Running to rebuild

By MATT MCLEOD Staff Writer

REDLANDS - In the American conscience, New Orleans has alwaysbeen a place of dark magic.

At the heart of the Big Easy, the French Quarter beckons starry-eyed visitors into an adult wonderland hidden behind the fog thatdrifts in off Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Borgne.

It's an appeal bred by streets stuffed to their often-seedy seamswith smoky jazz clubs, tinged with the wafting aroma of the beignetsand caf au laits of Caf du Monde, dotted by vivid shotguncottages, dripping with vice and voodoo.

Like so many others, 24-year-old Kyle Rizzo has long felt themagnetism. He's always been drawn to the Mardi Gras feel of thecity, and to the dingy haunts where Louis Armstrong plied his sultrytrade. He was always enchanted by the strange vibrance of the place.

But it wasn't until last year, whenthe former Redlands HighSchool and University of Redlands pitcher was watching a Spike Leedocumentary chronicling the ongoing plight of Hurricane Katrinavictims when he made up his mind that he simply had to go.

He was struck by the utter chaos left behind in the devastatedLower Ninth Ward as he watched the images flickering on his TVscreen. And of course, there were the statistics he said he saw thatdrew his attention to what he calls the "heartbreaking power" ofwhat had happened and what was continuing not to happen: in 2010,five years after the disaster, 80 percent of the population in thedistrict still had not returned, estimates said 1200-1500 houseswere still not rebuilt.

After doing some research on the Internet, Rizzo found himself ona flight to Louisiana, on his way to work with lowernine.org, a non-profit group dedicated to rebuilding the city's most ravaged area.As he drove to the group's headquarters four miles east of theFrench Quarter, Rizzo was struck by the great sadness that lingersin places were the loss of human life is palpable.

"It was all too quiet," Rizzo remembers of his first impression."In a place like that, there's too much history for a situation likethat to continue."

When he arrived at lowernine.org central he could hardly believehis eyes. The bungalow was stuffed full of bunk beds that couldaccommodate over 20 workers. He made fast friends with the quirkybrigade of volunteers that had flooded its rooms from all over theglobe.

There was Kath, an Australian world traveler who made a stop inNew Orleans on her way to Canada to start a new job after a stintdoing volunteer work with animals on the East Coast.

And there was Magnus, the friendly German architect who was aconstant well of enthusiasm from which anyone could draw from.

Then there were those unfortunate souls that he helped, people hecouldn't forget if he tried. People like Dwayne.

When seemingly everyone else had cleared the area, Dwayne hadstubbornly stuck it out. His house was ripped apart, but he wasdetermined to rebuild. With that aim, he developed a kind ofpractical kleptomania, collecting every scrap of material that mightpossibly help him in his quest.

"His yard looked like a dumpster, there was scrap metal, wood,fences, doors, anything you can imagine," Rizzo said.

In the week that Rizzo was scheduled to volunteer, he and acraftsman named Tim got to work, first erecting a fence aroundDwayne's yard, then convincing him to let the workers clear out themajority of the debris in order to landscape the lot.

Rizzo planted flowers and shrubs, built a back patio and toredown hazardous drywall on the property, much to the delight ofDwayne.

"It was hilarious, (every time he came by to check on theprogress) he would just start running around and screaming," Rizzosaid. "He would keep screaming and screaming, really overreactingover how great everything looked."

Overkill, sure, but Dwayne had a reason to be excited: theorganization was providing a service vital to a community on lifesupport.

According to lowernine.org development director Laura Paul, theworking-class neighborhood was long the city's backbone. The ward,whose population was 98 percent black in 2005 and nearly 70 percentof whose residents were living below the poverty line, waseviscerated by the disaster.

Speaking from her office in New Orleans, Paul said the damagewould be tragic in any community, but to see the area literally sinkwas too much.

"This is not a slum, this is not a ghetto," Paul said. "This is aworking-class community full of good people who get up every morningand go to work."

Due to its position on the Gulf Coast, Paul said, the economy ofNew Orleans affects all of America - something she said peoplearound the country fail to realize.

"Because of where we're located, the nation relies on us toprovide most of its fuel, we have the largest port in America and wehave a massive fishing industry," Paul said. "When things likeKatrina, and the soil erosion in the Gulf and the oil spill happen,it's not just the people that live here that lose out, it's everyonein the United States."

That's exactly why lowernine.org stepped in. Founded in 2007,with support from the local United Way, the group providescompletely free labor for residents or former residents who want torepair their homes.

The cause has drawn legions of volunteers, who are all inevitablydrawn to the selfless concept and why Rizzo found himself dodgingthe ancient street cars on Canal Street.But it wasn't until monthsafterward, thousands of miles away in the shadow of the Golden GateBridge that he knew just how much he missed the jovial, double-fisted circus that is NOLA.

Sitting on a bus stuck in San Francisco traffic, Rizzo couldn'thelp but overhear a spirited conversation between a raucous group ofNew Orleans residents.

"I was sitting there and these people kept getting on and bumpinginto each other and saying, 'Oh, you're from New Orleans? Us too,"'Rizzo said. "They were having a great time. In the middle of theday, leave it to them to turn the bus into a New Orleans party."

But with his stint now behind him, something still botheredRizzo. Months after helping a group of strangers 1,800 miles away,Rizzo felt like he needed to do more. He just didn't know what. Alifelong athlete, it was during one of his long training runs forthe upcoming Pasadena Marathon that he had an epiphany: why notblend his passions?

Rizzo had decided awhile back that the grueling physicalchallenge was one he wanted to undertake, but realizing he wouldhave to train longer and longer, he was having trouble maintainingthe motivation it would inevitably take to push himself for the 26.2exhausting miles the course would demand.

His brainchild - using the race as a fundraiser. With the help oflowernine.org, Rizzo is now touting his marathon run as a charityopportunity. He's asking people to donate $26.20, or a dollar permile, which will go to help rebuild the Lower Ninth.

His scheme is making a splash.

Through a viral campaign, Rizzo has amassed over $1,000, a numberwhich will inevitably spike as May 15, the start date of themarathon, approaches. And, while many locals won't be keen to shellout the full donation, Rizzo is more than happy to get any amount hecan send east.

And while he'll pace a lovely course that snakes through the lushgardens and rustic landmarks of Old Pasadena, the exhausting runwill be no cakewalk for Rizzo, who's never run anything close to amarathon.

"I'm not going to kid myself," Rizzo said of his challenge. "Thisis not going to be easy."

As anyone who lived in the lower ninth in 2005 can tell you, lifealmost never is.

But every so often, once in a great while, there just might be ahappy ending hiding around the bend.