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New Orleans is buoyed by a tide of college students
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Funding gap remains
Even though most New Orleans colleges have resumed operations to some degree this semester, "there's this whole long phase of rebuilding economically," says Cyndy Littlefield, director of federal relations for the Association of Jesuit Colleges and Universities. (Loyola is a Jesuit school.)
Congress approved $200 million in relief funds for Gulf Coast colleges in December - $300 million less than requested. They're grateful for the aid, as well as donations from private sources, Ms. Littlefield says, because it allows them to meet some critical needs such as continuing to pay faculty and staff. But more is needed, she and other advocates say.
"There seems to be mythic misunderstandings about the role of endowments," Littlefield says. Not all colleges have substantial endowments, and even those that do "can't readily tap into that source ... to cover the losses."
Dillard University, one of two historically black colleges in the city, was so damaged by flood and fire that it can't use its campus this semester. But it found a new home downtown, at the Hilton hotel. More than 1,000 students returned, about half of its pre-Katrina enrollment, and most are living at the hotel, two to a room. They're also taking 70 percent of their classes there. On the second day of the new semester, junior Esther Matthews sizes up the unconventional situation: "It's weird going to our rooms, going to class, and eating our meals all in the same building. But it's the Hilton - it's better than the dorm!" Their rooms are cleaned twice a week, and housing costs have not increased.
Dillard students are now within walking distance of the French Quarter, but partying is not top of mind. "We were so drained last semester, we were happy to come back and have a seat," says Ms. Matthews's roommate, Cheyla Milo. And they haven't gotten over the emotional strain. "It's all around us. The city looks awful," Matthews says.
Biology professor José Ramirez-Domenech thought the temporary classrooms looked awful, when he saw the setup in a large convention space in the hotel. Portable walls divide about a dozen teaching spaces, but with no ceilings, voices carry.
"At first I thought it was going to be impossible, but it's just different," Professor Ramirez-Domenech says. "As long as the students concentrate, it's like nothing else is around." He's also grateful to still have a job.
Outside the hotel, a Domino's deliveryman waits for a student to pick up two pizzas. Business has been "overwhelming" since the students returned, he says. Likewise for The Boot, a restaurant and pub near Tulane and Loyola. General manager Chad Maiuri and his skeleton crew have been pulling double shifts since they reopened in mid-October. Typically 85 percent of his employees are students. Their presence "has a major effect on the neighborhood; a lot of the small businesses haven't been able to open yet," he says, because they've been short-staffed.
While the mood on the campuses seems as sunny as the weather, mental health counselors say they are expecting an increased demand for their services as people continue to grapple with the emotional aftermath of the hurricane.
At a candlelight service on Loyola's main lawn, students listen to excerpts from survivors' accounts and offer prayers of support. As it ends, junior Rebecca Ohler explains her mix of emotions. "I didn't want to come [to the service] because I was getting sick of hearing about the hurricane.... You just want life to be normal again, but it's clear it's not," she says. "It occurred to me that I don't know if I've really grieved about all this," she says, wiping away tears.
But then she takes a deep breath and says she's glad for a parting message that focused on everyone sharing their light as they face the challenges ahead for New Orleans. "It's an opportunity to be the kind of person we all want to be."
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