Waveland, Miss. – A gray concrete slab became the center of this coastal town’s recovery effort.
A year later, not much has changed.
Up and down Coleman Avenue, there is nothing but slabs. No city hall, no jewelry stores, no restaurants.
“There’s no permanent anything here,” said Brian Mollere, 51. “This was such a beautiful place. Now all you see are dead pine trees.”
Empty lots are overgrown, debris still strewn across them. A kitchen chair hangs in a tree. Just this month, Mollere bought a mower and cut his grass.
Mollere and his black Chihuahua, Rocky, were swept away with their home and business by a 35-foot surge of water.
Mollere refused to leave, even when authorities pressured him.
He became the point man for the first wave of relief efforts, taking in donations, coordinating with rescue teams and showing displaced residents where to go for help.
Now, nearly a year later, he and Rocky are still here, fielding inquiries about townsfolk, accepting food for the community, directing survivors to distribution centers and advising on grant applications.
“It still affects me when I ride down to the beach. It’s never going to be the same,” he said. “It’s a wake-up call for a lot of people. Everything is changing in the world.”
Mollere lost his livelihood, his home and his history. Most important, he lost his mother to Katrina.
So he stays for her. To rebuild what she worked so hard to create for the family.
Home. Community. Future.
“In the South, home is always home,” he said.
Insurance claims, rebuilding and a new hurricane season all weigh heavily on the man who has become the voice and face of Waveland. Mollere and Rocky became mini-celebrities during the aftermath of the storm. He spoke for the town’s residents, his weary face in newspapers and on television.
Almost every home on the south side of this sleepy little hamlet of 7,000 – pre-Katrina population – is gone. The county, Hancock, lost 4,605 homes; more than 10,500 are damaged.
Mollere and Rocky live in a trailer near the foundation of his home, which was destroyed. He keeps an unmarked urn he found in the rubble, still hoping he might find its family.
Mollere, his mother and Rocky lived across from city hall, above their hardware store and a jewelry shop.
The trauma of Aug. 29, 2005, stays fresh on his mind.
His mother went to his sister’s place in Bay St. Louis, Miss., to ride out the storm. Mollere waited in Waveland.
He watched the wind take out trees and a shed; he saw the water begin to flow up Coleman Avenue. Soon, neighbors’ belongings were floating along as his own home began to creak from the pressure.
“It’s the most horrible sound to hear water going in a house,” he said.
A wall blew out; the floor flapped.
He pushed out the window and called to Rocky as a gust of wind took out the stairwell. They had no choice but to get into the swirling water.
Mollere put Rocky on a Styrofoam lid and began floating in the water, but the dog was quickly blown off by the wind, so Mollere put the dog over his shoulder like a baby.
“I thought, ‘We’re going to slam into a wall,”‘ he said. “I looked around and saw a wall of water coming at us, and then we were slammed into debris. I lost my shoes and my pants.”
Fighting the currents, Mollere managed to grab his pants and his shoes.
“I’m looking up, and I see water above and I was thinking, ‘This is not how I wanted to die,”‘ he said. “I popped up and found a tree limb. We sat in the crotch of a tree; all I could see is water. The highest trees looked like bushes.”
The pair eventually left the safety of the tree limb, about 20 to 30 feet high, and continued to ride the current inland, eventually finding safety on the second floor of a balcony.
“I had my dog, my pants and my shoes. I was naked,” he said. “I was shaking and scared.”
As soon as the water receded later that day, he began walking toward Bay St. Louis in search of his mother and sister.
As he got close, instead of seeing his sister’s house and business, all he could see was debris.
“I knew then my mother had drowned,” he said. “I came back and pitched a tent. It was the most eerie feeling in the world. It was like a bombed planet.”
He found a blue spiral notebook, and people would scribble messages about their survival or their search for missing friends, family and pets. That notebook was the start of Mollere becoming a central figure for relief and recovery.
Soon, tents, food, fresh water and medical supplies were going through him.
“I’ve come a long way from this picture,” he said, holding a photograph taken shortly after the storm. “It’s been tough, real rough.”
Staff writer Elizabeth Aguilera can be reached at 303-954-1372 or eaguilera@denverpost.com.
