The 20 percent solution

I live in the Uptown bubble, the Sliver by the River, whatever one calls those life-goes-on islands in the still sea around us. And I have some advice for the one-fifth of the population that makes up the great unwashed-away: You need to get out more. As in, take the disaster tour regularly -- but not with a carload of pie-eyed first-timers. By yourself.

This mobile shock therapy (solidly based on the familiar dictum "the only way out is through") entails a lot of driving, of course, heading north and east, especially east, past the vast plains of ripped-up neighborhoods that seem to roll out forever but that the eye correctly processes as only the tiniest corner of the terrible scene.

It is not unusual for shock to be accompanied by the occasional burst of hope: In eastern New Orleans, it might be a team of gutters tackling one of the hundreds of houses with blown-out windows, shreds of curtains streaming out in the hot wind. In the Lower 9th Ward, there's a crew working a field of nothing but concrete pillars from the houses washed away, the perfectly spaced white blocks making it look like a graveyard.

The groups you see are made up mainly of young visitors from somewhere else, their T-shirts saying Ohio, California, Michigan.

You might ask yourself why this is, why it seems like not a whole lot of locals are flocking to the ruins. Yes, there are all the incredible church and synagogue and neighborhood groups, the big nonprofits that have been breathtakingly generous. A prime example: Youth Rebuilding New Orleans, a consortium of local high school students who've mucked out houses since last fall, and on Saturday threw a gut-til-you-bust Youth Recovery Day. (They have another day planned for Sept. 23.)

But when you take the tour now, you see there's still a gulf between what we have in manpower and what we need, and you can't help but realize that not enough of us are showing up at hammertime.

Here's one illustration of outsiders doing most of the heavy lifting: My husband signed up to teach Sheetrocking for a charity fixing drowned houses. Only one local person showed up. The others in the group were AmeriCorps kids from all over, each pledging 1,700 hours of Katrina work.

One said he felt "guilty" for not camping out for the duration, instead "taking up a good spot somebody else might need more" at a dorm across the river.

Excuse me?

That's when my mind started with the what-ifs.

What if . . . not just the kids but the grown-ups, all the citizenry that came roaring back last fall to be a part of the rebuilding actually became a part of the rebuilding?

What if . . . all those 40- and 50-somethings who regret to this day not joining the Peace Corps just heeded the spirit now?

What if . . . everybody could realize all at once that tearing out is the foundation of building back, and that the beauty part is, all you have to know how to do is pull (as in still-sodden Sheetrock) and push (as in wheelbarrows)?

What if . . . every local company supported the process with a little money or time?

In fact, what if . . . everybody who was able to do so gave a day to the cause? Wouldn't that Aug. 29 gutting deadline have more than a chance in hell of being met?

And perhaps the biggest question of all: What if . . . everybody could come to the incontrovertibly correct conclusion that the rebuilding of this city will not happen until those of us who live here get more involved?

So it's time, it seems, for more thinking outside the bowl, resisting the native tendency to make things twice as hard as they need be.

You say you really have been wanting to help but don't know who to call? Look at the box with this story. Call these people.

Can't take the gutting, you say? Then paint. Or plumb. Carpet. Wire. Pull weeds. Call people at your kids' school, your church, your best friend; two's a crew.

We at the newspaper know this can work. With many co-workers hard-hit, teams have worked Saturdays since February for people who haven't had the heart or the funds to do it themselves. (At first, we called ourselves Each One Gut One, but that gave way to the inevitable Muckrakers.)

And here's what we learned: If you do this, you will be dirty and sweaty and sore and plumb wore out. The good will and esprit de corps will be palpable, and you will hear people laugh in 95-degree heat. Just about every time, the home's owner, stuck in so many mires for so many months, will tell you he's really glad he's here today.

So just do it.

The only way out of it is through it.

Suzanne Stouse is an assistant editor of the Living section. She can be reached at (504) 826-3445 or at sstouse@timespicayune.com.