When Shelton Alexander bought his mini Sony camcorder in 2004, his goal was simple: capture slam poetry.
But in August 2005, when Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, his lens turned to something far more urgent — the chaos of overflowing sewage, stifling humidity, and darkness inside the Superdome.
Two decades later, that footage is central to NatGeo’s Hurricane Katrina: Race Against Time documentary.
In an interview with PEOPLE, Alexander, now 50, grows emotional recalling the lack of information and the helicopters circling above the stadium, where tens of thousands of storm survivors waited, hoping for rescue.
“They say time heals all wounds, but that’s not always true,” Alexander says. “Some things never heal. I couldn’t breathe. My anxiety was high. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack.”
Raised in faith, Alexander’s upbringing gave him strength. His father built First Asia Baptist Church in St. Bernard Parish in 1974, the year Alexander was born. He grew up in Sunday school classes taught by his mother and heard hymns sung by his grandmother, the choir president — a spiritual foundation that would carry him through the floodwaters nearly consuming his hometown.
Alexander excelled at football in high school, earning a scholarship at Northwestern State University of Louisiana. But a fractured wrist changed his path. Feeling guided by God, he joined the Marines in 1997, seeking a way to take his son out of New Orleans and explore the world. He returned on June 1, 2001.
“I had a premonition,” he recalls. “I was going through a divorce at the time. My son and I got on a bus, and when we arrived at the Greyhound station, it started raining — and it didn’t stop for 11 days.”
St. Bernard Parish had already suffered heavy flooding from Tropical Storm Allison in 2001. Coupled with personal losses and the strain of his divorce, these experiences fueled Alexander’s poetry — a career he never looked back from.
By 2005, he documented himself watching the weather forecast, narrating the destruction and chaos Katrina promised. Unlike previous storms, Katrina felt different.
“Something in my spirit told me we had to leave,” he says. “I looked my mom in the eyes and said, ‘If we stay, we will die together.’ When she saw my tears, I think she finally surrendered.”
Alexander and his family drove toward Baton Rouge with less than half a tank of gas and a $20 bill his mother’s friend had given him for fuel.
“All the gas stations were locked up,” he remembers. “Even if you had money, you couldn’t do anything with it.”
As traffic stalled, his fuel light dropped lower. He kept filming, capturing the moment he realized leaving New Orleans might be impossible.
“I knew about the shelter [at the stadium],” he says. “I thought, we’re in the biggest place in the city — a Superdome. What could go wrong?”
Inside, the Superdome was dark, with only four holes in the roof letting in light. Without air conditioning or information, people worried about loved ones and leadership.
“It got muggy,” Alexander recalls. Toilets began to overflow, and the stench worsened.
His footage shows rain whipping against the glass doors, almost like mist. “Once I got there, I started feeling really weird,” he says. “It seemed like we were walking toward a funeral.”
The National Guard distributed Meals Ready to Eat (MREs), and Alexander used his Marine experience to show others how to assemble them safely.
“They could have told us not to give the MREs to children because some packs have a burning mechanism,” he says. “It could seriously burn you, but nobody warned us.”
Tensions rose when a man shut down a generator powering phones, leaving many unable to reach family. Yet Alexander stresses that, in his experience, there were no rapes or murders inside the Superdome housing 30,000 people.
“We had a chaplain ministering to us,” he says. “We all needed hope, and he provided that. We weren’t tearing each other apart. Despite the harsh conditions, we still had pride and dignity.”
Alexander recalls the frustrating slow pace of evacuation after the storm. “They didn’t want to let us out,” he says. “We were being held against our will while helicopters kept bringing in more people.”
Finally leaving the Superdome with 20 others in his truck, Alexander still saw reminders of the trauma. “Even the AC outside sounded like a helicopter,” he says. “I was still hearing choppers in my head.”
After 13 more years in New Orleans, living in FEMA trailers and teaching creative writing, Alexander moved to Houston in 2019. He was deeply moved by the volunteer efforts to rebuild.
“God wanted me to be there,” he says. “He wanted me to tell this story. I respect the spirit world, and that’s how people remember me — mentioning God from the beginning of the film to the end.”
“After the spirit moves me and some tears flow,” he adds, “I’m able to wipe them away.”
