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4:58 a.m. - Monday, Jan. 09, 2006
MsLeslie & Biloxi know roofs
I don�t think I can write about the devastation that once was beachfront Biloxi yet. At any rate, there�s not much to write. Once it was there, now it�s gone. The town I�ve truly come to love now lays sprawled along the gulf coast like a gutted corpse; Her insides carried away by the hungry, vigilant crows. Her sisters, Gulfport, Long Beach, Bay St Louis and Waveland are all the same. Wherever there was water, there are now only the skeletons of dozens of century-old homes, restaurants, souvenir shops and other businesses. In most places, there aren�t even skeletons. There are only bare spots where things used to be, and the remnants of very old live oak trees, struggling to come back to life after a drenching of toxic salt water.

Those of us who are left, and there are many, drive around the edges of town to get from one place to another. Where sections of road, like Highway 90, the aorta of the coast are re-opened, only a few take those routes through the devastation. The rest of us are not yet ready to learn the new landscape.. or to face daily the depressing mess where our city used to be. And when we do drive along highway 90, it reminds one of a funeral procession, as we can�t help driving slowly, studying the damage and grieving the loss of favorite landmarks, churches as well as casinos.

Away from the beach, things are different. Those of us lucky enough to experience only the wind were left with homes heavily damaged but, for the most part, livable. Everyone had different damage, of course, but the one thing we seem all to have in common is that we all lost our roofs. And since there were far too few roofers to come fix our homes, as the days and weeks have passed, most of the homes here have acquired the festive bright blue plastic tarps installed by the Army Corps of Engineers. The tarps are like a huge band-aid that covers our wounds� but also ties us together.

But one of the things I�ve noticed with interest is how, as the Mexican crews have moved among us, nailing shingles in a kind of �shave-and a haircut� rythym that goes deep into the night, we have all become roofing experts.

You can hear the conversations everywhere you go these days. Waiting in line to check out with a week�s groceries, where once housewives talked about the war, or the weather, we now compare prices, contractors, and the merits of architectural shingles as opposed to flat. We know which brands are asphalt impregnated fiberglass and which are merely paper. We know who is using five nails per shingle instead of six, and who is charging $185 per square (100 square feet) and who is charging $225. Ever so slowly, our blue roofs are being replaced by yard signs touting the contractors and in the process, we are becoming a city of roofing consultants.


I�m going to go this week to Scott, LA, to bid on some pickup trucks at another GSA auction. My first outing of this type was last month in Pensacola. There were only about ten trucks there of any interest, and I was quickly outbid on the two or three I tried for. I am a lot more serious about this one though. There are almost forty trucks, any one of which would be acceptable for me. I�ve made a lost of them, along with the top price I would pay. This time, I�ll bid smarter and with greater purpose. I�ve been waiting more than six months now to get a truck. It�s high time.

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