floods and kept out so the government could tear the whole thing down. This resulted in angry protest and controversy because although the government committed to rebuilding the area, they were reducing the number of units by roughly sixty percent. Many of Magnolia’s residents were relocated outside New Orleans after Katrina and many haven’t come back. Some believe this was by design.
Shittin stretched into the night as he walked toward the truck in his odd gangly gait. So tall, so thin, his black antennae arms disappeared into the dark sky. Slaw smiled and shook his head. Shittin had a beautiful soul. He sure was an ugly motherfucker, disproportioned in every conceivable way, but a heart of gold and full of optimism. He relied on Slaw for anything that needed critical thought for more than thirty seconds and he was as loyal as a bull mastiff, but he was a bundle sometimes. Shittin gets excited easily and is often carried away by his exuberance. Many times Slaw has defended his friend’s dramatics by throwing punches. He would not stand for anyone picking on Shittin and he learned quite a few motherfuckers through the years. It wasn’t stupidity that attracted derisive attention although Shittin was not particularly bright, but rather his unusualness. In almost every way, from appearance to manner of speaking, Shittin was different. His frenetic habits and trusting nature made him an easy target for human cruelty, and none existed more apt to pick on the odd than the kids he grew up with in the Nolia. After a while though, they got the message. Slaw culled respect one hammer blow after another and eventually the neighborhood understood that fucking with Shittin was fucking with Slaw and it wasn’t worth the trouble. It has been like this for fifteen years and Slaw figured they were tied together no matter what. He didn’t mind, in fact he never even considered that it could be any other way. Girls admired how Slaw looked after Shittin. Their motherly natures approved of his protectiveness and he scored plenty of points over the years in this regard. But this was just a perk, albeit a damn good one, but not the reason for his fierce commitment to Shittin.
And the word that simplifies his reason is rarely acknowledged by men for men even for blood but it is the reason none the less and the reason is love. Not intimate love, but profound in other ways. Slaw loved Shittin for his simplicity, his capacity to see goodness and to dismiss the bad; for his trusting nature so doe-like and innocent and his wild imagination that took him to happy places even in the worst of circumstances. Slaw loved his friend because of his unusualness, the rarest of qualities, being human.
This did not impede living mind you. They had bad days as everyone does and Shittin’s incredible imagination had a hair trigger which could go from zero to a hundred in a blink and he often he got himself all spun up and had to be brought back. And sometimes bringing him back required physical measures, but when he was happy and comfortable Shittin was refreshing and inspiring and a joy to be around.
“What you mean Slaw?” Shittin asked, turning around abruptly. “What you mean Sheila aint my girl?”
He had that stupid grin on his face. His jutting oversized jaw opened slightly, his oblong head and cauliflower ears big enough to shade a school bus blocked the street lamp just beyond the truck.
“Shittin, just get in the truck and shut the fuck up.” Slaw said.
Recognizing Slaw’s tone that meant he meant nothing by it, but shut the fuck anyway, Shittin now empowered pushed.
“Come on Slaw, you know Sheila’s my girl and she is mine!”
Completely oblivious to the redundant shit he just said Shittin cocked his head in the other direction placing his stork-leg arms on his bony hips. So comical, so natural, that Slaw couldn’t help but laugh.
“You know I kissed my girl Slaw, I kissed her face all up, my girl.”
“Sure you did Shittin. Sheila is a fine girl, great ass on that one.” Slaw said humoring him.
“Yes Sah! Yes Sah!” Shittin erupted gesticulating like a Zulu warrior. “Yes Sah!”
He bounded into the truck almost hitting his head in all the excitement. Slaw shook his head laughing heartily, he pulled the truck out and they sputtered down the street. Shittin was smiling ear to ear convinced that Sheila was his woman. Fantasy he knew, and in another part of him which he hid very well he knew that she most definitely was not. And he also knew that Slaw would remind him as needed, but when given the go-ahead to explore he took off and she was his and he was exquisitely happy … they were in a big house him and his girl with a bunch of little Shittins running around. Then they were on spotted horses bounding down a curving meadow, a whole pack of Shittins and Sheilas and the wind was sweet and the grass long and the hoofs beat the earth like tom-toms. Then they were in bed, him and her, them alone, and they were bumping ... that other part of him knew he could only be like this around Slaw, he knew he reminded himself and he nodded at the windshield.
