It's been a difficult weekend for my family and for many other families in New Orleans. The so-called crime wave that hit the city during the start of this new year has been unsettling. As of Monday, there have been at least nine people killed in the last eight days. Correspondent Martin Savidge wrote a compelling story on the issue for Nightly News on Friday. But the problem has become personal for me, as it has for others who live here.

This weekend, Mayor Ray Nagin put it best when he said in a hastily called news conference that even one murder is too many. For a good number in this city, the one murder too many was the brutal slaying last week of Helen Hill. Hill was a talented, award-winning filmmaker. Her husband, Paul Gailiunas, is a doctor who dedicated his time to serving the poor. Together they moved back to this city after Katrina destroyed their home to raise their 2-year old son, and be a part of the city's recovery. Many people become a part of the city's rebuilding effort just by deciding to live here. According to the Times-Picayune, Helen and her husband were different. They collected food for homeless people, served indigent patients and in ways big and small served as an example to their community of what it means to help rebuild. 

Thursday morning, Helen Hill was murdered inside her home, apparently by an intruder. Her husband was shot three times and found shielding their toddler in the doorway, apparently trying to protect him. It was shocking on a number of levels. The neighborhood they lived in attracted an artsy, eclectic crowd. But in recent months, a string of robberies and shootings had begun to put people on edge. Helen Hill's murder has put some people there over the edge. They are angry, frustrated and fearful. And rightfully so. 

It was also shocking personally, because it turns out that Paul and Helen were friends of our friends. On Friday, I learned that Dr. Gailiunas served as a pediatrician for two of our children's closest playmates. Sunday I learned the couple were acquaintances of another family we know. I also learned that their son went to pre-school at the same place we considered sending our children. The city of New Orleans is truly a small town. People tell me that if you live here long enough, you either know someone or are related to them in some way. I'm now sure that it would have just been a matter of time before my family would have met Hill and her family.

This weekend, the mayor and police chief hinted that they'll announce aggressive new tactics including a possible overnight curfew. Helen's friends and neighbors set up a makeshift shrine on their doorstep. And folks gathered in coffee shops and churches across the city to plan a march on City Hall for Thursday. In our home, we debated whether installing a security fence would make us seem unfriendly to our new neighbors.

There will be no easy answer to the crime problem. The police force is understaffed, the criminal justice system is overburdened and some residents are so overwhelmed with fear, they refuse to tip off police about criminal activity in their own neighborhoods. What may be required is an unprecedented effort by police, City Hall, the district attorney and community groups. Whatever action is taken will come too late for Helen Hill's family. The rest of us in New Orleans are hopeful it will come just in time for ours.

I spend quite a bit of time driving the streets of New Orleans and its surrounding parishes. It gives me a chance to look for signs and symbols of everyone's state of mind. While I typically note the looks on their faces, how many Saints jerseys I see, and even whether they're keeping their lawns up (whether in front of their gutted home or FEMA trailer), lately I've been paying closer attention to the bumper stickers on their cars. People may intend to use them as reflections of their individuality, but in fact those stickers tell you more about their common beliefs. A lot of them are predictably sports-related: "GO LSU TIGERS," "GO HORNETS," "GEAUX SAINTS."

But others are different. Let's start with "FAITH." What started out as a message years ago to fans to have faith in the once-beleagured Saints, now seems to have a new life as a message about people's belief in their now-beleagured city. There are other stickers that existed before the storm but have been embraced anew.

When I first arrived here, I began to notice these: "NEW ORLEANS, PROUD TO CALL IT HOME." I'm told by folks that the slogan was created a few years back by some group looking to boost New Orleans' self-image. But a lot of those stickers seem to lack the nicks, dents and tears that a few years of driving and a major hurricane would inflict on them. Residents are buying them again, eager to renew their commitment to the city, in writing.

That original sticker has given way to some new variations on the theme. In a city that prides itself on its penchant for partying, someone apparently came up with this version: NEW ORLEANS, PROUD TO CRAWL HOME." You tend to see those on cars driven by young people around the local universities. But New Orleanians are nothing but self-deprecating.

So it was just a matter of time that post-storm, this version starting appearing on cars and trucks" "NEW ORLEANS: PROUD TO SWIM HOME." That grim humor is shared by alot of folks, it seems. Another incarnation I've seen: "PROUD TO REBUILD HOME AND STILL PROUD TO CALL IT HOME." It's a postive sign that folks aren't waiting for the chamber of commerce to sum up their feelings about the city.

