wave, give the thumbs up, flash their lights or otherwise express their support for our mission - which they read on signs posted in the packed bus windows: "Only A Drop" "Relief for Hurricane Katrina" and "Eau Claire, WI."
Our first fuel stop was at the pink elephant just outside of Madison (part photo op, and part bathroom break). Fueling up, we were approached by a fella from Eau Claire, driving a cement truck up to Ashland after a full day pouring cement in Madison. He firmly shook our hands and wished us well. A guy pulling three Camaros with his F-350 asked how much we could haul and how much he thought we'd spend on fuel. He reported he would get a buck a mile for that trip, then told Eric he didn't need a CDL if "you're not carrying any passengers", and said "it's better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
From there, we skirted Madison and made it to the border around sundown, catching our first and only toll on the Illinois tollway. Asking the toll operator "Hey, we're driving a relief bus down to Louisiana" he replied, gruffly, "Buck ninety." I handed him a twenty and hit the road again, wedging my foot to keep the pedal all the way down. The rest of the evening was spent practicing "trucker talk" - flashing lights to indicate when it was appropriate for trucks to move back in our lane after passing us. We were definitely the slowest vehicle on the road for a majority of the trip. My personal favorite was the triple hazard, left right. As a truck passes, and the back of the truck makes it past the front of the bus, I flash my headlights briefly. This lets the trucker know it's OK to move back into the right lane. As a courtesy, or to keep us awake and entertained, they do a variety of light flashing maneuvers to say "thanks." This could be tapping the brakes, flashing hazard lights, turning on and off the marker lights, or flashing left and right turn signals. After coffee, this was the primary method of staying awake. And rarely having the opportunity to be in the "trucker club," I took full advantage of this cheap entertainment.
As it got later, we called up to Eau Claire to get some mileage and time numbers, trying to determine if we could or should make it to St. Louis before we stopped for the night. As the clock approached midnight, we decided to call it quits in Springfield, Illinois, leaving about 12 hours for the next day. We pulled off the main exit in Springfield and approached the cheapest looking hotel we saw. Eric ran in with the idea of asking kindly for a reduced or free room "for the cause". He came out quickly - the offer there was $100, no discounts. The hotel worker didn't even pause their cell phone conversation to laugh Eric out the door.
The next place offered $50, and not wanting to hunt around Springfield much longer, we agreed to it. Asking for a wakeup call at 6:30, it came out to about $10 an hour to sleep there, or $5 an hour each for an OK bed in a stale room.
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Thursday, September 8
The wakeup call came right at 6:30 and by 6:45 I was in front of the front desk waiting to pick Eric up and hit the road. It was an easy trip to St. Louis, and we saw the arch briefly through a hazy morning fog. We stopped outside St. Louis for fuel, and made a straight shot south for Memphis. In the middle of Missouri, we briefly caught a small rural radio station giving the noon news report. There was a shooting - aman found bleeding at 12:30am. And there was a man pulled over for possession of a controlled substance. He got off with $573 in bail and will be in court next week. Then they had the mayor on talking about last night's town meeting. The big news at the meeting was two liquor licenses received. One was accepted, the other rejected because of improperly filled out paperwork.
We hit some construction zones around West Memphis, but generally made good time. Pedal to the metal, still averaging 60 mph, and being passed by every other vehicle on the road. New entertainment included honking to all passing vehicles, then just random honking. At our next fuel stop we made our first non-fuel purchase of the trip - a couple of cold sodas and some deep fried peanuts as a souvenir. By this time I had removed my pants, my non-driving shoe and most of my shirt. The cab of the bus was hot, sitting directly above the engine and in the sunshine all day. Eric reminded me how goofy I looked before I stepped into the gas station.
We cruised through Little Rock and on to Hope, finishing up our stint on the Interstates and venturing off onto the first two-lane highway of the trip. We filled up in Hope - or tried to. The pump slowed after thirteen gallons and slowly came to a halt. I think we pulled the last of the tank. Going in to the bathroom, the clerk asked if we were bringing the bus down south. She thanked us, and when I returned from the bathroom she offered me a complimentary fountain soda. I took up the offer and had an icy root beer. With a smile on my face walking out the door Eric saw me and shouted, "score?" Indeed. We tried milking the relief bus for stuff along the trip, but this was the first real score.
