HELP MEG MCCARVILLE REBUILD AFTER DEVASTATING HOUSE FIRE
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Hi! My name is Meg McCarville. I’m a struggling artist and writer. I mostly live off of a disability check. And support my husband and several animals on Welfare benefits. And some random gigs here and there.
I have been a transient my whole adult life. Always lived in situations where my living spaces were being threatened.
Living in this house for the last 5 years has been a constant battle. There was always a threat of me getting kicked out. Even though I was the only one keeping it standing.
I got married to my husband to keep his family from kicking me out of this house after he suffered a devastating stroke in 2022. I became his primary caregiver. He cannot work, write, and has speech issues, and is waiting to get on disability benefits. His income is zero. I support him as well.
As of two weeks ago, a surprise set of circumstances unfolded, and all of a sudden I was finally going to be on the deed, and the house was going to be mine.
The first stable living situation I ever had.
I couldn’t believe it.
No more fighting.
No more struggling.
No more looking to escape.
At 44 years old, I finally had a home that was mine. And not anyone else’s.
One week after the deed was signed to my name, my very first home burnt to the ground.
This crowdfunder is for everything. Uprooting my life. Everything I lost. Temporary shelter. For myself. For my dogs. My cats. And my pig. My house. Everything. Pressing the reset button. Having the means to do so. With my beloved animals. Demolition of this house is now added to this list. Which I now realize would be in the range of at least $10 grand! Before it’s a liability (it already is!) and the city takes the land and demolishes it themselves. The clock is ticking. The rain is coming.
Last Friday, I woke up to a wall of fire outside my bedroom. I ran downstairs to grab my house mate who was also asleep and by the time we got upstairs the wall had spread to the floor and it was extremely smoky and very hot. I could barely see or breathe.
More than anything I wanted to get my babies out of my bedroom.
My animals.
My lil service dog, Epstein, who slept next to my head.
My big black dog, Trouble, who slept next to my feet.
My cat, Manny, who refuses to leave my room, even during hurricanes.
I called for them. As did my husband. They did not come.
We tried so very hard. It was too hot. We couldn’t see. And it was getting hotter.
The hardest decision I have ever had to make was to just leave them.
And escape the inferno with my life.
In that moment, I left a huge part of me behind that I will never get back.
I have no doubt this will haunt me for the rest of my life.
My animals are everything to me. They are not “pets”.
They are my support system.
My best friends.
My babies.
My healers.
I don’t even look at them as equals.
They transcend what any human can do for me.
I understand many humans may not understand this.
I don’t expect them to.
But that’s the way it is with me.
I hate to even express this so soon as it is excruciating to relive.
I feel a gut wrenching sickness.
These memories would be better left boxed away in a place in my brain I cannot access with my conscious mind.
It will revisit me in nightmares I have no doubt.
It already has.
It is indescribable to wake up panting, sweating, screaming from a nightmare. Coming to waking life, only to realize you are living the nightmare.
Before the fire, It has been awhile since this happened.
The nightmares before the fire always involved mutilation of my animals.
I would wake from these nightmares to my Epstein.
He slept next to my head in order to comfort me from these nightmares.
Pushing his head into my neck. Placing his paws and weight on my chest. Until I realized it was another nightmare.
My subconscious brain again accessing distorted memories my conscious brain would not let me.
Now Epstein only exists inside my nightmares.
With the loss of his physical form the memories of him will be gone forever too.
This is what happens when I lose an animal. My brain won’t allow me to access any memories.
In my last nightmare I did remember the night before the fire when I was petting him so much, and he was so happy he was squealing.
I woke up panting from the nightmare and for the first time, Epstein was not there to comfort me.
Im jumping ahead a bit. Back to the inferno.
We called the fire department.
I waited what was probably two minutes but seemed like an eternity for the fire department show up.
I watched the first home I ever owned, felt safe and secure in, for one week, become engulfed in flames.
I Heard windows breaking.
I Saw dark black smoke billowing out my bedroom window where my babies were.
I hate to even think about what they saw.
Luckily, I couldn’t if I tried.
The fire department pulled up.
I immediately screamed that there were dogs and possibly a cat in the upstairs bedroom.
The firemen gave me a dismissive glance as if to say “just dogs?”
They ignored mine and my house mate’s desperate pleas to rescue them.
Several other fire trucks pulled up.
I ran from one fireman to another pleading with them to get my babies out of the house.