Another popular sticker I see says "ERACISM" (Erase Racism). I'm told it too predated the storm by more than a decade. A quick Internet search revealed that Eracism is the slogan of the group ERACE, which was formed in New Orleans in 1993 following a series of articles in The Times-Picayune, "Together Apart/The Myth of Race." There's something to be said for a city that's willing to admit its problems, in black and white, right there on bumper stickers for all the world to see.

Stickers created after the storm tend to be pointedly political. For awhile, vehicles sported these: "HOLD THE CORPS ACCOUNTABLE" or "FEMA HAPPENS" or even this: "FEMA WHERE Y'AT?" But the anger at a particular government agency has morphed into a general feeling of frustration that perceived government neglect is bigger than any one bureaucracy. That's reflected in this play off the old 60s summer of love slogan. The updated New Orleans' version? "MAKE LEVEES, NOT WAR." Thousands more messages dot back windows, bumpers and tailgates around here. Most are simple in their sentiments. "I LOVE NOLA" or a simple Fleur De Lis symbol. One of the most poignant I saw this week. A couple who live in New Orleans East have a specially printed sticker on their vehicle that reads "THANKS AMERICA, MARY AND JOSEPH PEREZ, NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA." They attached it to their car when they evacuated following the storm. It was their way of telling folks they were grateful for the help. Mary and Joseph are spending Christmas in a FEMA trailer back in New Orleans (that's another story), but despite the fact they're home, they feel compelled to keep displaying that sticker.

Ushers take a tour of the the Louisiana Superdome on Saturday, hoping to learn the changes before tonight's game. Photo by Chris Graythen/Getty Images.

Tonight, the New Orleans Saints return home to the Superdome for the first time since Katrina. And it's not just a source of pride for the team, it;s also become a source of inspiration for the city.

First, there is the dome itself. A year ago, it seemed irreparably damaged. Part of the roof had peeled away leaving the inside water-logged and moldy. Evacuees left behind 4,000 tons of debris and refuse as well as badly damaged seats, concession stands and suites. As for the dome's image? Well, to this day, no one expects, or wants, the world to forget those pictures of human suffering. But tonight, a "new" Superdome debuts to a nationwide audience with an image everyone hopes will be just as memorable.

It took $144 million dollars and 850 workers working nine months to give the dome its badly needed facelift. From top to bottom, it looks wholly different from that dark, windswept structure where thousands huddled during the storm and for days afterward.

Let's start at the top. That mangled roof, all 9.7 acres of it, has been entirely replaced. Inside, there's a new state-of-the-art lighting and sound system. On top of that, there are new scoreboards and video screens, a brighter paint scheme, modernized concession stands, upgraded luxury suites and a fresh paint job on brand new turf. In short, it looks like a brand new dome.

If the dome itself weren't enough to be proud of, the city is walking on air about the Saints. This will be their first home game since Katrina. And this season, unlike many others, fans have something to cheer about. The team comes into tonight's game 2-0. Most NFL teams wouldn't consider that a lot to brag about. But for fans accustomed to so many losing seasons, it's enough to let them dream. On top of that, they're playing their long time rivals, the Atlanta Falcons, who are also undefeated.

And tonight's game has also given the city what no FEMA official, politician or insurance adjuster could hope. Many have said; if the lackluster Saints can come back with a strong start to the season and if the Superdome, with its painful past, can rebuild in record time, perhaps there is hope for this city. The team and the dome have become symbols of what might be possible.

It may not be the Super Bowl, but it could indeed be the most important game of the season, emotionally. Why?  Perhaps it's because the game has given everyone something positive to focus on for a change. It's all everyone talks about. Instead of talking about whether they're back in their house, received their insurance check or are thinking about leaving, folks here can finally just talk about something normal -- a football game.

Editor's note: Steve also took his DV cam into the dome ... we'll crunch that video and deliver it to you in this blog shortly. Tonight on 'Nightly,' correspondent Martin Savidge reports on the Saints home opener.

A day after watching former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani talk about how his city has changed in the five years since 9/11, it was fascinating for me to watch another mayor talk about the changes his city has undergone since its disaster.

