I don’t remember the exact timing other than it was when the Comfort was entering the Gulf of Mexico, and heading toward New Orleans, not Pascagoula. It was late at night. I was in my hotel room, finally able to get a few hours sleep, secure in the knowledge that the two governors would have the assistance they requested. That was when my telephone rang.

Trent Lott was on the line, ordering me to send the Comfort to Pascagoula. “What kind of a FEMA director are you?” I remember Lott saying. His voice got louder and louder, and I started pacing back and forth, my voice rising with his. “They need that ship in Pascagoula!”

The senator was yelling at me, as though he could change reality by being forceful. I yelled back, determined to do what was right for the people who needed what the ship would provide. In the back of my mind I hoped nobody in adjoining rooms could hear me, at the same time not really caring. I knew the real reason for Lott’s call and it had nothing to do with any need in Mississippi. Governor Barbour was empowered to make that call. Governor Barbour was the man responsible for requesting what was needed in Mississippi and that did not include a medical ship when their hospitals were fully functional. Lott wanted his damned photo opportunity and was indifferent to all else.

I specifically asked Lott if he had spoken to Haley Barbour about this, because Haley and I had reached an agreement—he got the cruise ships, the hospital ship was going to New Orleans. I had an ulterior motive, too. I wanted Lott to remember that Haley Barbour was in charge. Senators might preen and pose and look impressive in Washington, but when it comes to running a state, being governor trumps a mere U.S. senator.

I guess people don’t routinely say no to a U.S. senator because when he had run out of anything else to say, he shouted at me, “WHY DON’T YOU GROW SOME BALLS AND BE A REAL MAN?”

So I did. And I was.

I said goodbye to the senator without giving him his way.

Continues...