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HOME ON THE HOLIDAY PASCAGOULA, Miss. -- When James Hamilton of Pascagoula and his wife, Michelle, heard a rumor that Mobile's Holiday cruise ship was housing Hurricane Katrina evacuees, he hopped in his car and drove east on Interstate 10 until he saw the massive white ship. In his trunk was a Humphrey Bogart picture, one of only two things that the storm surge left salvageable from his family's home. In the three weeks following the Aug. 29 storm, the newly homeless Hamilton family had sought refuge in a church, on the front lawn of Pascagoula High School, on East Central High School's gym floor, in a relative's crowded trailer in Lucedale and with another relative in rural Mississippi. "I just drove I-10 and I saw the boat," he said. "I actually walked up to the security guard and said, 'What do I have to do to get on this boat?'" "By 6 p.m. that night, we had a room on the boat, and believe me, we loved it," he said. For the nomad family of four, the ship was a haven, full of amenities that Hamilton, 40, had learned not to take for granted: meals, beds, blankets, a shower, toothpaste, towels and shampoo. The costly decision to use three Carnival Cruise Lines ships as floating shelters for Hurricane Katrina evacuees has drawn widespread criticism, sparking a congressional inquiry and temporarily halting Mobile's infant cruise industry. On the Holiday, gossip about the Federal Emergency Management Agency's deal with Carnival simmers among the passengers. Citizens and politicians have questioned whether the deal was worth it. The government has estimated the cruise ship housing deal ultimately could cost taxpayers $236 million, or at least $184 per day per person. Getting a good picture of life aboard the ship hasn't been easy. Until Thursday, citing what they said were the privacy rights of the passengers, the federal government had refused the Mobile Register's repeated requests to tour the ship. In advance of the visit, the Register interviewed some of the ship's 1,590 guests, a number of whom said they have just been happy to have something to call home. A cabin on the fourth deck houses Hamilton, his wife, and two sons, Jonathon, 18, and Michael, 14. Animals are not allowed on board, so their two cats, Big Mama and Little One, and dog, Trixie, are living with Hamilton's father in Helena, Miss. The family, which is used to living in a three-bedroom home, said the cramped space is sometimes made even smaller because Michael is an Auburn University football fan and Jonathon roots for the University of Alabama. Still, they said they are grateful. A ship's tale Life aboard the ship, which moved Oct. 29 from Mobile to Pascagoula, has become routine. Many people leave in the morning for work and return at night. Those without cars can be seen walking alongside the weeds on a dusty gravel road that leads to the Holiday. The cards that dangle around their necks, attached to blue Carnival lanyards, identify them as Katrina evacuees. Access is limited. Security guards in SWAT gear patrol the grounds and barbed wire fences surrounding the ship. Some carry automatic weapons. While FEMA officials told the Register that passengers can bring guests on board with 12-hour notice, the residents interviewed by the newspaper said they thought guests weren't allowed. This is no typical cruise -- there's no nighttime disco or sparkly drinks. The casinos are closed, the slot machines are covered in plastic, nets drape over the empty pools and hot tubs, alcohol isn't allowed on board, and food is not allowed in the rooms. Quiet time starts at 11 p.m. The Shore Tours information counter on the fifth deck has been converted into a FEMA information desk, with information about benefits and opportunities to earn a GED. Instead of turquoise seas, guests see the dull tones of the Port of Pascagoula, with Ingalls shipyard, warehouses, boxcars, rusty railroad tracks and a lonely water tower. "After about three days, the ooh and the ahh part was gone," Hamilton said. But the ship maintains its polished pizzazz. Rooms are cleaned at least twice a week - surfaces must pass the white glove test - and fresh towels are provided daily. About 450 of the usual 700 multinational crew members live and work on the ship, including Carnival's chefs, who cook the same food for passengers that cruisegoers eat, at no charge. The cafes bustle with activity and the outside decks are open for sunning or enjoying the breeze. Rod Kendrick, 27, who was working as a server at the Beau Rivage casino in Biloxi before the storm, described the atmosphere aboard the ship as "tense." "The people are very destructive and unruly," Kendrick said. Between 15 and 20 people have been evicted because of their behavior, according to FEMA. The Hamilton boys say they have seen an occasional arrest, but know little about why they occurred. When the ship was docked in Mobile, it had a higher arrest rate for its population than the rest of the city. In Mobile's city jail log, police listed the cruise ship as one arrestee's address, then parenthetically referred to the person taken into custody on a public intoxication charge as a "disaster inmate from Mississippi." The cabins are noisy from the ship's motors, and the thin walls make privacy difficult, passengers say. "It's one of these places where you want to bang on the wall and yell, 'Shut up, settle down, go