Today, New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin held a long-anticipated news conference to update citizens on the progress of his "100-day plan." Mr. Nagin made a major pledge upon his re-election to improve the city's quality of life within his first 100 days. But over the past few months, columnists, radio talk show hosts and citizens have taken the mayor to task for not defining his vision for the city's recovery.

Photo caption: New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin discusses his accomplishments and plans for the city after 100 days of his second term. Photo by Lee Celano, REUTERS.

But still, Nagin acknowledges "the city isn't where it should be." He says that will take years. It seems no one disagrees with him on either point. But it will be interesting to see how his critics and even his supporters will judge him over the next 265 days and the three following years of his term. Though no one used the word in the news conference today, outside City Hall, it seems that every question comes back to how he leads the city versus how he manages it.

Giuliani faced similar questions prior to 9/11. As a former New Yorker, I know Giuliani was a polarizing figure. Like Nagin, he was known to speak his mind and to occasionally make a remark that divided people. Giuliani, like Nagin, proposed some controversial policies. And Giuliani, also like Nagin, sometimes had a less-than-cordial relationship with the news media. 

But some have said that 9/11 indelibly stamped the positive attributes of Rudy into the minds of the public. He was decisive, calm under pressure, and communicated a clear vision of what he intended to do. 

Katrina and its aftermath have yet to do the same for Mayor Nagin. He is indeed, charismatic, honest and determined. But today, as on many other days, he was asked by the media whether he can communicate a vision to New Orleanians of what their city will look like. He declined. To be fair, Nagin explained that he wants citizens to plan their neighborhoods first and the market economy to drive the recovery.

That may be the right answer. Only time will tell. But unfortunately, it's not the answer many citizens say they want to hear right now. In every neighborhood we visit, residents pepper us with questions:  "Do we know when their debris will be picked up? Do we know anyone at City Hall who can help them with a rat problem? Have we heard whether there are plans to rebuild the rental apartments down the block?"

We can't answer all their questions. And Nagin cannot. Just as Mr. Giuliani couldn't answer questions after 9/11 about destroyed apartments near the World Trade Center, about whether small businesses would return to downtown Manhattan and even when redevelopment would begin at ground zero.

100 days of progress may be a tough thing for Nagin to sell to his citizens. Perhaps, it will take five years after Katrina for history to judge his decisions fairly. However, it didn't take Giuliani that long to inspire a feeling of confidence in his leadership after 9/11. He accomplished that in the few months he had left in his second term. Nagin still has time to do the same: 1,360 days by my count (4 years minus 100 days).

President Bush is airborne, and right now we are feverishly condensing a wide-ranging 25-minute conversation with the president (with stops and starts for cameras, logistics, venues, and the heat) into broadcast form. The term of art we use is "crash edit," and right now that's exactly appropriate. We covered a number of topics, from Katrina to Iraq to his own legacy... to his relationship with his father... to his summer reading list. The latter contains a surprise that surpasses Albert Camus' "The Stranger."

The schedule for the president's time on the ground... and our time with him... was revised as late as 2 a.m. It was further revised when the president moved our interview up by an hour, on the fly, because of the heat of the day and the crowd waiting to see him and the first lady.

We will take a moment tonight to air tape of how we began the broadcast exactly a year ago. How little we knew then... about what was on the way.

We'll also have the other news of this day, but from where we sit -- the president's comments make up much of the news. A lot of people -- the best technical and editorial people in our business -- worked very hard today in the blistering heat of the wasteland that is this portion of the Lower Ninth Ward -- in order to bring you tonight's broadcast.

Tomorrow evening we'll be back in our home studio in New York. We hope you can join us for tonight's broadcast from New Orleans.

Photo caption: Brian and President Bush talk today at Musicians' Village in the Upper Ninth Ward. Photo by Subrata De, NBC News.

After Nightly News and after our prime-time special concluded Monday night, we drove back to our hotel. Which also happens to be President Bush's hotel. Big mistake. In the old days (as recently as when I covered President Clinton), it wasn't unusual for people to enter the lobby of a major metropolitan hotel (depending on configuration) and have no clue that the Leader of the Free World was upstairs ordering room service. In the old days, it used to be cool to let it be known you were staying "at HIS hotel." No more. In the post-9/11 world, the very last place you want to stay is the president's hotel.

