A talk with Brian Giles
By Jason Wilkins
Brian Giles is familiar to many Portlanders for his standup comedy, his acting in a host of stage shows, and especially his off-the-handle performances with local improv troupe The Escapists. Considerably fewer people know Giles holds a degree in geography and anthropology from the University of Southern Maine, and that he did archaeological work in New Orleans before the great flood. He recently returned to the Big Easy to try to help salvage what he can of the drowned city’s history. Giles spoke with us from there via e-mail.
The Bollard: When and why did you first go to New Orleans?
Giles: Through a contact at USM – actually, a professor named Dr. Dave Davis, whom I drank far too much rum in the Caribbean with – I acquired a job for Earth Search, Incorporated as a staff archaeologist. I arrived here in early April of 2004. It was just after Mardi Gras and just before Jazz Fest. Time is metered in New Orleans by festivals; distance is measured by proximity to bars.
What struck you most about the place?
New Orleans is like jazz and poetry personified. In that I mean it doesn’t always make sense, it isn’t always pretty, but somehow it always manages to be beautiful and captivating.
I realize that being here allows me to let go of any sense of control; you understand quickly that you have none. The crime, the weather, the politicians (which are exceptionally crooked here; as a matter of fact, a few years ago, in 1991, when David Duke, the Grand Wizard of the KKK, was running against a known crook named Edwin Edwards in the governor’s race, there was a slogan: ‘Vote for the crook, it’s important’). Even the police are all out of control. It allows you to let go of any petty issues you might hold and simply live in the moment.
Outside of the attitude, the architecture is the most impressive thing. The cultural layers of this place are evident in the Italianate, Tudor, Spanish, French, Creole, and other styles of architecture that are present around every corner.
Did you sense that the people in New Orleans lived in fear of flooding?
I recall in the first few months here before Katrina … there was talk of ‘the big one’ that would come and wipe out this entire city. There were whispers about the body bags on the upper level of the Corps of Engineers building. After all, this entire city is much like a fish bowl beneath sea level. I think the highest altitude here in the city is eight feet. How could you deny the danger of living in such a place?
There was no fear; rather, an embracing of life. Hell, most people here refused to evacuate. Some threw parties when the hurricane was predicted. Like I said before, people here know that you cannot control anything, so why bother getting worked up about it?
What kind of work are you doing down there?
I am a staff archaeologist. I think what my firm does is really more important than what I do. My firm is partially responsible for the environmental testing of soils to determine if they are adequate to use in levee repair and future engineering. This firm also is partially responsible for the survey of the buildings all over the city, to make sure they are recorded for posterity and to see if they are in adequate shape to be saved. We dig up people’s old garbage to make sure that the not-so-important, day-to-day lives of people in history and prehistory are not forgotten.
What I do when I am here in the office at Earth Search is try to make people laugh as much as possible and try to avoid any tasks that I can. When I am in the field, I still try to make people laugh, but I also cut through the dense southern jungle with a machete. I dig holes fifty centimeters deep and thirty-to-fifty centimeters wide, and spy alligators, poisonous snakes and other beautiful, fascinating southern wildlife.
The swamps here are incredible. When a flock of egrets with slightly pink-stained wings take off over the cypress, and then you look down to notice a ten-foot gator and three water moccasins about four feet apiece sunning themselves, I know I am a long way from home. There are rodents of unusual size, called Nutria, that will sometimes speed out of the way of the airboats in the swamp. [They] make me think I am Westley from The Princess Bride. I have a love for the swamps here that I cannot explain.
Did you follow the coverage of Katrina while you were back in Maine?
I did follow it very closely. It really broke my heart. I cried a lot in the initial days of the aftermath, and I recently sobbed for at least about an hour when I watched the Spike Lee film When the Levees Broke.
I met so many good people here. It is terrifying to imagine people you love trapped in water, on rooftops, in attics, in cars for hours while the water rises. Fires were burning, chemicals were mixing with the floodwater, bodies were floating by, and I was terrified something would happen to my buddies at Earth Search, Inc. They had shown me what it means to love New Orleans. I could not help any of them or their homes, which were destroyed by water or mold in the aftermath of the storm.
On a tangent, I have to comment, though: The media lies, misconstrues, and forgets.
Recently I had the pleasure of working with a bunch of guys from the Ninth Ward… At first glance, these are not the kind of dudes I would normally be able to approach. This one guy, Melvin, has a $10,000 grill. His smile has more diamonds and gold than I have ever seen. They roll on 24-inch chrome rims in pimped-up Impalas and Mustangs. The great thing was that I got to hear their stories from the storm. They were the people in the convention center, at the Superdome, transplanted to Dallas, Houston, D.C….
This one cat out there named Gregg told me that he and twenty-two other people were abandoned after the storm. They were surrounded by twenty-three feet of water, on top of the highest building around, and struggling to maintain their sanity. It gets hot here. Mainers do not know heat like people here do not know cold. They spent their days out on the roof, which has black asphalt shingles in the baking sun. At night, inside the attic, the temperature was probably around 130 degrees.
Gregg said he could see a lady and her baby about a thousand feet away and they tried to throw her some of the only water they had, but it was too far. No one could swim. After three days and nights of trying to signal helicopters flying overhead with flashlights and waving t-shirts, they decided that if they shot into the air, the copter might notice them. Gregg said they felt invisible.
Instead of flying down to them, the helicopter shot back. All twenty-two had to crawl back into the attic. There they waited for the rescue crews to come back.
From there, they were shipped all over the country. They were not welcomed with open arms. They were and still are resented for their plight. A rival Dallas gang shot Gregg’s cousin in Dallas in the months that followed the storm.
I guess the point is the media has forgotten these people, for the most part.