This was kind of the way things were going to go.
Running from one fireman to the next. Having them look through me and not at me.
Having them not listen.
Feeling completely helpless.
As I begged for them to hear me.
Shouting. Screaming. Pleading.
Through this process, I would stumble on one who cared.
Who took my pleas for help seriously.
It’s difficult to judge time in a situation such as this.
Everything is both frozen and going by at breakneck speed.
But I’d say 20-30 minutes passed before I found one who responded appropriately.
“There are dogs up there?”
I screamed “YESSSSSSS!!!!!!! PLEASE HELP THEM!”
Rewind a bit.
I also have a pig who lives outside because she chooses to.
Her name is Rosie.
She taught herself how to sing, play the drums, and has become an internet sensation.
This is no exaggeration.
She is my world and nothing short of extraordinary.
I tried to go check on her in her tent right outside the house and I was immediately told by the New Orleans Fire department that they were going to call the police on me.
Funny that these were pretty much the first words they spoke to me.
“Im not going in the house. I need to get my pig who is on the side of the house. I don’t care if you arrest me. At least I’ll have a place to stay”.
Why is this even a threat when your home is burning to the ground and you are losing everything that provided you with any sense of comfort?
Helpless amidst a group of 50 “hero’s” who ignore your desperate pleas to help what is most important to you in the world.
No one seemed to take me seriously about the pig.
But then again no one seemed to take me seriously about anything.
They seemed to think it was funny I had a pig.
I have no doubt any pig would find the callous disregard thesd humans tasked with saving lives funny.
I was not treated with any human kindness or dignity by most of these men.
I don’t know why I expected them to care about the animals.
I am greatful to the man who finally listened to me about the dogs. Thank You whoever you are.
I again ran from fireman to fireman telling them I had a pig on the side of the house. That she needed to be moved to safety. By this time smoke engulfed the entire street and I could barely see my hands in front of my face.
Again, I thank the man who finally took me seriously. And got three other men to help me get my beloved Rosie to safety.
She’s 350 lbs.
It wasn’t easy.
“Will she just come to you?”
”No. She’ll stay whereever I am. You kind of have to make a bunch of noise and scare her. Maybe like slap her but gently and she’ll run out of the yard.”
Three men that are in the photograph helped me with this until a fourth decided to jump in and “help” by kicking Rosie in her side.
I said “DONT KICK HER!”
“You said to scare her”.
”Yes. Scare her. Loud noises. Don’t kick her.”
We got Rosie out.
I wanted to tell my husband so badly that Rosie was safe. Away from the fire. Except that I could see nothing through the smoke.
I approached a group of three firemen.
“Can you please find my house mate for me so I can talk to him?”
”Well… What does he look like?”
”He’s the only other person that’s not a fireman. He looks like he escaped a house fire.”
”Well, why can’t you find him yourself?”
”Because I can’t see through the smoke. I’m not wearing shoes. And I have nerve damage in my feet. So it really hurts to walk around on the pavement”
I figured I gave the three men standing around doing nothing some pretty valid reasons.
”Well, I don’t feel like walking that far”.
Touche! Just keep twisting the knife.
There is a lot I’m leaving out.
The photograph of me says a lot.
Notice I am freezing, screaming, crying, drenched in water.
I did ask several times for a blanket.
I was told that they didn’t have any.
I could not believe it when my big black dog, Trouble, covered in soot and ash was taken out of what I knew as my bedroom only a few hours prior.
After watching it burn, black smoke pouring out of breaking windows, I was certain that no one in that room survived.
I was in complete disbelief.
No sooner did they put him on the ground than I heard a voice yell
”Get some b roll footage!”
An entire news crew seemed to materialize out of nowhere. All cameras on my dog.
They saved my dog for a photo op.
I do not say this without great appreciation. I’m glad they needed one, otherwise he wouldn’t be here.
I cannot express how badly I wanted to hug my dog.
Feel him alive.
But this was disgusting.
I refused to share our sacred reunion with the cameras.
There is a lot more to this story. But I need to take a breath right now and continue later.
I will say that this was all over the news. About the “heroic firemen saving a bunch of animals from a burning house”
The news said nothing about anyone involved with the house.
Myself.
My husband.
When I was able to finally get a phone, I was met with a wall of hysterical texts from friends who thought I might have died as they saw my house ablaze on various news outlets, described all of my animals being saved but didn’t mention me.
