Spring Hill resident, ex-NYC detective sees hope in Haiti

The stench of death and the images of piled ruins won't leave John Baeza.

Neither will his encounters with thousands of Haitians living in makeshift tents throughout Port-au-Prince. They were injured, homeless and dehydrated.

They weren't angry or even bitter. Worry turned to hope. Hope turned to appreciation.

Haitians showed thanks to anyone who showed to offer help, whether it was medicine or bottled water. Baeza must've heard "mesi," Creole for thanks, a thousand times.

"I was affected by it. I was definitely touched by it," he said.

Baeza is a retired detective with the New York City Police Department. He thought he'd fly to the earthquake-torn city to provide security to doctors, nurses and other medical personnel who were there to treat the injured men, women and children.

There was heartache and physical pain felt throughout the city. Thousands of concrete structures had been reduced to rubble.

Those living their entire lives in poverty saw their living conditions suddenly turn more dismal after the quake leveled their neighborhoods.

Baeza, now a resident of Spring Hill, lived in New York during the 1977 blackout. He has seen what angry crowds can do.

He saw none of that in Haiti.

"I actually felt safer in Haiti than I did patrolling New York," he said.

Baeza had not met his medical team prior to Jan. 18.

He saw the carnage on television and drove to Fort Pierce so he could board a missionary plane to Port-au-Prince. Just like countless others, he wasn't sure what he would do when he got there. He just knew he didn't want to feel helpless watching from his living room any longer.

It was at the airport where he met physician Jennifer Bruny and others who were about to fly to Haiti for five days.

In all, he joined five doctors, three nurses, two emergency medical technicians and one pharmacist.

"The airport was packed," Baeza said. "There were lots of other planes landing."

There were no customs officials when he got there. He and his team packed their luggage onto a truck and took a ride into the Delma neighborhood in Port-au-Prince.

There they met Sister Mary Finnick and turned her community house into a hospital.

Finnick sent Baeza to find more patients shortly after he arrived. He jumped into a van with two interpreters and made it to the tent city where thousands were living.

"The people there were so resilient," he said. "They were so welcoming."

Among the wounded was an infant boy with meningitis. They eventually had to drive him to an Israeli hospital near the airport because doctors there had the medicine and laboratory capabilities he needed.

Amidst all the debris, ruckus and people from different countries speaking in different languages, there was a lot of confusion. Eventually, Baeza and his team delivered the boy to the right people, he said.

One of the surgeons on the team amputated a man's leg as he lay on the dining room table at the community house, Baeza said.

He also recalled seeing a young girl bang on the door. She had lacerations on her face and suffered from multiple broken bones. She was transported via helicopter to the USNS Comfort, a hospital ship for the U.S. Navy.

Baeza was armed with his service gun, a 9mm Glock pistol. He stayed outside while the members of his team slept. He heard sporadic gunfire in the distance, but his nerves remained calm. Nothing dangerous crept to the house.

Food and supplies were dropped off and Baeza helped pass them out to the Haitians. Some who were in line started yelling, but it never escalated. There were no fights.

"Whenever we ran out of something, people walked away," he said. "There was no screaming, nothing like that."

Baeza and his team eventually were relieved by another crew. They left the country after five days.

He has two adopted daughters from Guatemala. He has seen poverty in third-world countries, but he realized during his first truck ride to Finnick's house he had never seen it rise to such a level.

Baeza prefers to remember the people.

He befriended one 10-year-old boy named Junior. He was afraid his parents were lost during the quake.

Baeza didn't want him to give up hope. He said he wasn't deeply spiritual, but he gave Junior a bracelet. He was meant to be a good luck charm.

Twelve days after the destructive earthquake hit, Junior was reunited with his family.

"I was just amazed and overjoyed," he said of the boy reconnecting with his parents. "I was so happy for him. He was like my little buddy."

Baeza's closest brush with danger was during an aftershock that measured 6.1. He got everyone out of the community shelter - all the doctors, nurses and patients.

He talked about that for a little while. He mentioned he was a police officer and his father was a firefighter. He knew what to do to evacuate a building. He was the last to get out as the walls and ceilings shook.

Then he stopped and talked about the friends he met on the plane. He wished to talk about those who used their brains and brawn to treat hundreds of injured and sick patients under the direst of circumstances.

"It was very satisfying doing that volunteer work," Baeza said. "It was all about the doctors though. They were the real heroes down there."