Driving across the wetlands from the westward approach to New Orleans drains some of an unwary visitor's eager anticipation of visiting the "crazy Crescent City," so called for its development along a major bend in the Mississippi River.

It used to be the city that care forgot, in the old slogan, but that's no longer the case.

Jagged lines of trees broken in the fierce gales of Hurricane Katrina rise in their woundedness along marsh edges beyond the highway. Near the Interstate 10 exit to Chalmette, more than a year after the hurricane's landfall, the evidence of destruction lingers in the decaying piles of debris yet to be removed and in the occasional corpse of a swamped boat.

Unique among American cities in the mystique of its culture, New Orleans has survived and thrived since its founding in 1718 as a place unfettered by the puritanical constraints of earlier North American colonies settled by the English. Vestiges have lingered for centuries of its Creole heritage rooted in the prevailing French language of the city, its dominant Catholicism, its free-wheeling sensualness and the uneasy legacy of its proud free black and slave inhabitants.

In the summer of 2005, New Orleans was home to some 400,000 inhabitants. Shortly after the evacuation in the wake of Katrina, the population shrunk by almost half. Not everyone is coming home.

Some who left, especially those who owned little more than their memories, never returned.

Others returned, especially to the West Bank and other areas where the damage was relatively slight, to prepare their property for sale and their own relocation.

Almost anywhere in the city, regardless of wealth or its lack, the acronym "FEMA" is uttered like an epithet. The Federal Emergency Management Agency holds a special place of contempt and derision in the minds of most New Orleanians.

U.S. Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert, R-Ill., did not foster confidence in either renewal or healing with his callous suggestion that putting good money into rehabilitating the city would be a waste. So much for the union of vision and soul.

But arrayed against the enormous odds of recovering both from a natural disaster and human malfeasance, the city is demonstrating an admirable resilience, especially among those residents who have refused to submit to the ravages of Katrina and FEMA.

For those who are trying to restore a Mardi Gras-like pulse to the city, their efforts are not only a financial necessity but almost a spiritual imperative.

One example of such efforts became evident in the near-cancellation of the annual National Association of Realtors convention in New Orleans last month.

Four months after Katrina, the association had promised to conduct its convention 10 months later, but word was getting around that New Orleans was having plenty of trouble just trying to provide for its own residents, much less entertain tens of thousands of visitors.

Rumblings began circulating to relocate the convention to the fallback city, Anaheim, Calif. Whether that was an affront to the dignity of New Orleans, Malcomb Young wouldn't say, but the chief executive officer of the Louisiana Realtor Association decided to take the creative initiative.

Young began inviting various state chapter directors for special tours of the city, including a few days for some who chose to volunteer to clean up at various sites and work with such organizations as Habitat for Humanity.

Such firsthand exposure to the city's spirit and determination led to spreading the word among state Realtor chapters nationwide that New Orleans would work out after all.

The Nov. 10-13 convention -- the largest since the hurricane -- drew 24,000 people, a 17 percent increase over the 2002 association gathering held in New Orleans. The convention also had the agreeable effect of pouring $35 million to $40 million into the local economy, according to The Times-Picayune newspaper.

There were a few logistical hitches, said Lens Ferber, president of the Pennsylvania Realtors Association, but he was glad he made the trip. "You guys," Ferber told The Times-Picayune, "just need more help. It's the people down there that makes the place so special."

Refusal to submit, even in the face of disaster, is half the battle.