Although this entire experience made me eager to fake my death, move to the woods and never speak to another human as long as I live, I decided to give my friends some relief in knowing that I’m still treading the earth.
All of the cats returned to the house except my Manny.
The cats annd I formed a search party. They follow me when I walk and we went on many good hearted searches for my Manny.
It would have been nice for one of these 50 men to inform me that one of my cats had died.
Instead I found this out from a relative who read one of the news articles I refuse to look at.
My Manny, who never left my room died in the fire.
My service dog and baby, my beloved Epstein, is dead as well.
As I write this I feel dead.
Writing has always been cathartic for me.
I usually use humor to deal with the cartoonish tragedies in my life.
Not this time.
I just need help.
Losing one of my beloved animals would leave me frozen indefinitely.
The house. My first home. For a week.
Watching it burn.
Losing everything.
All my material belongings.
Being robbed of the unfamiliar privalidge of security for the first time in my life after one week.
The knife being twisted again and again.
The cruelty of the firemen.
The news depicting them as heros who cared about saving the animals.
The trauma of all of this.
The uncertaintity.
Jow does anyone function after such a catastrophic freak occurrence?
Much less make quick, life altering decisions that would be beyond difficult if everything did not burn.
On top of this I am now expected to make life altering decisions.
How to relocate the animals.
What to do with this burnt up shell of a house.
How and where to relocate a with two dogs, four cats, and a 350 pound pig.
Things like socks being a desperate need.
Picking up the pieces.
Keeping my brain from checking out completely.
Keeping my animals in good spirits, even though they lost their home and best friends as well.
Where does one begin?
What I am feeling is truly inexplicable.
Anyone who is familiar with me, my writing, knows I’ve lived a cartoonishly rough life.
But this…. Is hands down the most difficult thing I’ve ever lived through.
If you’ve ever wanted to show your support for me as an artist, writer, person, or are a good human who cares to help another human in desperate need trying to stay afloat in a nightmare they can’t seem to wake up from, NOW IS THE TIME. I really appreciate all of you reading this.
Thank You So Much for your Support. Whether it be financial, moral, emotional, or whatever. Anything helps. I know there are still good humans out there. Even if I have to choke through the smoke, begging in desperation; I know you’re out there. And I Thank You.
FAST FORWARD-3 WEEKS LATER- “Honest mistakes”
Some “honest mistakes” have taken place in the last three weeks. Disgusting. Unforgivable ones.
The SPCA lost my dear Epstein’s remains.
It wasn’t enough that my oldest baby Manny got lost in the shuffle of the Firemen being complete dipshits and not respecting his life or mine enough to even tell me that they found him dead in that inferno. Finding out from someone so far removed who heard on the news that he died.
But the snake who came and took my dear baby Epstein; and guaranteed I’d have his remains back…. Well, she lied. Or it was the first in a string of “honest mistakes”.
Turns out he was cremated in a MASS CREMATION, and, well, he’s gone forever. WHOOPS! Thanks SPCA!
It goes without saying that This is truly disgusting and unforgivable.
I keep seeing their commercials soliciting for donations. They sicken and haunt me.
I haven’t had time to think about any of this. Time to mourn. Time to cry. Time to sleep. Time to thank you. Time to update this.
The clock is ticking. There has not been a nanosecond I have not been tethered to this stupid phone, calling demo companies, charities, government entities, applying for permits, trying to figure out next steps, places to live, places to stay, having one PET UBER after another kick me and my dog out, asking for help, thanking people for it, or trying to.
Bumbling through extremely life altering decisions in hands down the most traumatic and nightmarish situation I’ve ever been thru in my life.
And if you know me, or my life, that’s saying a lot.
People keep telling me that I’m taking this all “very well”. I’m not.
My brain is just protecting itself so that it doesn’t overload and check out.
It did that just that the first week. That that was the only time since my house was ablaze that I was truly terrified.
If I can’t make the decisions, no one will. If my brain checks out, that’s it.
And as with everything, if I don’t laugh, I’ll most certainly be crying.
But the laughing has become more uncontrollable.
More hysterical.
More maniacal.
The more I try to control it, the worse it gets.
Not unlike Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker character.
Also, The clock is ticking.
Time is running out fast.
I have to hurry up and get what only a month ago was my first real home but is now the source of horrific agony, demo’d.
It is in imminent danger of collapsing.
It’s a public health hazard
Each time it rains it becomes heavier. Each time the winds blow, there’s a chance that a part of it can fly through the neighbor’s window and…. I don’t even want to think about it.