The two-lane highway through Arkansas revealed a vision of the south not offered on the interstate. This is poverty. Ramshackle houses, caved in porches, windowless trailer houses. At one point I saw a pregnant woman hanging laundry outside, chickens in the yard, solemn. I blinked twice, thinking I was back 100 years. Tyson chicken factories - huge long sheds with no windows or visible outlets - dotted the countryside. Many of the houses looked abandoned, with a few junked cars in the yard and maybe one that was cobbled together. Who knows? It wasn't pretty, and I knew I could stop at any one of the towns and unload the bus and there would be people right there who could honestly use everything we had. Diapers for their children, tools to fix their dilapidated homes. Cash to buy some food.
The sun was sinking fast and we were just outside of Shreveport. Our hope of arriving in daylight faded and we just wanted to get there. On the edge of town, Reverend Henry Martin called to check in on us - and we reported we were close. He said some media would be there and that they were waiting for us. Through the spaghetti bowl of concrete, we found the place - a brick building amidst urban decay. Our destination that night was a long-standing mission house for the homeless of Shreveport. We parked the bus and were greeted by hugs and tears. They couldn't believe the bus - it looked brand new to them. They were almost speechless, just walking around and thanking us and the community of Eau Claire for the support.
Rev. Martin immediately started asking us the details of the trip and the collection - who were the families involved, what was the business that donated the bus, who gave the water, did Eric and I have families? He wrote it all down, promising thank you's to everyone. We did the same, interviewing him and asking where the goods would go, what they would do with the bus. It was an inspiring story.
The mission house was started over 50 years ago to help the homeless in Shreveport. The mission there housed several hundred homeless before the storm, and after the storm they were overwhelmed. The university and coliseum were housing thousands of people, and before the Red Cross came, the mission and other (mostly church-based) groups responded to those in need. The mission, experienced in emergency care and relief services, was able to redouble their efforts in the face of the storm and respond to the crisis with the basics of food, shelter, and communication with a kind heart.
Mr. Martin reported that, as the big shelters filled up, the Red Cross finally arrived. The Red Cross had two people on site to coordinate the thousands of refugees and the hundreds of volunteers - it wasn't adequate. Without the local people coordinating in concert with the Red Cross, it would have been total chaos. Now that the Red Cross has been on the ground a few days, the immediate needs of the displaced are covered, and more long-term housing and support efforts are underway.
One of the projects undertaken by the Mission is housing. This past week, they were in contact with the Shreveport housing authority and got title to several run down homes slated to be torn down. With the mission building crews they turned the houses into livable homes in a few days, and have already moved families into them. There are plans to continue this housing effort, and the tools sent from Eau Claire will be put to good use in renovating these homes.
The mission is also a part of the Red Cross coordinating efforts down there. They spend much of their days in the temporary shelters, talking to families, assessing needs and offering support. The goods on the bus were to be unloaded and sorted and distributed to the appropriate spots. Some of the goods were set aside for distribution to families moving out of the shelters and into the temporary/permanent housing. For instance, a family would be moved out of the coliseum into a house renovated by the mission. As they were moved into the house, they would be given a box of cleaning products, personal hygiene materials, clothing and more to help them along. This is a critical need, and the donations from Eau Claire will help fill it.
After we dropped off the bus and transferred information, Mr. Martin insisted on taking Eric and I out to a catfish dinner - and some southern hospitality. At dinner, I asked Reverend Martin what else folks up in Eau Claire could do. He was already overwhelmed by our generosity and efforts, and repeated his many thanks. He thought that now with the Red Cross in town, the immediate needs of the displaced families would be met. It would be a few weeks or even a month before they really knew what the needs of these families would be. At this point, they are still coming to terms with the fact that they won't be moving back down south to their homes anytime soon. He encouraged us to stay in touch and check back with them to see what they might need.
After dinner, Mr. Martin took us to our sleeping spot; we shared hugs and wished one another the best.
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Friday, September 9
Up again at 5am, Eric and I got our bags together and took a ride through Shreveport to the airport. Some generous folks in Eau Claire donated frequent flier miles and cash to ensure our prompt and safe return home. Ten hours later, we stepped off the plane at the Eau Claire airport greeted by our families, ready to share stories and get some much needed sleep.
That's a great story. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something great - and leave it to you guys to jump in head first and get it done. Eau Claire (and of course Louisiana) are lucky to have people like yourselves around.
Posted by: Nick | Monday, September 12, 2005 at 10:13 AM