Slaw let him fantasize. Seeing Shittin in this mood made him happy and they did well that day so he was already happy. Three hundred and twenty pounds of bright “candy” at $3.60 a pound, eight “meatballs” at $6 apiece and sixty pounds of “honey” that cashed for $300 flat. A good haul, all told $1500. The honey was a rare bonus, most of the homes they hit didn’t have copper flashing but that one did and it was easy to remove. They averaged $800 - $1100 a day and even after seven months in and competition tight, hundreds of massacred houses sat in broken heaps and brackish water throughout Saint Bernard Parish waiting their turn to be pillaged. They were storm vultures, an illegal salvage team that swooped into abandoned properties and picked them clean. Not invited of course but so what, only armed resistance could stop them. Slaw and Shittin started their business two weeks into the aftermath and established themselves as copper pulling experts. They developed techniques and methods that cut down on time and effort. They didn’t skimp on tools, items like acetylene torches and pneumatic cutters gave them the edge on speed and precision. They even had a generator and compressors in the back of their truck with over 600 feet of hose. Other crews were not as sophisticated often resorting to little more than hand saws and grunt effort. They came across many houses that were hit already, but so much was left by the previous vultures that it was worth the time to rip into it. They could strip a place bare in under two hours. Slaw called it “deveining.” They initially focused on bright only but graduated through experience to all types of copper: wire bundles in electric motors, flashings and gutters, and copper coils inside air conditioners, especially central air units. Most of the homes in Saint Bernard had central AC and these units generally had a ten to twenty pound bundle of copper wire.
They hit three to four homes a day and sometimes worked a spot while other crews were still in it. This sometimes resulted in confrontations and a few violent altercations for thieves have a strange way of claiming propriety over other people’s stuff. But Slaw was quick to pull his semi-auto and end those conflicts with waving threats and body language. He hasn’t pulled the trigger yet but would if needed. Enemies were formed as the months went by and they did their best to avoid certain crews, but they would not hesitate to hit a place if they knew copper was still in it. Public outcry was also starting to shift from the slow reaction and even slower assistance of government, to the reality of the overall disaster, to these scavenging predators blatantly stealing from the victims. Homeowners were fed up and relying on their own means of security, many choosing to return to their properties to protect what was left. A few times they were in the middle of a rip when the owners suddenly showed up. Obviously getting out was dicey and required some serious waving but they haven’t yet met a property owner so determined to prevent them from leaving.
Shittin never questioned Slaw on the money. He knew Slaw was square and he always saw the money go into the box in even stacks, brown rubber bands for Slaw and red rubber bands for him. He understood what overhead was and knew he paid half the cost for gas, food and lodging. He was a partner through and through and he was very proud of his position even though he knew Slaw ran the show. He was happy they were staying in a motel. Sinc
e Slaw declared their new business venture they’ve been able to stay in motels paying cash every week. This was their third place and comfortable enough for him. A few days after the storm surge while most of his generation was out looting, authorities entered the Nolia and declared it uninhabitable.
He along with everyone else still living in the project were hustled into a shelter north of town where cops were conspicuously stationed at the corners. It was temporary with most residents moving in with distant family or relocating to Texas but being herded and then guarded was unsettling. Fortunately, Slaw wasn’t having it and they bounced the very next day and it’s been good ever since.
Magnolia was fucked well before Katrina hit, on the skids since the mid 1990’s they were already tearing buildings down while many others were abandoned and waiting demolition. But the abrupt end to his neighborhood made him sad and melancholy for it was his world since birth. He was born in the “Flint” on Louisiana Avenue, went to Lafon on Seventh with Slaw, Sheila and the rest of the kids in the projects and grew up watching and listening to the chaotic ways of life in a