There were mountains of sludge. When I left Louisiana in mid-October, the total cubic yards of sludge in the New Orleans area was approaching seven million.

And the sludge wasn't just mud. It included all kinds of debris: jagged pieces of metal, sodden clothes, garbage, chunks of asphalt and dry wall. Not to mention toxic chemicals.

I've worked with the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) since it was established in 1979. For the past eleven years, I've been a disaster assistance employee in FEMA's Region I, which is headquartered in Boston. When calamity strikes in the United States, I could get the call to go.

About two weeks after Hurricane Katrina battered the Gulf Coast, I was asked to report to the FEMA Joint Field Office (JFO) that opened in Baton Rouge.

That city had doubled in population. Thousands of evacuees were living in shelters, hotels, motels, cabins, trailers, college dorms, and private homes. Many were sleeping fifteen or more to a room in the larger hotels and motels.

The only lodging for emergency responders like me was at either the JFO warehouse or a tent city. At the suggestion of a FEMA associate, I was able to get a room at a bed-and-breakfast an hour away from the JFO.

In the beginning, our standard workweek was twelve hours a day, seven days a week. I was assigned to the JFO's planning section to help the federal and volunteer agencies generate accurate and timely reports. This information gave a daily picture of the progress being made in response to Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, and pointed the way to necessary decisions and actions.

I also helped establish one of the first Disaster Recovery Centers (DRCs), in the city of Covington, which is located opposite New Orleans on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain. A DRC is a temporary facility where representatives of federal agencies, local and state governments, and voluntary relief organizations gather under one roof to help those in need. By the time I left Louisiana, thirty-five DRCs had opened, and that number would climb as sections of New Orleans and southwest Louisiana became safe and operational.

To get to New Orleans from Baton Rouge, you head south down Route 10. When I made the trip, I was struck not only by the obvious damage caused by the hurricanes but also by the sea of blue roofs. These were the houses that had roof damage. As a temporary fix, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had applied blue plastic sheeting to prevent additional damage from rain.

Traveling in New Orleans at the time was highly restricted, especially in the decimated wards and parishes. You needed authorization to be there, and medical and safety concerns were uppermost in everyone's mind.

Outside New Orleans, you'd see furniture and personal belongings littering the northbound side of the highway. When people were given permission to return to their homes or businesses for a few hours, they'd try to bring out as many of their possessions as they could. You'd see cars and trucks so loaded down they looked as though they had driven out of the pages of The Grapes of Wrath. Clearly, not all of what they carried stayed firmly secured.

I became friendly with two families I met at the bed-and-breakfast. Both had escaped from the New Orleans flooding and were waiting until it was safe (and legal) to return. When they were finally authorized to go back, one family found both their business and home obliterated; there was empty space where the structures had been. Two small hotels owned by the other family were salvageable, but only if major repairs were made.

These couples were middle-aged people who had worked hard all their lives to build what they had. Now everything, or almost everything, had been wiped away in a matter of hours.

I think about all the other people who will return to the devastated areas. What will they do when they find everything caked with mold and sludge or completely destroyed, their businesses, schools, and community no longer what they used to be?

The good work going on all around me definitely helped brighten my time in Louisiana. People came from around the nation to help with the relief effort—temporary FEMA employees, military personnel, and many volunteers. Young people, in particular, brought enormous energy to the work. Students from many universities came—including, I'm proud to note, a number from Northeastern. The people of Louisiana seemed to genuinely appreciate the dedication and work of the thousands of FEMA, military, and volunteer responders.

As the weeks passed, I was especially pleased when FEMA started hiring local Louisianans to handle the relief and rebuilding efforts. Thousands of local residents applied for employment with the agency.

Before I left, I trained one of them to take my place.