When we arrived last night, we were stopped at a steel barricade, manned by Secret Service, Louisiana State Police and National Guard troops with dogs. I explained that we simply wanted to go to our hotel rooms, and that I was joining up with the president's traveling "bubble" in the motorcade, early tomorrow. That's when a tall guy, straight-faced and apparently born completely without irony... approached our menacing rental car. He resembled both rare drawings of President Tyler and photos of Tommy Smothers. Anyway, we were "instructed" by this straight-faced guy with a blue blazer, an earpiece and male pattern baldness, that we "are holding due to a movement." 

There's just so much good material there. A rich trove, really. What he meant was: the president and the first lady were dining at Mother's Restaurant around the corner and would be moving through the streets in his motorcade, and so no one could possibly drive or walk anywhere near the hotel. The restaurant was even more heavily-fortified: members of the black-clad Secret Service "CAT" team were spotted in the back alley with massive, cello-sized automatic weapon cases, post-movement. Not a cello player among them.
                     
Just to show that I was paying attention during my own years of dealing with the Secret Service, I asked to talk to the "SAC" (Special Agent in Charge). The call was placed to Washington, a call was placed inside the hotel, but the "SAC" was apparently not able to either hasten or break the movement.

We held, in the nighttime heat, for the duration of the movement. It seemed like the movement took forever. Then, the long hold was suddenly lifted. The male pattern baldness/blazer guy made the "movement over" sign with his hand, the troops parted, the dogs parted. Then they let us in. Elements of the motorcade were parked in the hotel driveway (the swanky new "on the road" version of the black Suburban and its twin decoy, both tricked out with flag stands and presidential seals on the rear passenger doors), as the aforementioned Leader had just walked through the lobby. I did enjoy getting a good look at the new generation motorcade communications vehicle -- a heavily-retrofitted Suburban nicknamed "Roadrunner," which allows the president to place a scrambled satellite telephone call to Gen. Abizaid, Vladimir Putin or Dick Cheney -- from a motorcade moving at 60 miles-an-hour. I also chatted up the White House technicians who were transporting the "blue goose" podium being used at today's speech by the president in New Orleans. Once in the rarefied air of our own hotel lobby, the Uniformed Secret Service then checked us all before we were allowed the thrill of entering, one hour later, our own hotel rooms. Next time, it's the Holiday Inn on the interstate.

It was a nice distraction for the first few minutes. The nighttime drive through parts of New Orleans East was downright depressing. There's no power for long stretches of the city. One of our producers said, "it looks like East Germany." And it did.

Our local station here, while airing our NBC documentary, added a "crawl" graphic at the bottom of the screen that said, in part, "IF YOU ARE OVERWHELMED (by the images on the screen)..." and then they offered a mental health call-in line. It's still that bad here. Just SEEING what these good people went through... is enough to send SOME of these good people... right over the edge.

It is still such a sad place.

Editor's note: If you missed Monday night's documentary about the first five days of Hurricane Katrina, in Brian's own words, you can read or watch it here.

We try to be very careful in choosing the street, neighborhood or building that serves as the backdrop for our coverage, especially on a night like this one, considering the size of the live viewing audience and the level of interest. We are sensitive to charges that media portrayals of New Orleans are all alike, and we are always actively looking for "mixed progress" neighborhoods where there is work underway, and where people have decided to put down stakes and stay. We are in such a neighborhood tonight -- but the view changes (as it does all over this region) seemingly every few feet. The odor on the street is staggering (they are STILL finding bodies at the one-year mark) and the drive into this neighborhood is depressing. A police officer remarked, "this neighborhood's gone." But not everyone. Tonight we'll try to highlight the good (recovery) with the bad (retreat) while surrounded by the ubiquitous destruction that the waters caused.

The most powerful recurring image in some parts of town is the MP's patrolling the streets in Humvees. The National Guard has fitted their desert-camouflage Hummers with revolving blue lights (to highlight their policing function and increase their visibility at night), but the sight of a vehicle that we associate with warfare presents an aggressive picture. Yesterday we drove past a Hummer that had pulled over a civilian in a traffic stop. Yet another sat idling in a drugstore parking lot. The men we've seen are in fatigues, most with "MP" armbands... and attitudes vary. In some neighborhoods, they ARE the police, and while it is certainly not the Anbar Province, it is not without its dangers and risks. It is hot and difficult work for these citizen soldiers, all of whom left lives and families at home.