To protect my brain from checking out.
The public hazard is in plain sight.
Not tucked into a neighborhood.
Next to a one of the main thoroughfares in New Orleans.
Beside a bridge over the canal that rises and all day long.
People are forced to stop and look at it for 20 minutes at a time.
It’s a roadside attraction.
But not the one I always dreamt I’d have. You’d think it’d be easy to find a company to PAY to demo such an imminent threat to public safety.
Even charity who might assist in this. One would think.
I have been trying.
For weeks now.
Trust me.
I’ll get to that.
Because of all of this,
Not only could the city of New Orleans come in with no warning and bulldoze it, which they could do at any time, but they can fine me “as much as they want”.
I finally found a demolition place.
Two weeks ago.
Called Turnkey Demolitions.
They gave me a quote for 10 grand.
It was nearly impossible to get up that money.
But it was necessary.
With your generous support (THANK ALL OF YOU! SOOOO MUCH!) along with a credit line my mom took out, and the other owner putting some money down, I managed to get it together!
No sooner did I tell em to get that bulldozer rolling and DEMOLISH THIS ALBATROSS, and I could finally BREATHE than TURNKEY DEMOLITIONS upped the price by 7 grand.
The minute they found out how much of a credit line they had conned my mom into taking out.
Price gouging me.
The contractor told me that they made an “honest mistake” and didn’t realize the house was two stories.
Hmmmmm…..
I said, “You had photographs of the house from the getgo. You knew it was two stories”.
“It was an honest mistake Maam”.
“You said you’ve been in the contracting business for 20 years now. Didn’t something seem off to you?”
“It was an honest mistake”.
Then he got mad that I was upset. Told me that this “honest mistake” was made because he was rattled by me “blowing up his phone”.
I replied, “That doesn’t sound very professional to me. Blowing up your phone? You sound more like a drug dealer than a contractor”.
He then told me he couldn’t talk to me if I was cursing and hollering.
WHO IN THEIR RIGHT FUCKING MIND WOULD NOT BE DOING THAT?!!?!?!?
This is the same man who tried to gain my trust by volunteering the information that “many of these demo companies work in cahoots with the city and will take people in very desperate situations like mine and squeeze them for everything because they know it’s either that or losing the property, having the house collapse, getting fined as much as the city feels like fining you.”
“THE FINE IS LITERALLY AS MUCH AS THEY FEEL LIKE FINING ME?!?!!??”
“Oh yes! It’s usually tens of thousands of dollars or more”
Thank You for delivering that information sir.
I thought of attempting to make it a one story house with my sledgehammer. But figured that sledgehammer would be better used to bash the face in of the man who ran this racket! Oh well!
Time to REBOOT this madness and call, yet ANOTHER DEMO COMPANY and see what they had to throw at me!
I immediately called BIG EASY DEMOLITION, and told them what TURNKEY RENOVATORS had done.
The man’s reply was straight out of a David Lynch movie.
“WE ARE TURNKEY RENOVATORS. I’m the man you’ve been talking to all along.”
“Wait What?!!?!? You ARE Turnkey Renovations?!!??? What does that even mean”
“Exactly what I said.”
“Then Why are you branded as a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COMPANY with a different name, reviews, phone number, website, address, etc.”
“I have another call I have to answer. But I will tell you that that $17,000 quote that we gave you is as good as it’s gonna get”.
With that he hung up.
Well then…. Interesting.
This goes DEEP!
Back to square one or two or whatever, the last two weeks a complete waste. I’m back to freaking out even moreso now, getting demo quotes, as many as I can, researching demo companies like crazy.
Every city is corrupt in its own way. But New Orleans is a different beast. They like to take the little its impoverished residents have and beat em to a pulp.
I’m getting a crash course in a new more disgusting layer of city corruption now.
Then there are the charities. Name any of the top ones you might think of. I spent a week cold calling them too! The RED CROSS and HABITAT FOR HUMANITY, GOODWILL, the SPCA, The US DEPT of AGRICULTURE, Housing and Urban development. The last two being government entities.
Housing and Urban Development’s phone number was straight up disconnected.
Strange.
I guess Dr. Oz or whoever’s in charge of HUD didn’t pay his BOOST MOBILE bill this month!
I spent weeks cold calling all of the above charities. All of the aforementioned gave me the run around, straight up lied to me, and/or referred me back and forth between each other.
