Opinion

I downloaded an app. And suddenly, was part of the Cajun Navy. After two minutes of training, I was talking to people desperate for help

Ben Theriot, of Prarieville, La., a Cajun Navy volunteer,searches for evacuees in Humble, Tues., Aug. 29. "We're trying to do what we can," said Theriot, an engineer whose house near Baton Rouge was flooded in last year's storms. "I had people that I barely knew showing up to help me." less Ben Theriot, of Prarieville, La., a Cajun Navy volunteer,searches for evacuees in Humble, Tues., Aug. 29. "We're trying to do what we can," said Theriot, an engineer whose house near Baton Rouge was flooded in ... more Photo: EDMUND D. FOUNTAIN, NYT Photo: EDMUND D. FOUNTAIN, NYT Image 1 of / 21 Caption Close I downloaded an app. And suddenly, was part of the Cajun Navy. 1 / 21 Back to Gallery

After watching nonstop coverage of the hurricane and the incredible rescues that were taking place, I got in bed at 10:30 on Tuesday night. I had been glued to the TV for days. Every time I would change the channel in an attempt to get my mind on something else for a few minutes, I was drawn right back in.

I finally turned off the TV and picked up my phone to do a quick check of email and Facebook. I read an article about the Cajun Navy and the thousands of selfless volunteers who have shown up to this city en masse. The article explained they were using a walkie-talkie-type app called Zello to communicate with each other, locate victims, get directions, etc. I downloaded the app, found the Cajun Navy channel and started listening.

I was completely enthralled. Voice after voice after voice coming though my phone in the dark, some asking for help, some saying they were on their way. Most of the transmissions I was hearing when I first tuned in were from Houston, but within 30 minutes or so, calls started coming in from Port Arthur and Orange. Harvey had moved east from Houston and was pummeling East Texas.

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Call after call from citizens saying they were trapped in their houses and needed boat rescue. None of the volunteer rescuers had made it to that area from Houston, but as soon as the calls started coming in, they were moving out, driving as fast as they could into the middle of Harvey.

As I was listening, I quickly figured out that there were a few moderators on the app that were in charge and very experienced in using this method of communication during emergencies. One in particular, Brittney, was giving directions, taking rescue requests, and prioritizing calls and rescues. At one point, she said something that made me realize she's a nurse, so I immediately understood why she was so effective in this situation.

A couple of other women (who were working from other parts of the country, not Houston) who had been taking calls from victims and logging in the information came on the line around 12:30 and said they had to sign off so they could get to bed. They asked if there was anyone who could work through the night to keep taking rescue requests and log them.

I sat up and turned on my light. I timidly pushed the "talk" button and said, "I can."

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Photo: Barbara Pace Mumphrey An early post on Facebook.

I GOT a two-minute "training" session and a "good luck!" One of the key suggestions of the training session was that when I received a rescue request, I needed to try to call the person making the request if possible to get more details and to ensure that it was a legitimate request. Unfortunately, there had been reports of people calling in fake rescue requests and then robbing the volunteers when they arrived. Despicable.

Photo: Dale Dye, Courtesy Holly Hartman Holly Hartman, at the dining room table where she helped the Cajun...

After I received each request and had called the person making the request, I was to log their information on a designated website, let the requester know the ID number they'd been assigned and move on to the next call.

Within minutes, I was on the phone with Karen. Karen was in a house in Port Arthur, sitting on her kitchen cabinet with seven other adults, two teenagers and a newborn. The water was almost to the counter tops. I assured here we would get someone to her as soon as we could and told her to stay safe.

Photo: EDMUND D. FOUNTAIN, NYT A flooded car along Kuykendahl Road, Tue., Aug. 29.

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It was 1:15 a.m..

By this time, Cajun Navy rescuers had begun arriving in Port Arthur. They were begging to be let in the water, but the Coast Guard understandably wouldn't grant them permission because the storm was just too strong.

It was gut-wrenching to hear so many calls coming in and having to tell them there was nothing we could do until the storm calmed down a little. The local authorities were doing the best they could, but they were far outnumbered and also unable to get to everyone in the treacherous conditions.

I took several more calls and quickly realized there was no way I could call to verify every request. They were coming in faster than I could type them into the website data bank. I would listen to the request, write down their info and start typing it in. In the time I could enter one request, three more would come in.

I was originally just sitting up in bed with my laptop on my lap, phone in hand and a notepad on my nightstand. Pretty quickly, I moved to my dining room table, plugged in my computer and phone and poured a huge glass of iced tea.

I started out taking notes nice and neat on printer paper. That quickly turned into chaotic scribbles. I was having trouble reading my own handwriting at times.

I got a request from Chad. I had enough time to call him. Trapped in their house, he and his wife had water up to their chests. He told me they were about to go to their attic. I begged him not to do that and told him he had to go to his roof instead. He said there was no way for them to do that. I told him he didn't have a choice. I asked him to keep calling 911, over and over. When we hung up, I texted him other numbers to try — the Coast Guard, the Jefferson County Office of Emergency Management, the Air Force.

