Louisiana
Homeless in Louisiana
Avacant brick complex stands for sale today at 1200 Mirabeau Street in New Orleans.
Fled by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Medaille when Hurricane Katrina’s surge waters barreled into the city in 2005, its demise came quickly. National Guardsmen caught looters in it, and then a fire sparked by lightning squashed the sisters’ hope of ever returning here.
One of the first to see the convent post-Katrina was Sister Anne Meridier, SJC, who describes driving in on the interstate and hitting a point where “the trees were bare and there were no animals. No birds…a dead silence. Everything past the 17th Avenue Canal was covered in gray.”
This New Orleans native, who spent most of her 50 years in religious life here, donned a mask and protective body suit. She and several other sisters gleaned remnants of their former life, tossing moldy belongings from the 62-bedroom complex into the street.
This had been home to more than 40 Sisters of St. Joseph and about 130 aged sisters from other congregations.
Scattered across miles
Today the sisters — some in their 90s — are displaced as far as Wichita, Kansas. The human losses are greater than the many possessions lost. One sister died as a direct result of the rigors and stress of coping with the moves. Others, who needed an assisted living setting, have fallen and broken hips and other bones.
For example, Sister William Matthews, who was evacuated in a wheelchair at the time of Katrina, has fallen twice in the bathroom and once out of bed because her temporary home was not handicapped-accessible.
The nuns even lost a beloved pet, “Sweetie,” who traveled with Sister William from New Orleans. The mixed-breed dog was adopted by a family when the nuns had nowhere for it to stay, but it was euthanized after it started biting people.
About 14 active members of the St. Joseph Sisters are trying to
continue their ministries in New Orleans, which include an Adult Learning Center that provides GED literacy and computer training for poor residents who have returned to the city.
But they need help from Catholic Extension to build a new assisted care home for their retired members in Baton Rouge, a safe distance inland from future storms.
After so many decades of living and working among the poor, these sisters have “seen a lot of trials and they know how to take them,” says Sister Anne.
They are weathering their exile with grace and faith — and praying that they might be able to continue their presence in Louisiana.
What follows are the stories of two of these displaced sisters — and a way that Catholic Extension donors can help reunite them in a new home.
Asked what she lost in Hurricane Katrina, Sister Louise Noemi Bernos says “Everything — family souvenirs, photos…the profession crucifix I received when I made final vows.” She lost clothes, shoes and didn’t even bring a coat to Baton Rouge.
Born and raised in New Orleans, Sister Louise Noemi was schooled by Sisters of St. Joseph from age 5, except for periods during adolescence when she attended public school. After joining the order in 1932, she taught with the sisters in New Orleans, New Roads and Baton Rouge, La.
She had always wanted to be a teacher and had a special gift of connecting well with all levels of students.
She remembers one 8th-grade student named Jack, who was always annoying others and disturbing the classes. Sister prayed about the situation, then kept Jack in one recess.
“I asked him to turn around, take a good look at the large crucifix on the wall, and consider that his behavior had a part in contributing to this great suffering of Jesus,” recalls Sister Louise Noemi.
The boy stood quietly reflecting for a moment and then meekly apologized. “He changed for the better immediately,” marvels Sister. “With God's help he became an excellent student and, at the end of the year, was unanimously voted by his peers to be the ‘Most Outstanding Student.’”
During his high school days, Jack often returned to visit his
former school, and he “always showed the same faithful spirit,” Sister recalls.
Beans and rice
That student’s conversion was just a highlight of more than half a century of Sister Louise Noemi’s years as a teacher and principal.
She also instructed her congregation’s young novices, and later in “retirement” taught English as a Second Language, helped care for her elderly mother and brothers, and volunteered at a soup kitchen, preparing and serving red beans, rice and sausages.
When Hurricane Katrina threatened, Sister Louise Noemi evacuated by car to St. Joseph Academy in Baton Rouge. Today she is grateful that the Sisters of St. Joseph in Wichita opened their homes to her and other sisters who needed emergency shelter.
However, it’s been hard to be away from the place she loved so dearly. “Oh, it’s so far from home,” says the 96-year-old sister, “so far from friends and relatives.
“People in Louisiana asked, ‘Why are you going to Kansas? That place is full of tornadoes. It’s cold — and you already have three sweaters on!’” It’s a hard question for Sister to answer.
When people struggle to pronounce Sister Jane Aucoin’s French surname, the 82-year-old suggests, “Say it like ‘Oh’ and then quack like a duck!”
Her favorite prayer has been offered by St. Joseph Sisters since 1650: “I offer myself to Thee without reserve, my Lord Jesus!” Sister Jane has been striving to do this from the time she boarded at St. Joseph Academy in Baton Rouge at age 10.
Entering the Sisters of St. Joseph of Medaille in 1944 at age 18, Sister Jane taught her first class with 55 5-year-olds.
“I had no [teacher’s] aide, but they were easy to manage,” she recalls. “It was a time of austerity. These kids were born during the war. They didn’t have a lot of distractions or a lot to entertain them. They just had school, and to them it was fun.”
Sister Jane taught or served as principal at Catholic schools in New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Grand Coteau. Parish work then took her to missions in Metairie, La., and San Antonio, Texas. Back in Baton Rouge in 1990, she served at the St. Paul Adult Learning Center before becoming her congregation’s archivist and moving into the residence on Mirabeau Street.
Two days before Katrina hit, Sister Jane still planned to ride it out. She invited a neighbor woman bedridden with muscular dystrophy to come with her husband to the convent for shelter.
The next day, however, Sister awoke to noise in the hallway and was told everyone was leaving. Her neighbor insisted that Sister Jane go. “Sister, I’ve already outlived all expectations,” the woman told her. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Talk about stamina and courage,” marvels Sister Jane, who had taught the woman at St. Frances Cabrini School in New Orleans in 1953. The couple weathered out Katrina in a hotel room with a mattress against the window. After the couple resettled in Baton Rouge, Sister Jane arranged for someone to regularly bring the woman Holy Communion.
Living in isolation
In spite of her own discomforts, Sister pushed herself after the storm, helping Catholic Charities interview hurricane survivors.
After about six weeks of waiting for floodwaters to subside, Sister Jane traveled thrice weekly to New Orleans to label and pack the congregation’s archives. It took four weeks of 12-hour days before the papers could be moved by a semi and another truck to new offices the congregation rented in Baton Rouge.
Next Sister struggled to find a home. She tried to get an apartment with other sisters, but failed as rents soared sky-high after Katrina. She finally located a humble HUD-subsidized apartment for herself in Baton Rouge.
Many her age seek assisted living arrangements, but with her motherhouse in New Orleans gone, Sister Jane is on her own.
“My apartment is now my hermitage,” she says. “This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever lived alone. I now realize what widows and widowers go through.”
Sister’s schedule sounds grueling for someone half her age. An hour-and-a-half commute by bus and a four- to five-block walk takes her to her work with the archives. She hitches a ride home with a friend and manages groceries and chores by living simply.
“I look forward to the day I can move back and share community life,” says Sister Jane longingly of a time she knows is coming soon.
“When I heard there might be a chance that a residence for sisters would be built, I rejoiced. I hope to live long enough to see it!”