By Vicki Miller

Many stories have been written about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. But nothing chills the soul more than a first hand account of a night spent facing the storm headon. Such was the tale relayed by Mississippi Gulf Coast Coliseum’s Executive Director, Bill Holmes.

Holmes had planned to stay in the facility, which was designated a shelter of last resort. He had ridden out other hurricanes inside the venue, and felt confident in its safety. Fifty other people had made the same choice. Some had pets (not allowed in most shelters and hotels), three were facility employees, some were experienced storm chasers, others were people that simply had nowhere else to go. Even the Weather Channel’s Jim Cantore chose to report from the Coliseum, which is located directly north of the Biloxi Beach.

The Gulf of Mexico rushes in the Mississippi Gulf Coast Coliseum after Katrina blows in the arena doors.

As the storm barreled its way ashore, Holmes described what their group experienced as a “fullfledged attack on the building by tanks.” They huddled together after taking refuge at the north end of the second level of the 11,500- seat arena, voting as a group not to attempt an escape to another shelter. Sharing water, food and watching a battery-operated television, Holmes and three staff members kept communications with the Mississippi Civil Defense Department. But soon, the television station went off the air, and the last call to the Civil Defense told him that the eye of the hurricane had come ashore only a few miles away. They were alone, isolated and facing the fury of one of the most powerful storms ever to hit the United States.

As the hours passed, it seemed that the howling winds, likened to the sound of a freight train, would never subside. The daylight dimmed to a milky grey as the pounding rain, driven by 150 mph winds, made it impossible to see beyond a few feet. Loading doors rattled and blew in with an explosive force. Windows shattered and entire banks of doors blew out. And just as it seemed things couldn’t get much worse, in came Katrina’s record-breaking storm surge, pushing unidentified debris, vehicles, trees, and even a 35 foot pleasure boat into the Coliseum’s arena and surrounding parking lot. The lower level of the arena flooded with 51 inches of water, destroying everything the wind hadn’t managed to demolish. Administrative offices and the entire bottom floor turned into a collection of twisted metal and mud soaked debris.

When the winds finally subsided enough to allow the group to venture outside, the scene
that unfolded to them defied description. The storm’s powerful winds had pushed an entire casino barge across the venue’s 30 foot marquee, leveling several of their massive oak trees, then plowing it over a brick gate house, finally dropping it on top of the hotel next door. Two boxcars full of slot machines followed, coming to rest in the venue’s parking lot.

Inside the Arena after debris removal.

“When we came out and saw the community that we knew most of our lives, the beautiful homes on the beach, there was nothing left…nothing,” Holmes recalled as his reaction to the massive devastation.

He then inspected the connecting convention center, which had been set up for a meeting of 3,000 members of the Mississippi Municipal League, scheduled to take place Monday. Wading through 31/2 feet of water, he dodged giant sea nettles floating around the banquet tables. Everything was covered in thick, black mud. Wallpaper was shredded. The atrium glass frames were twisted like pretzels. Half the glass windows were completely gone.

The small group of survivors had only a half-gallon of drinking water left between them, and no word of any help coming. Then, on the afternoon of the second day, rescue teams from Florida arrived with food, water, search dogs and heavy equipment. A water well was restored, allowing everyone to take showers. Communication was partially restored by installing repeaters on the roof. What was left of the arena’s basketball flooring was fashioned into a foundation for a mess tent, feeding the 600 Florida Search & Rescue troops.

Inside the Convention Center.

In the days that followed, help arrived in numbers from the Canadian Navy, the Indiana State Police, The Mississippi National Guard, Navy men and women from Norfolk, Virginia, even Clear Channel Entertainment sent a sweep operator to help clear the parking lots. Clarke’s District Sales Manager, Ray Callihan, generously offered the unlimited use of a 28” walk-behind scrubber. Upon its arrival, Callihan informed grateful coliseum officials that it was a gift from Clarke.

Because of its central location, the venue became one of the coast’s POD’s (Points of Distribution). Thousands of gallons of drinking water, truckloads of ice and cases of MRE’s (meals ready to eat) were distributed daily to anyone who could travel to the venue.

Today, it is still the largest distribution point of free clothing, food and cleaning supplies in the south Mississippi region. Today, officials at the Mississippi Coast Coliseum face the challenge of cleanup, damage evaluation, business cancellations, and future plans. Only a few weeks prior to Katrina, the same officials were planning a $68 million expansion of the existing convention center and a complete renovation of the arena. Architectural drawings were nearly complete. New seating was ordered. Business was already being booked in the new, larger convention center. A two-percent hotel tax had been approved to support the expansion, and an additional 7,000 hotel rooms were poised to open, adding to the Gulf Coast’s inventory of 18,000. Things looked bright for the booming tourism industry there.

Remains of Hwy. 90 marquee and historic oak trees in the foreground. In the background, the casino that bulldozed it down, then landed on a nearby hotel.

Despite everything, Holmes estimates that the facility will be back in operation within a few months. The first 30 dumpster loads of equipment, debris and records have been hauled away. The operation’s massive 27-year file of records has been recovered, thanks to computer wizardry. The skeleton crew of dedicated staff members spends their days in a small double-wide trailer behind the facility, rebuilding files, restoring services and connecting with customers. Engineers are piecing the electrical systems back together, with the precision of a delicate surgery.

“Every day gets better,” says Holmes. “We started recovery with only two flathead shovels, a wheelbarrow and my Franklin Planner. We’ve got a shell. We’ve got a spirit. And we’re coming back.”


Vicki Miller is special events marketing coordinator of the Mississippi Gulf Coast Coliseum. She originally submitted this article in October.