Heritage Washed Away

GULFPORT, Miss. Carol Brown is glad to give up a little Southern charm in exchange for a good meal and a short drive to Wal-Mart.

The U.S. 49 pawnshop owner loved many of the old homes and historic buildings that Katrina snatched from the shoreline. But she also liked the $9.99 all-you-can-eat crab leg specials on the casino barges.

"Good Lord willing," she said, "that whole coast will be replaced with casinos and high-rise condominiums."

Besides, Brown said, casinos brought thousands of jobs to a dying area and an Olive Garden with an ocean view. At least one of the floating casinos has a Southern theme. Think "Gone With The Wind," with slots.

So all is not lost for Brown.

"Things are better than they ever have been," said Brown, 60. "At least they were before Katrina."

Blues legend has it that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to become famous at an intersection on U.S. 49 called "The Crossroads." Decades later, many wonder whether Hurricane Katrina will force struggling communities along the highway to sell their souls for profit.

The gloomiest residents predict southern Mississippi will become like any other tourist mecca, devoid of character and charm.

Storied homes have been swiped from their foundations as casinos and heavily bankrolled restaurants and retailers have vowed to rebuild, bigger and better than before.

Katrina crushed a Landry's seafood restaurant on the coast. Days after the storm, a sign outside read: "We will be back."

No such sign hung over the dozens of pulverized antebellum mansions along the coast in Gulfport, and residents were nearly all leery of committing to rebuilding.

The South might rise again, but it probably will be a lot different than before.

State's Nerve Center

Gulfport is on the southern tip of U.S. 49, perhaps Mississippi's most legendary roadway.

It runs like a spine up the southern half of the state, slicing through rolling forested hills to Hattiesburg, then arcs west to Jackson and on to Memphis, Tenn.

It has been the state's cultural, economic and political nerve center for decades. North of Jackson, the highway was known as the Main Street of the civil rights movement. It was the road many blacks traveled when they left the state after slavery and the way businesses and farmers got supplies from the north.

Now Mississippi leaders want to widen the highway to get more tourists and casino workers from the north into Gulfport, leaving many worried that the quaint life they love will be gone for good.

Many residents said Katrina might only speed Mississippi's decades-long metamorphosis from a struggling state of farmers, laborers and tradesmen to a burgeoning, low-cost tourist destination.

So much had already changed along U.S. 49 before Katrina hit. Blues fans can buy a Big Mac on the corner where Johnson made his deal with the devil.

Many communities along the highway are experiencing an influx of could-be-anywhere chain restaurants and big-box retailers as more people move to the area with accents from Michigan, Ohio and New York seeking an affordable alternative to Florida.

Deal-seeking developers have swamped Gulfport with bottles of cold water and plenty of cash to buy out storm-rattled residents.

John Miller hadn't even found his grandfather's Purple Heart before he fended off three offers to buy his family's storm-damaged home across the street from the Gulf of Mexico.

"I wouldn't even talk price," Miller said while loading a few salvageable items into a rental truck. "But you got the idea you could pretty much name your price."

Residents such as Miller say that's how the erosion of their Southern heritage advances, one home at a time.

He might not sell, but others surely will.

"People are going to build horrible condos here and make this place ugly, like Tampa," said Ed Throop, a former Tampa resident who sifted through the rubble of his family home toppled by storm surge. "Pretty soon, this whole beachfront will be commercial development. It just breaks my heart."

Even religious leaders who hate gambling and love their Southern heritage find it tough to criticize casinos that employ thousands and appear to be the most likely savior for the storm-ravaged coast.

"People who want to gamble are going to gamble," said Ann Walker, whose husband is a rural preacher. "I am against it, but people need jobs."

Nina Phillips has owned bars along U.S. 49 most of her life.

Her latest venture, the Punkin Patch bar just north of Gulfport, has given her a front-row seat to the changes. Her roadside bar is part shrine to Elvis and part monument to her ability to survive 81 years in one of the poorest areas in the United States.

Her bedroom is attached to the bar, behind a wall with a dozen pictures of the King, who was born about two hours away in Tupelo. Snake skins hung from the wall as regulars danced, stumbled and groped their way through an Aerosmith song blasting from the jukebox. A handwritten sign for weekly pool tournaments touts: "Winnetake all."

Traffic whizzes by at all hours now, and developers have started to buy old plantations with plans to build rows of homes, service stations and grocery stores.

Phillips would love to have a grocery store nearby, but she can't fathom who could afford one of those new homes.

They're nice, but $90,000 for 2,000 square feet? "Where does the money come from?" she asked.

John Alliston struggles with the idea that his tiny roadside hardware store in Saucier will die when he does.

His children have no interest in taking over the 60-year-old family business, the way he took it over when his father got too sick to work.

The kids watch Alliston work 10 hours a day, seven days a week.

The payoff: a rundown store that lost its roof and front wall when Katrina roared through. Like most business owners in the area, he had no insurance.

"I don't blame them for not wanting it," said Alliston, 61. "But I can't retire, so I don't have any other option other than to rebuild. When I die, someone will have a better idea for the land. Maybe they'll turn it into a convenience store. People would like that."

Another historic place lost.

Newcomers Welcome

Mary Ann House is tired of watching other areas of the county flourish with new restaurants, shops and amenities while she and her neighbors wallow in decades of gripping poverty.

House owns Oaks Package liquor store and delivers mail on the side. She's no stranger to failure, having owned a troubled convenience store, game room and gas station along U.S. 49.

Like others in the area, she would gladly trade a fabled plantation for a Wal-Mart. Unlike others, she likes all the new people, ideas and money.

Mississippi's typically black-and-white ethnic makeup is changing. Economic development in the region has attracted highly educated Asian, Middle Eastern, Indian and Eastern European immigrants, according to U.S. Census and state data. Consistently low unemployment rates have attracted large numbers of Latino immigrants.

"History is great, but you need a livelihood, too," said House, 47.

U.S. 49 doesn't have the same feel of the sun-drenched road described in countless blues songs and novels.

There's a Mercedes Benz repair shop outside Hattiesburg. A vivid red Budweiser bottling plant is perhaps the highway's most striking amenity between Gulfport and Jackson.

Fewer relics of the old South survive.

Funky-looking barbecue restaurants still dot the landscape, but many are franchised or appear more decorative than authentic.

The rush to expand U.S. 49 could result in the demise of Heather Mapp's family fruit stand in Mount Olive. Mississippi transportation officials told the family they must tear down the roadside stand after state leaders finalize the design and financing for the expansion.

"It will probably work out well for the state, but it won't be too good for us," said Mapp, 22, a banking and finance student at a community college.

"I guess that's what they call progress," she said while throwing out produce damaged by Katrina.

Feazell Lofton Jr. loves sitting in his chair on the edge of U.S. 49 watching the cars pass his mobile home south of Jackson. He particularly likes pumping his fist to get truckers to blow their horns.

His wife, James, still does laundry with a bucket and a washboard. She loves purple hats.

Lofton said the area hasn't changed much in his 74 years.

He retired as a cook in a neighboring home for the mentally ill.

His brother, Ananaise Lofton, moved to Toledo, Ohio, decades ago to work in high-paying steel mills. But warm winters and cheap living brought him back to Mississippi.

"For me, I really like all the new things," Ananaise Lofton said. "All the things that people say we are losin' -- our history -- I never thought was that good anyway."

The Loftons sat together silently for a few moments watching cars head toward Gulfport on Wednesday evening.

"But I will say, it's starting to look a lot like everyplace else here now," Ananaise Lofton said. "When you go away, it's easy to get lost when you come back."