to sleep,'" said Robert Deming III, a 28-year-old West Coast native who was living in Ocean Springs at the time of the storm. Washing machines are shared about one for every 100 people, according to Deming. Carnival employees wash sheets, but people must was their own clothes. "Carnival (employees) would have done laundry, but we said if we want people to leave the ship, we have to start somewhere," said Herve Riou, FEMA's senior representative on board. For Deming, who noted that he eats his pizza with a fork, "the living environment isn't to the standards that I'm accustomed to." Passengers say that the tiny bathroom leaves inches between a sitting person's knees and the door, and the low-pressure shower scalds when a toilet is flushed in another room. "They are just standard cruise ship cabins," Deming said. "That's what you sign on for when you sign up for a cruise ship." Signs near the elevators warn that food is not allowed off of the Lido deck, and violators will lose their benefits. The food itself, offered buffet style in two dining rooms, gets mixed reactions. "This pizza right here would be considered gourmet compared to that stuff," Kendrick said last week, holding up a slice of barbecue chicken pizza at Picklefish restaurant in downtown Mobile. Carnival management said that 3,000 meals per day are served. The Hamiltons say they love the food and its abundance. Michael Hamilton's favorite food day is Sunday lunch, when fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes are served, he said. "They have actual home cooking," he said happily, adding, "They have a taco night, I just can't figure out when it is." Limbo Since the ship left Mobile, its population has grown by 140 people, even though FEMA officials had said that the numbers should drop as people find permanent housing. "Obviously the goal is to find them a better, more permanent option as we move down the road," said FEMA spokesman Brian Bowman. James Hamilton said he wishes FEMA had a more organized effort to transition people off the ship. His family is waiting on a FEMA trailer. The thought of leaving the ship troubles Jonathon, who loves it so much that he wants to stay, but James can't wait to get off. "I miss the privacy," he said. "I miss being able to smoke in my own home." Smoking is only allowed in designated areas, and prohibited in the rooms. Deming is also waiting on a trailer. "The whole trailer situation in Mississippi was a joke," Deming said. FEMA officials said Thursday that they are providing trailers as quickly as they can, and 16,647 trailers have been provided so far to house about 45,000 people in Mississippi. While grateful for the free housing and food on the Holiday, Deming said the Holiday's crew has not always made him feel welcome. Some crew members are very friendly, hugging and greeting his daughter. Others, "treat you like you are a freeloader, like I'm some guy on the street corner begging for change. ... They may treat you like you're worthless and it's a shame." Kendrick thinks that the cruise ship would be better off sailing the sea, as it was intended. "The money could be used in a better way to support the population there," Kendrick said. "It seems like they could have researched it and found something better." Love on the Lido Deck Although the romantic atmosphere of a normal cruise is decidedly missing, the ship's teenagers are befriending each other. Some are even finding love, according to Michael and Jonathon Hamilton. "I found a girlfriend," Jonathon said Monday, touching his chest and jostling his Carnival lanyard. Then he pointed at his younger brother, "He's just got friends." Jonathon's girlfriend, who also attends Pascagoula High School, lives on the seventh level, while he lives on the fourth. "She was kind of being flirtatious with me," he said, giving him the courage to ask her out. Asked if they've kissed, the blond high school sophomore blushed. When they aren't scoping for girls, the boys play basketball and volleyball aboard the ship. They also go to Teen Tahiti, an adult club with totem pole decor that has been converted into a fun space for teenagers, Hamilton said. "It's just a place that kids can go to get away from the little kids," Michael Hamilton said. The storm is taking the opposite toll on some of the adults, who are facing grown-up worries and staggering losses. After Deming's home suffered $100,000 worth of damage, he and his fiancee split up. "Even with help from FEMA, my savings are dwindling," said Deming, who did not have flood insurance. "To get my life back to where it was is draining me financially." He said he looks back and realizes that the stress of the storm drove his fiancee away. "That took such a mental toll on me," he said. "I was a jerk. I had a hard time dealing with those losses. I was definitely traumatized." Kendrick, for his part, alternates with his wife, Laura, in sleeping on the ship, choosing not to share the tiny room at the same time with their 18-month-old son. The other spouse sleeps at Laura's mother's house. The Hamiltons say their family is getting along well, considering the small space. "We live in a three-bedroom house, they fought like cats and dogs,"
James Hamilton said of his sons. "Put'em in the same room, they get
along fine." Jonathon piped in with an explanation, "The hurricane
kind of changed some things."
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