It was 2:20 a.m..

I spoke to another woman whose name I can't even remember. I didn't call her directly but we had a few exchanges through the app. She told me she and her kids were sitting on their kitchen counter and needed rescuing, but she was scared to get off the counter when boats arrived because there were snakes in the water in their house.

I took request after request after request. Name...phone number...address...number of adults...number of children...number of elderly...medical conditions. I would then type this information in as fast I could so the dispatchers could send the rescuers out. After submitting the information, I received an ID number that I was supposed to relay to the person requesting the rescue. We asked them to remember the number so they could give it to their rescuers when they were finally picked up. We could then mark them safe in the system, avoiding the dilemma of rescuers looking for people who had already been saved by someone else.

It was around this time that I heard one of the dispatchers who goes by Goose ping in to our channel to let us know that the Cajun Navy still had no boats on the water. Conditions were still too dangerous. I had mistakenly assumed we had boats in the water by then.

No wonder we had so many people desperately begging for rescue. No one was coming for them.

All night long I had been telling them to "hang on, we'll be there soon." I didn't know I had been lying to them.

Photo: EDMUND D. FOUNTAIN, NYT Cajun Navy volunteers hash out their final destination as they...

AROUND 3 a.m., I got a request from a teenage boy in Orange who was screaming so hysterically I couldn't even understand him. I got his phone number and told him I'd call him directly. The second he answered, he was screaming that his brother and cousin were laying in the backyard, unresponsive, possibly electrocuted.

I'm sad to say that I don't even remember this boy's name. I know I asked, but in the conversation that ensued, I forgot it. He told me that his brother and cousin had been near a shed in the backyard for over an hour, but they couldn't get to them because of the rising water and the storm.

I told him they needed to try to get to them and that I was getting help to them as soon as I could. I think he thought I was an official 911 dispatcher, as he kept asking me why the police weren't there. He said he'd called 911 "at least 100 times" and they never answered. He then told me he and another cousin were going to go outside to check on the young men in the yard. I told him I'd wait. He put the phone down. I listened. And waited.

I could hear panicked conversation and rain and sloshing water. After a very long seven or eight minutes, I suddenly heard the most blood-curdling, gut-wrenching screaming I've ever heard.

I heard a little girl screaming at the top of her lungs.

I heard a boy's voice screaming "no, no, no, noooooo" over and over.

I felt nauseated. And completely helpless. I started screaming into the phone..."Hello! Hello!"

He picked up the phone.

"Miss, I think my brother is dead! He's not breathing! Should we do CPR? What do we do?"

"Do you know CPR? Yes, try CPR!"

"What do I do?" he screamed.

Before I could answer, he dropped the phone again. More chaos. More screaming. Guttural. Desperate. He came back to the phone.

"He's not moving! I don't know what to do! I have to go get my cousin!"

I asked him to put his mom on the phone.

A woman's voice. Much calmer than I expected.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm Holly. I'm trying to get some help to you. Tell me what's going on. What's your name?"

"Margaret. My boy is gone! His lips are purple. He's gone."

I desperately searched for words.

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle Cajun Navy's Josh Mtanyos swings through a flooded a neighborhood...

"Margaret, I'm so very sorry. Where is your nephew?"

"He's in the yard. They're trying to get him now."

"Who else is with you?"

Margaret told me she was with her other kids — four or five people total, if I remember correctly — and that they were up to their waists in water.

"My boy is on the table." Her voice cracked. "They're out there trying to get my nephew now. Please get someone here, please," she begged.

I assured her we would. But I knew there were still no boats in the water.

I hung up and called the Coast Guard number we'd been given. They answered immediately, but the person I was talking to was actually in Houston. I quickly explained who I was and what I had just experienced and gave them Margaret's address. He assured me he would let the Coast Guard in Orange know about the family.

I hung up and called the Jefferson County Office of Emergency Management. Shockingly, he answered on the second ring.

"Address!" he barked.

"Hi, my name is Holly Har-"

"I know why you're calling! Where are you?"

"I don't need help. I'm working with the Cajun Navy dispatchers and need someone to get to a family I just spoke with."

I explained the situation and gave them the address

"Jesus Christ," he sighed. He sounded completely defeated.

"I know you're doing the best you can. Just please get to this family."

"We will. We're going to have a lot of deaths here tonight."

I got up from my table to take a break and try to process what had just happened. I had just interjected myself into a family's most horrible moment. As quickly as I had crossed paths with them, they were gone. A 15-minute interaction that will stay with me for a lifetime.

I went to the bathroom, refilled my tea, walked around a bit, thinking to myself, "What are you doing?? You're not qualified to do this!"

Then I sat back down and went back to it.

Photo: Karen Warren, Staff Photographer Joe Henley tries to get his dog, Bubba, out of the boat of Josh...