Or just really REALLY fucked me over HARD! I am finding out the bigger the name of the charity, the more money they siphon out of people who have their hearts in the right places, but have never been in a position like mine (Thank God!). And kinda just assume that a charity with such a big name actually HELPS people! WRONG!
I do not say this because I am upset some of these charities could not help me. That is understandable if I don’t fit their criteria. I don’t feel entitled to help from these places. But what I do feel is that if you have a house that burns down, are low income/disabled like myself, and these places exist solely to help people like me, or say they do, maybe ONE should put money where their mouth is. Or at least not give me the runaround, lie, treat me like shit, refer me back and forth to one another etc.
I know I’m not the only one who has experienced this. Which makes me even sicker.
I’ll reserve a special call out to LOWERNINE.ORG.
I spent a good two weeks leaving voice mails on their number that no one ever answers.
Knocking on their locked door during “operating hours”.
I thought that THE ONLY chariry that exists solely to help the poorest neighborhood in one of the most impoverished cities in America, where I live, would surely help a little bit with a house that turned the neighborhood they serve into a public health hazard, and was in imminent danger of collapsing.Or the people who were unfortunate enough to have lost that house. Not only did they not return my many calls or help.
The Karen X Mink Stole X ILSA mashup who is the Executive director, as she arrogantly asserted over and over remains to be the most rancid white woman I believe I’ve ever spoken to.
If I were her, I wouldn’t be so proud of the fact that I ran a charity that, to my knowledge never helped a single resident of the Lower ninth ward. People who are poor and black.
It’s a small neighborhood. And people talk a lot here.
When ILSA She Wolf of the Lower Ninth Ward finally returned my call after two weeks of me calling and me finally leaving them a message asking daring to ask who exactly were they helping?
She first told me I had to be “living in the house” in order to recieve aid.
Mind you, she knew who I was and what house I calling about.
That this was impossible as it was barely standing.
ILSA then accused me of gentrifying the neighborhood. I am white. I live there. I know my presence does not particularly lend itself to other white people wanting to check out the neighborhood.
Then she tried to tried to “trick” me into having the city come in and demo my house for “free”.
She told me that a friend of hers had her roof cave in over the winter during the snowstorm. She said that the city came in and demolished the house for her FOR FREE!
I said, “Yes! I do know they offer that service. I also know that along with that they take your property, and can fine you as much as they want”.
She replied, “I don’t know about all of that.”
“I have a feeling you know a lot about that actually. I do and I am not the executive director of a charity that serves this entire neighborhood”.
She advised me to call 311 and ask.
TOUCHÉ ILSA!
She was “advising” me to bring more attention from the city to the hazardous albatross of a roadside attraction that used to be my home.
This woman is doing the unthinkable. A white woman, taking money and gate keeping it from the poor mostly black residents of the neighborhood she could help if she wanted.
I highly suggest no one donates to charities listed above.
This whole thing is so incredibly despicable.
It makes me sick on so many levels.
But again, I can’t let myself get too sick. Or angry. Or sad. Or tired. Or wield a sledgehammer.
In time that will happen…. I must keep pushing on and find an HONEST demo company in this city! (DOES THIS EVEN EXIST?) And get this public health hazard demo’d before it collapses or the city takes it from me and fines me “as much as they want”.
Ppl kept telling me they see all these house fires on the news too. Like INCRIMENTALLY more than EVER!! That’s a little strange. I don’t really know what to think of that.
I feel like the universe was caving in on me.
It’s like an ego death without the use of hallucinogens.
My eyes are more open than they’ve ever been! And my senses are hyper aware.
That’s cool and all, but if I had ONE WISH it would be to go back in time a month ago and be in bed with my Manny, my Epstein, and my Trouble. And be blind to ALL OF THIS FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!!!!!!!!!
Just get fat and watch daytime television. That’s my dream.
OH AND TO FIND A LEGITIMATE DEMOLITION COMPANY IN NEW ORLEANS!
My NEXT “big project” will be to to DEMO THE HOUSES OF EVERY LAST ENTITY WHO FUCKED ME DURING THIS PROCESS!
I’ll start my OWN CHARITY called “BULLDOZING FOR HUMANITY”. And you better believe that EVERY CENT of those donations will go to my humanitarian cause!
LOVE ALWAYS,
MEG.
Organizer
Meg Mccarville
Organizer
New Orleans, LA