Tonight we will take stock of this region one year after Katrina -- we'll actually kick off two nights from here, following the same theme. We'll hear from some of the NBC News on-air team that viewers came to associate with the horrors here -- we'll look at what went wrong, we'll talk about the issue of race and where the national discussion stands. We will also cover the other major stories before us: the Tropical Storm that is likely to return to hurricane status before long, and the crash of the commuter jet in Lexington, Ky. We will try to get at the question of what this experienced air crew was doing on the shorter of the two runways. The short answer obviously is: it can happen. It evidently came close to happening 12 years ago, at the same airport and with a similar aircraft. The stories of the individual souls lost... are heartbreaking.

For now, we hope to see you from New Orleans tonight. And please join me for our hour-long NBC News special, at 8 p.m. Eastern, 7 Central tonight. It's our look back at the first five days of Hurricane Katrina and the aftermath. We'll look for you then.

Someone much smarter than I once said: "You make a living by what you get, but you make a life by what you give."

I thought about that during a recent trip I took down south to Mississippi and Louisiana. I was traveling to shoot a Campbell Brown story that will likely air Tuesday on the anniversary of Katrina slamming into the Gulf Coast.

The story is a lovely one. I think it's our job, if even occasionally, to tell a story that describes the petals of Katrina and not just the thorns. God knows the thorns are plentiful and obvious and important. We won't learn how to not repeat the inexcusable mistakes of the disaster without the thorns, but it can't hurt to be reminded of the generosity of the angels who walk among us -- the petals. In this case, the petals are a few volunteers in Erie, Pa., who wanted to know what they could do to help.

They traveled down to Mississippi and looked around. They found an errant photograph that had been lost in the storm. Probably just a picture of an old black lab or a father and son goofing around on a Saturday afternoon. Then they found another. And another. Some were covered by dirt and debris. Some were damaged. Some were partially hidden. Some had nails sticking out of them. Some probably had blood on them. Sweat and tears, too.

So the volunteers decided to do something about those lost images, and created the Picture Project. They gathered what they could. They asked around for help. They got sponsors to set up drop boxes. They went back home, far away to Pennsylvania, and slowly, thousands and thousands of photos -- literally, lost moments in people's lives -- began showing up.

The volunteers cleaned them. They organized them. And then they began the extraordinary work of trying to reunite these photos with the traumatized victims of Katrina who had lost them.

I read somewhere once that "being a man or a woman is a matter of birth. Being a man or a woman who makes a difference is a matter of choice."

Nobody made these Erie residents do what they did. And what they did was not simple. They are not independently wealthy. They are not retired. They work for the local government. Sue Weber, Dennis Heintz and Karla Anderson spent their own money, asked their bosses for time off, put the priorities of their own families, their own children, their own friends, their own important lives on hold -- for strangers.

Some of the stories Sue, Dennis and Karla came across were truly wrenching. One involved a family who not only lost their home and everything in it, but they lost their son, too.

The Rickmans had two kids with a rare ailment called Batten Disease. The trauma of the storm sped up the death of one son. And the other is, well, doing his best -- with the care of loving parents. The point is this: Imagine you've lost your home, the contents in it, you've lost your son, and on top of it, you've lost every photographic memory of that beautiful living thing? Unimaginable, really.

Then imagine you happen to be surfing the Web, and a picture of your boy with his dad next to a train -- a trip that had been a dream-come-true for father and son -- pops up on your screen. Well, if you're Carol Rickman of Biloxi, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry. So, you do both. You whoop and you holler, too.

For the Rickman family, the Picture Project literally took something that was lost, forever, and brought it back again. Carol Rickman may not have her boy's life back, but by gosh, she's got the memory of it. The very color of the shirt he was wearing. The smile on his face. The way his hair was parted just so. That was gone forever. But not anymore.

This is a dramatic example, because a life was lost. But what the Picture Project does is reunite families with much smaller moments that mean just as much to those who thought they'd lost them forever. A college graduation. A hug before going off to war. A high-five after an LSU victory. The way a mom's hand sat atop her daughter's head on a lazy afternoon -- one a long time ago, before Katrina blew away that hammock. Forever.

And why do people volunteer -- for complete strangers, no less? Its been said that volunteering is the ultimate exercise in democracy. You vote in elections every four years, but when you volunteer, you vote every day about the kind of community you want to live in. Why do we do it? I don't know. But after spending some time in Biloxi and New Orleans, and with these folks from Erie -- I now know that's the kind of community I want to grow old in.

My grandmother couldn't have said it better herself.