AROUND 4:30, I got a request from a young woman in Beaumont who was trying to get her 87-year-old grandfather, Chester, rescued in Port Arthur. He lived alone and had water to his shins. I couldn't hear her well through the app, so I called her directly. She told me her grandfather couldn't get through to 911 and she was really scared for him. I assured her someone would get to him and that he would be okay.

There were still no Cajun Navy boats in the water.

At some point, I'd heard another volunteer mention that a woman who lived on Sassine Street and her three kids had retreated to their attic to escape rising waters. I pinged in and told the volunteer that she had to call the woman back and tell her to get out of the attic and go to her roof.

The volunteer came back on the line and said that she'd talked to the woman, but she refused to move because her kids couldn't swim. I asked if she had anything they could use to break through the attic roof. No.

We got word around 7:30 a.m. Wednesday — seven hours after the first calls stared coming in from Port Arthur — that the Cajun Navy had finally been let in the water. Reports of rescues started coming in. I was finally able to mark one of my cases "safe."

I kept taking calls all day Wednesday. Throughout the night and into Wednesday, I was texting with Chad and Shaundra, the young woman calling for her grandfather.

Chad told me the water was almost to their necks and they still hadn't gone to the roof.

Shaundra texted me repeatedly, asking why no one had gotten to her grandfather. The water had risen to his chest. I promised her someone would get there.

The rescues and the "safe" status reports were increasing by the hour. I turned on the TV at some point and started seeing scenes of the same people and situations I was listening to on the app.

Around 10:00, I heard one of the rescuers who uses the handle Cowboy ask about "the woman in the attic on Sassine Street." I immediately pinged in, and Cowboy asked me to call him. He wanted the address again and wanted to know when we had last heard from the lady in the attic. I told him I had no idea because the volunteer who originally took that call had signed off.

Cowboy said he was a few minutes away from Sassine St. and didn't know if he should request another boat with "breaching equipment" or a helicopter. I suggested helicopter, hoping the family had somehow made it to the roof.

The calls for rescue were slowing down but continued to come in at a steady pace. Every 20 to 30 minutes, I'd remind the rescuers that Chester, Shaundra's grandfather, still needed a rescue from 19th Street. And I kept telling Shaundra that they would get there.

Photo: EDMUND D. FOUNTAIN, NYT Flooded cars in a Humble apartment complex parking lot visited by...

She finally said she was just going to get in the car and drive from Beaumont to Port Arthur to get him herself. I told her to be careful and let me know she made it. 20 minutes later she texted me to say that they'd been stopped by flood waters and couldn't get there. She told she was afraid he was going to die.

Around 11:30, I realized I hadn't heard Cowboy on the line with a report about Sassine Street. I asked on the app if we had had any update.

My phone rang. It was Cowboy.

"We got to Sassine. It's confirmed."

"Confirmed?" I frantically asked. "Confirmed what? What does that mean? Does that mean they're dead?"

"Yes. Water past the roof. They never left the attic. We sent divers in."

I thanked him for letting me know and off he went to the next rescue.

Photo: Used By Permission. My texts with Shaundra.

AT 3:02 p.m., I got a text from Shaundra that said "[Mam], I thank you so much. He is on his way to the bowling alley." A few minutes later: "Thank you [mam]. He was on a boat at first now he is on a truck."

I let out a huge sigh of relief. I think I may have actually said "Thank you, God" out loud.

I texted Chad at 5:30 p.m. to see if he was safe. I didn't hear back from him until 7:30 Thursday morning: "We are safe now."

I pinged Goose to ask him if he knew if Margaret, the mother who lost her son and her nephew, and her other kids had been rescued. He said they had.

I have texted Margaret to ask her how she was doing. I still haven't heard from her. I've been scanning reports from Orange to see if her family has been mentioned. I need to know the names of the two boys who died.

At 6 p.m. Wednesday, I closed my laptop. I'd been awake 34 hours and wasn't even tired. I was emotionally drained, but there was no way I could've slept right then. I thought back on the last day and half and couldn't believe what I had just heard and experienced.

Even as I type this, it seems surreal. I don't know how police officers and firefighters and 911 dispatchers and EMTs do this every day.

What I do know: I am grateful beyond measure that they do it.

And thank God for the Cajun Navy. How many more people would be dead today if not for our first responders and the thousands of volunteers here? What if a flood of this magnitude had happened 20 years ago, before cell phones and social media? The deaths would be in the hundreds.

I saw a meme on Facebook today that said, "Someone needs to erect a statue honoring the regular dude with a bass boat." It was meant to be funny, but it's actually spot-on.

On Thursday, I got another text from Shaundra. It was a picture of her and her grandfather. I sent a selfie back to her and told her I was going to find a way to meet them in person someday. I really hope I get to do that.

Photo: Used By Permission On Thursday, Shaundra texted me this photo of her and her...

Holly Hartman has been a teacher for 22 years. She currently teaches journalism and is the yearbook and newspaper adviser at Memorial High School in Spring Branch ISD. This story originally appeared as a post on her Facebook page.

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