New Orleans evacuee Ray Garland hugged Philip Boire, owner of Skyline Motors in Walpole, who offered Garland a job and gave his family a minivan
Ray Garland was nervous yesterday morning when a limousine pulled in front of the Framingham hotel he's called home for the past four days, ever since he and Tamara Bernard and her six sons took a bus from a shelter in Baton Rouge, La., to rebuild their hurricane-shattered lives in Boston.
The limo's task was to take the family to the Walpole car dealer who was offering Garland a job. While Bernard leaned against the gleaming black vehicle and little boys skittered around it, Garland sat on a nearby ledge, smoking a cigarette. ''This is, like, weird. It's scary, too. Scary, scary, scary," he said. ''We're not used to this. Everybody tell me you accept it, but it's weird."
It was one more first for a 28-year-old construction worker from New Orleans who, like Bernard, had never before left Louisiana. He'd never been in a limo either. ''I ain't even go to my prom," he said. Ahead was another day of seesawing emotions.
Shortly after 11, the limo pulled into Skyline Motors, where a group of local businesspeople and a huge ''Welcome to Massachusetts" sign greeted them. Skyline owner Philip Boire had read about the family's plight in the Globe, about the leap of faith they took in accepting a Somerville minister's offer of space in his church, about their 45-hour bus ride, their disappointment in the narrow quarters in the church basement, and about the Ashland businesswoman who drove them in the dead of night to the Sheraton Framingham where they were still staying, on the house.
Boire had more than a job to offer the family. One after another, the businesspeople showered the stunned family with gifts -- tools from Building 19; a $1,000 shopping spree at Grossman's Bargain Outlet; a Cingular cellphone with six months' prepaid service; certificates to Applebee's restaurant, Panera Bread, and Big Y supermarket; a Ziploc bag with the few hundred dollars that the Stoughton Chamber of Commerce had collected after the hurricane. Jack Williams's Wednesday's Child program donated a pair of round-trip airplane tickets to anywhere in the country.
Boire dangled car keys and escorted the family to the white 2000 Plymouth Voyager minivan he was giving them. ''Oooh," Garland squealed. He and Bernard and the boys clambered in. ''Let's see how it starts," Garland said and turned the key. The car they had recently bought -- a 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix, the first car Bernard ever owned -- is parked in New Orleans's Ninth Ward, presumably destroyed in the flood that ravaged the district.
''I can't believe all this," said Bernard, who is 33 and worked as a data processing clerk in New Orleans.
''I'm just overwhelmed. Sometimes you feel like you're crying, you're so happy," Garland said. ''I didn't know people cared this much. I feel like I got to do something for them, too."
''Give back," said 15-year-old Russell.
Garland checked out his new tools. Tyrone, who turned 13 on Tuesday and whose friends Maurice and Robert had come over for ice cream and cake on his 12th birthday last year in New Orleans, played with a GameBoy, the present the hotel had given him. Little Isaiah, 6 years old, wandered off. ''Where's my baby?" Bernard said. Moments later, Isaiah was sitting beside 9-year-old Tyrin in a white Porsche convertible.
For now, the family can stay at the Sheraton, which has also received donations, but they're anxious to find a place to live, preferably, Bernard said, in Boston or near the city. ''They've got to get to school," she said.
Bernard used the dealership's computer to try registering with the Red Cross. Her temple shone with the salve she'd applied to soothe the chemical burn she suffered after leaving hair relaxer on too long. ''I'll never do my own perm again," she said. ''My poor hairdresser is in Dallas. I called her. I said I missed her."
Bernard attempted without luck to telephone the Red Cross. ''My cousin said try them at 2 o'clock in the morning," she said.
Bernard had slept restlessly the night before -- waking at 3:30 a.m. and turning on the television -- but, for the first time since Katrina, she hadn't wept. That didn't last. Mixed with the day's good news were afternoon tears. ''My mama called" from Dallas, Bernard said. ''She's crying on the phone. I was a little bit upset."
Meanwhile, Boire, who also owns a construction company, drove Garland to Dorchester to see the Victorian house the firm is renovating. Inside, walls were stripped to slats and studs, and Boire wanted to test Garland's knowledge about hanging sheetrock. ''See," Boire said, ''I don't know you yet." How would Garland handle the uneven wall in the back hall? ''I'd shim it," Garland said. He'd have no trouble, he said, covering the arch between bedrooms. Before long, Boire offered Garland the construction job.
''I would have still employed him," Boire said. ''He would have been washing cars, not hanging sheetrock."
''Ain't nothing but a hop, skip, and a jump for me," Garland said. ''I want to show him what I know. Make him proud. Show him how they do it in New Orleans."
That morning, Garland had read Psalm 33. ''Rejoice, O Lord," he recited now in an unfinished Dorchester house. It had been a good day. ''Even though I miss my mama."