Editor's Note: Campbell Brown's piece will air on Tuesday's Nightly News broadcast.

Brian speaks to Gentilly resident Christopher Saucedo on Sunday. Photo by Subrata De, NBC News.

We arrived back in New Orleans on Sunday. If you think this city isn't nervous about hurricane season, consider this: a local police offer told me he purchased an automatic weapon and a thousand rounds of ammunition  yesterday -- when Ernesto's path and size were both uncertain -- because, as he put it, "I'm not going through another hurricane in this city with just my sidearm."

If you think these new airline security regulations aren't having an effect on citizens, consider this: after arriving in Louis Armstrong International Airport here in New Orleans yesterday, I purchased a bottle of water at an airport newsstand. The saleswoman told me she would have to pour it into a large Styrofoam cup (she pointed to a massive stack of cups behind her) if I still wanted to purchase it -- because "we can't have plastic bottles in the terminal." Upon hearing this, the woman in line behind me, perhaps knowing my line of work, said, "Can anyone explain to me, given our history and who we are, how we arrived at this point?"
                                             
In an instant, I completely understood what she was saying. We won World War II. This is the United States. How has it come to this? How did this happen? Who is going to use my bottle of Aquafina -- and how -- to act against this magnificent country of ours?

Both of these stories, separated by about 15 minutes after our arrival here yesterday, speak to the twin national traumas we have been through -- and that we are about to examine via twin anniversaries: the one-year observance of Katrina and its aftermath, and the 5-year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

This visit, more than any over the past 12 months, feels strange. Huge portions of the city are unchanged. Renewal is evident but episodic and spotty. Sunday we found a car in the massive multi-level parking garage at the Superdome -- that has been there, locked and abandoned, for the past year. It is the very least of this city's worries. But it is a perfect example of the scope of the problem. How will anyone ever find the owner? Who will remove it? What becomes of it?
                                                            
Everything here is a landmark of some sort, dating back to a year ago. Yesterday we drove by the stretch of sidewalk where we came across a body, baking in the sun, in the shadow of the Superdome a year ago... not the first we had seen, certainly not the last -- this one was memorable because of the children on bikes who had stopped to look it over.
                                                          
While shooting videotape in the city yesterday afternoon, we smelled, while standing in one specific spot -- that smell -- the distinct odor of death and decay, the one that is instantly recognizable to those who've traveled to war zones, crime scenes or natural disasters. 

Last evening, two channels on the hotel cable system were running 9/11 anniversary programming. Three of them had Katrina-related programming of some sort. The in-house channel now runs, on a repeating loop, a guide to the 1-5 hurricane rating scale, and instructions on how to act if warnings are posted.
                                          
The sheer drapes were pulled closed when I checked into my room, and I quickly discovered why: all four panes of floor-to-ceiling glass are clouded... full of water vapor... as are so many of the windows in our otherwise-fine hotel. It's a metaphor, really, for the city outside those windows: it's functioning, even clean in spots -- but just behind a sheer curtain there is still real hurt and great damage.

Sunday night on one of the array of specials on Katrina, former FEMA Director Michael Brown said flatly, "We failed in so many ways, it's hard to take an accounting of all of them." He's right, and you can still see the results from where I'm sitting as I write this.
                            
This week, beginning this evening, we will take stock. And tonight, at 8 p.m. Eastern, 7 Central, we will remember the first five days of Katrina. It is a documentary special that aired once, on the Sundance Channel, on October 27th of last year. It is raw and emotional and uncommonly first-person. I asked NBC to air it on the network and they agreed. We will devote the balance of the hour to those we met during Katrina and the issues it raised. Tomorrow I will talk to President Bush here in New Orleans, just as I imagine I might in New York, on the next awful anniversary we are due to cover in September. We will also report on all the souls lost in yesterday's commuter jet crash in Kentucky. Through it all, life goes on -- in between tragedies -- and we'll cover all of it when we join you from New Orleans tonight.

A brief follow-up to an ongoing story I've covered on these pages. In an entry last week, I reported that in the month since the National Guard was called in to provide backup to New Orleans police, the murder and crime rate had dropped. It was welcome news for residents concerned about their safety and community leaders concerned about the city's image.

Then this weekend came news that six people were murdered in 24 hours; four died in one shooting alone. Up to this point, city leaders dismissed any notion of a crime wave by explaining that the incidents were not random. They called them "drug-related" and "isolated and retaliatory." Residents would take comfort by saying that they were only happening "in that neighborhood." 

