Frank

Frank wants out. He didn't ask to come to Omaha. After Katrina, he "just wanted to wait that little water out." Frank lives in a big elderly housing tower way out on the edge of town, and he hardly ever leaves. He doesn't like the residents there--too uptight. (And I'm guessing by his boisterousness, more than a few are cross with him, too.)

I met Frank the last day of my reporting trip in September 2006 during a "relaxation session" held by some local mental health workers for the evacuees. He was the only evacuee who showed up. It was me, three young ladies from Reaching Out Nebraska, Sister Pat Ferrell, and Frank. In the 1980s, Sister Pat counseled torture victims in El Salvador, so she was ready for the evacuees' trauma. We did body exercises and gave each other massages. I wish I had recorded the session, because Frank broke everybody up every couple of minutes with some sort of puerile joke or persnickety aside. He didn't need help, thank you very much. He has the Lord.

But by the end of the day, Frank was very friendly with the ladies and excited by their proposed trip to the zoo.

When I saw Frank this time, he wouldn't even talk on mic. But his cuddly side won out over his persnickety side, and the result is this interview, full of confusion, humor, anger, and longing for home.