Living In The Superdome

September 28, 1998 / 5:05 AM EDT / AP

As Hurricane Georges threatened to deluge New Orleans, the Superdome played host to an unusual human drama.

The world's largest indoor arena, which occupies 13 acres in the middle of New Orleans, was used as an evacuation center for the first time Sunday, and about 10,000 people showed up.

One of them was a very pregnant Michelle Thomas. She decided to ride out Georges on a blanket on the Superdome floor, the home of the New Orleans Saints football team, who played in Indianapolis on Sunday.

"I'm two weeks overdue to have this baby," said Thomas, 29. "It may be a hurricane baby and it may be a Superdome baby for all I know."

The evacuees were given space in the arena's four ballrooms, each of which accommodated up to 2,000 people. Another 2,000 overflowed into the concourses and halls.

"We stopped trying to register people," Superdome general manager Doug Thornton said. "We're just trying to get them off the street."

The large number of people, many with pressing medical needs, prompted an urgent call for volunteer doctors and nurses to augment the contingent of police officers and 130 National Guardsmen.

Philip Barbin, 83, sat in the arena's lobby, his frail hands clutching an aluminum walker as children ran shouting around him and adults pushed past.

"I never left my house before for a storm and I wish I hadn't this time," Barbin said. "I'm all alone here. How do I get anybody to help me? These people are all too busy."

Nearby, Erma Wilson, limping heavily on a cane, looked for a place for her asthmatic husband to plug in his oxygen supply.

Ninety-three-year-old Corrina Mason sat in a wheelchair, tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm alone and I'm scared," she said.

With the ways in and out of town completely shut off, some of the tourists and business visitors stranded in the French Quarter ventured out to drink under hotel awnings. Others hit the three Bourbon Street daiquiri bars that stayed open despite a 6 p.m. curfew.

David Cavage, a tourist from Phoenix, headed up Bourbon Street clutching several cans of beer in a plastic bag. Cavage already had four cases of beer buried in ice in the bathtub of his hotel room but wanted to be well-prepared.

"We're going to be stuck in our hotel for two days," Cavage said. "Oh yeah, we're all ready for the hurricane party."

The rest of the Quarter was eerily silent. Hardly any neon signs blinked over the street and nightclubs showcasing all-night live jazz were shuttered.

Dan Winn still managed to make the most of the situation. He runs the Hurricane Room in the historic Old Absinthe Bar, a 200-year-old landmark on Bourbon Street.

The drink of choice? Hurricanes: a rum and fruit punch siphoned from a vat on the second floor of the bar.

"I make a stiff hurricane," Winn said proudly. "It's illegal to sell absinhe, so we sell hurricanes from heaven. It comes from the skies."