But things have changed.

For one thing, New Orleans hasn't seen multiple killings in more than a decade. This weekend's (involving kids as young as 16) is the second in six weeks. Secondly, they're hitting a little too close to home. The sixth murder happened Saturday night when a 31-year-old man was gunned down just off the busy thoroughfare of St. Charles Avenue. Locals know it as the often-gridlocked artery connecting the business district with Uptown. Tourists recognize it as the tree-lined boulevard that leads cars and streetcars past blocks of architectural gems to the world-class zoo, Tulane and Loyola.

According to the Times-Picayune and local news broadcasts, the man stepped outside a popular daiquiri bar at 8:30 p.m. when someone shot him three times. He died in the middle of the busy street. There were reportedly at least 60 witnesses. Probably hundreds more saw the man's body as they headed down the picture postcard avenue.

The governor has vowed to extend the National Guard's stay. Politicians, police and the district attorney have already held a so-called crime summit. Another one may be in the works. They're very conscious of the fact that the city's recovery depends on how safe residents and businesses feel. And neighbors who often turned their head to the crime problem, refusing to come forward as witnesses, may finally be ready to admit that the problem is everyone's.

After all, crime is hard to ignore when it happens so close to home. I should know. Saturday night's murder is a two minute walk from my own front door.

I left New Orleans last week for an out-of-town trip. Each night I sat glued to the TV watching the situation in the Mideast unfold on Nightly News. But back home I was missing news as well. You see, on a normal day living here, it's impossible to pick up a paper, turn on the radio or just listen to folks gossip without hearing something that makes you shake your head in wonder or nod in understanding. Here are just a few of the stories that I missed and that you might be interested in hearing about as well:

New Orleans on guard 
New Orleans made front-page and network news a month ago when the National Guard was called in following a spike in murders that was capped by the shooting of five young men on June 17. Folks called it good for the battered city, but bad for its already tattered image. So what's happened?

Last week, the pulitizer-prize winning Times Picayune reported that arrests are up and murders down. But it might take more than the guard to solve the city's crime problems long term. Here's a great article.

No place like dome
Everyone remembers the disturbing pictures of evacuees crammed into what was supposed to be a "shelter of last resort." And we all remember Brian's cell phone reports from inside the Superdome when the roof began peeling away during the height of the storm. In yet another hopeful sign of this city's recovery, last Wednesday, workers put the finishing touches on the roof of the 30-year-old stadium. It sustained more than $30 million in damage. The dome debuts Sept. 25 when the Saints host the Atlanta Falcons on Monday Night Football.
This latest picture is courtesy of a fellow blogger in New Orleans.

Awaiting judgment day 
This next story serves as a reminder that New Orleans is not the sole focus of our attention. I returned this week to learn that in Mississippi, a decision could come at any time in what is the first lawsuit filed by a homeowner against an insurance company. NBC's Mark Potter first reported on the case July 10. As the Mississippi Sun Herald reports, it's a "groundbreaking case that challenges one of the nation's largest insurers for refusing to cover damage from Hurricane Katrina..."
The federal judge hearing the case has promised a ruling soon. It's a case that we here in the bureau will be following for you.

From cradle... 
New Orleans is in the midst of a baby boom. I picked up the phone before I left to confirm a story we'd read a few week ago. By the time I got back, the stork had delivered hospital press releases to my e-mail inbox. "Big Easy Baby Boom," one trumpets. No one knows why, but several hospitals report they are tracking more deliveries this summer than last year. You can do the math. The "Re-Birth of New Orleans" as one hospital calls it, began in late May, nine months after Katrina.
Some folks I spoke to chuckle and blame the 'stuck in a hotel room with not much to do' syndrome. Others believe it's reflective of the commitment some young couples have made to their futures. Visit this site if you'd like to see some of the newest arrivals (and some truly beautiful babies).

...to grave
The headline from the Sunday Times Picayune says it best: "A bare-bones operation before Hurricane Katrina, the city's cemetery division is down to a skeleton crew with no workers to bury the dead." It's a grim story that details how even the city's dead have become victims of Katrina. For anyone who believes this city's woes are overblown, I implore you to read this article.

And finally...
It's not exactly news, but I couldn't help sharing this story from the sports page here last week. I won't give it away here, but let's just say it's an inspiring story of a New Orleans woman who is living proof that with a dream and determination, you can climb any mountain.

