They called him Baby James

Each day, he rode a girl's lavender bicycle through an Arkansas Pentecostal church camp, prompting delighted shouts from everyone who saw him whiz by.

In response, Baby James would flash a mischievous grin.

I wrote about Baby James in the fall of 2005, in the midst of working on Hurricane Katrina follow-ups.

Baby James was 5 at the time, a survivor of New Orleans' floodwaters. His uncle had carried him to safety, and, after a few days at the city's convention center, the pair ended up at a wooded, rural church camp here in Arkansas.

Baby James quickly befriended the group of church volunteers manning the camp's kitchen. These older women doted on him, scolding him with indulgent smiles when he deliberately missed the school bus.

Donations to the camp included the lavender bicycle, which Baby James quickly appropriated. Everyone I interviewed knew him — not only the volunteers, but the many displaced men and women who longed to go home.

"Hey, it's Baby James!" they called out whenever he sped by.

Baby James had no mother. His relatives, including the uncle who carried him to safety, wouldn't talk about her. They said she'd left the family long ago.

The little boy had been raised by several aunties, many of whom had remained in Louisiana. They wanted him back.

And Baby James, despite the joy he found in kindergarten truancy and his lavender bicycle, wanted to go home.

On Oct. 15, 2005, I watched Baby James board a bus with his uncle. They were heading back to New Orleans. The two would live with one of the little boy's aunties. Uncle Clay had found work with a contractor doing cleanup and reconstruction.

When the cafeteria workers heard he was leaving, they rushed to kiss him goodbye. A group of Katrina victims cheered as Baby James boarded a bus.

Never mind that they were still stuck here. The little boy was going home.

Even now, nearly 2 1/2 years later, I still smile when I look at this picture: