Good time management helps to manage stress and lower it.
Among the five hundred miles of levee deficiencies now calling for attention along the Mississippi River, the most serious happen to be in New Orleans. Among other factors, the freeboard—the amount of levee that reaches above flood levels—has to be higher in New Orleans to combat the waves of ships. Elsewhere, the deficiencies are averaging between one and two feet with respect to the computed high-water flow line, which goes on rising as runoffs continue to speed up and waters are increasingly confined. Not only is the water higher. The levees tend to sink as well. They press down on the mucks beneath them and squirt materials out to the sides. Their crowns have to be built up. “You put five feet on and three feet sink,” a Corps engineer remarked to me one day. This is especially true of the levees that frame the Atchafalaya swamp, so the Corps has given up trying to fight the subsidence there with earth movers alone, and has built concrete floodwalls along the tops of the levees, causing the largest river swamp in North America to appear to be the world’s largest prison. It keeps in not only water, of course, but silt. Gradually, the swamp elevations are building up. The people of Acadiana say that the swamp would be the safest place in which to seek refuge in a major flood, because the swamp is higher than the land outside the levees.
Time and stress management questionnaire....
At the same time that craft and industrial workers were demanding unions and causing disruption, agricultural workers were also going on strike. Their strikes had no long-term impact in terms of creating unions, but they did add to the tension of the times and heighten the class-consciousness of farm owners as employers, so they are important to talk about for a few paragraphs to give readers a full sense of what was going on in the country in the context of the NRA and the industrial strife it engendered.
The turmoil began in the South because plantation owners regarded their subsidy payments from the Agricultural Adjustment Administration, which were made in exchange for planting less cotton and tobacco, as an incentive to fire farm hands and terminate leases with tenants and sharecroppers. Not every tenant farmer was cut loose, of course, but historian Pete Daniel (1985) likens New Deal agricultural policy in the South to a modern-day enclosure movement. This enclosure movement triggered disruption in the South and an African American exodus to the North. Although as many as 15% to 20% of Southern tenants and sharecroppers were evicted between 1933 and 1935, the plantation owners nonetheless wanted them available as low-wage labor when needed (Grubb 1971, pp. 25-26). Despite what most outside observers and government officials saw as a surplus of labor, the landowners were afraid that they were going to run short of inexpensive employees at peak seasons (Mertz 1978, pp. 45-50).
This type of music can have a beneficial effect on dealing stress.
Young, who had worked for both International Harvester and Colorado Fuel and Iron before joining the IRC, received a personal letter of congratulations from John D. Rockefeller that thanked him for his years of service and told him that "I shall follow with interest your course in this new position" (Rockefeller 1934). At the least, this letter shows that Rockefeller was paying attention, or having someone pay attention for him. Young soon announced a new employee representation plan and assured everyone that the plan would generate "sound and harmonious relationships between men and management," which he likened to the "sound and harmonious relationship between a man and his wife" (Bernstein 1969, p. 455). Within a year, at least 93 steel companies had employee representation plans that covered over 90% of the workers in the industry. Things were looking good for the Rockefeller network.
This is a big reaction to extreme stress.
Torrential rains fall on New Orleans—enough to cause flash floods inside the municipal walls. The water has nowhere to go. Left on its own, it would form a lake, rising inexorably from one level of the economy to the next. So it has to be pumped out. Every drop of rain that falls on New Orleans evaporates or is pumped out. Its removal lowers the water table and accelerates the city’s subsidence. Where marshes have been drained to create tracts for new housing, ground will shrink, too. People buy landfill to keep up with the Joneses. In the words of Bob Fairless, of the New Orleans District engineers, “It’s almost an annual spring ritual to get a load of dirt and fill in the low spots on your lawn.” A child jumping up and down on such a lawn can cause the earth to move under another child, on the far side of the lawn.
Not all stress is bad but it depends on how peoples take it.
The towboat Mississippi is more than halfway down the Atchafalaya now—beyond the leveed farmland of the upper basin and into the storied swamp. The willows on the two sides of the river, however, continue to be so dense that they block from sight what lies behind them, and all we can see is the unobstructed waterway running on and on, half a mile wide, in filtered sunlight and the shadows of clouds. A breeze has put waves on the water. Coming over the starboard quarter, it more than quells the humidity and the heat. Nevertheless, as one might expect, most of the people remain indoors, in the chilled atmosphere of the pilothouse, the coat-and-tie comfort of the lounge. A deck of cards appears, and a game of bouré develops, in showboat motif, among various civilian millionaires—Ed Kyle, of the Morgan City Harbor & Terminal District, dealing off the top to the Pontchartrain Levee Board, the Lafourche Basin Levee Board, the Teche-Vermilion Fresh Water District. Oliver Houck—the law professor, former general counsel of the National Wildlife Federation, whose lone presence signals the continuing existence of the environmental movement—naturally stays outdoors. He has established an eyrie on an upper deck, to windward. Tall and loosely structured, Houck could be a middle-aged high jumper, still in shape to clear six feet. His face in repose is melancholy—made so, perhaps, by the world as his mind would have it in comparison with the world as he sees it. What he is seeing at the moment—in the center of the greatest river swamp in North America, which he and his battalions worked fifteen years to “save”—is a walled-off monotony of sky and water.