They are New Orleans' bravest. They have to be. They're fighting fires in a city filled with abandoned homes. Water pressure is low city-wide. Co-workers are quitting, retiring or taking jobs out of town. Oh, and then there's the pay. On average, a New Orleans firefighters makes between $8-10 dollars an hour.

But driver Jason Martin and the platoon on Engine 27 aren't giving in or giving up."Most of the guys love what they do, it's not about the money," he told me. It was a point I heard again and again when I followed them for half their 24-hour tour of duty. That sentiment was fresh in their minds, given that last week the department signed a new five-year contract with the city that included no salary increase. I'd planned the ride-along before that, just to see what kinds of challenges they were facing almost 11 months after Katrina. Although I knew about their heroic role as rescuers during the storm, I soon discovered that the firefighters themselves were now in need of a rescue.

Photo caption: New Orleans firefighter Jason Martin

Riding along in the cab of 27, the guys (Jason, Ritchie, Darrin and the Captain) act as grim tour guides of their battered district. Captain points out a block that burned after the storm. Jason steers the rig down streets where he used his personal boat to rescue storm victims. And Ritchie squints out at his nearby neighborhood pockmarked with abandoned buildings. "I was born here, raised here and I'll die here. As much as I curse the city, I can't see myself living any place else," he says.

But other firefighters have seen a future elsewhere. The Times-Picayune reports the NOFD has lost 139 firefighters from a pre-storm roster of 700. They've been lured by other departments paying more or they've left because their homes were destroyed. Jason and the guys are among those staying. In truth, New Orleans is like an ex-wife of theirs. They fell in love years ago. Things changed. They changed. But somehow their connection endures. They can't let go. The comparison is hard to miss after one of the guys seamlessly moves from talking about the city to his soon-to-be ex.

Not all the talk is about the city. A lot is about their second jobs. As they drive around their district, checking hydrants for water pressure, they compare notes about where they'll be working tomorrow. Jason is a crabber. Darrin cuts grass. Through the years, the four have worked construction, roofing and retail. Despite the fact that "it's not about money," they set their jaw firmly when asked how they and fellow firefighters will pay for storm-damaged homes and lost possessions. They may complain, but they're not going to sound pitiful. Not in front of me.

We head back to the firehouse where the crews from 27, Ladder 11 and a Rescue Squad sit around and listen to static-filled radios. It's another "Katrina curse" I discover. The department's firehouse alarm system was taken out by the storm. Now they listen to every call and strain to hear the ones for their house. When will it be fixed? There are shrugs all around.

Jason busies himself giving me a once-over of the rig. His engine is one of a handful of "squirts," or pumpers with an aerial water line. "This is like a gun to me, my water is my bullets," he says as he extends the arm skyward. He promises me, we'll "make a fire" sometime tonight. It's a curious expression that means they'll fight one. And post-storm, they're "making fires" more often. Abandoned homes, cars and businesses go up in flames. Some are arson. Others are set accidentally by vagrants. All require more manpower and more water pressure. But again, both of those are in short supply. No matter to Jason. He'll do the work of two and hustle twice as hard.

Later that night, I get the chance to see him live up to that promise. The call comes in before Midnight. Truck Fire. Underpass. Engine 27. First Response. They scramble aboard the rig, suiting up in the dark. Jason steers 27 through the dark street until the flames ahead light his way. It's not a major one, but it's no less dangerous. A dump truck filled with debris is fully engulfed. Chances are no one's inside. The street's so deserted, it has to be arson.

Captain and the guys jump out and have the flames out and the truck bed flushed out within five minutes. After the adrenaline rush is gone, there's a bit of frustration. They put this one out. But the firebug has plenty of more easy targets left in this half-abandoned neighborhood. Odds are the guys will be back. Probably tonight. Definitely this week. But for how long, no one knows. The Captain is headed toward retirement. Jason is getting married and will need money to rebuild his home. Ritchie is helping his ex-wife through school and supporting his daughter. And cutting grass barely helps Darrin supplement his firefighter wages. But they survived Katrina. Surely, they can weather this storm? At least that's what they hope.

And so, as they head back to the firehouse, these bravest put on a brave face again... if not for me, if not for each other, then at least for their city.

Photo caption: Steve snapped this cell phone photo of the burning dump truck.