The whole nation wants to do their part to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but a Madison, Wisconsin man is doing so much he makes all the other volunteers and charity donors look like dried puke. For Albert Pohl Martinson hasn’t merely taken in three or four family members or refugees from New Orleans: He’s taken in a whole jazz band.

“I just wanted to do what I could,” Martinson told a deluge of fawning media standing on his front lawn. “So I said I would take in the first group of refugees I could. I sent them bus tickets and had them carted up here immediately. And then, being a good citizen, I called the local news to make sure they were informed.”

However, Martinson didn’t stop and giving the 5-man combo all the food, shelter, and clean water they needed; he also bought them sparkling fresh instruments so they could take their mind off their troubles.

“I’ve always enjoyed the real music and culture of working-class people,” said Martinson, a retired advertising sales manager. “Not particularly jazz, more the rich and textured Delta blues. Some jazz, I guess… this Dixieland stuff isn’t really what I thought I was getting when I agreed to—you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to give back something to a community that has lost so much.”

Martinson, upon opening his front door to go back inside, was greeted with the jovial and unrelenting blasts of trumpets playing, “When the Saints Come Marching In.”

“Oh, goody—they’re still playing!”

Martinson is not the only one opening his home to those in need from the disaster—only the best. But across the nation, many Americans are staking out their piece of great historic tragedy. Like Amy and Morrie Callum of Albany, New York, who took in New Orleans legendary jazz guitarist Halo Jones.

“It’s horrific to see all the death and destruction left in Katrina’s wake,” sobbed Amy, while her husband nodded perfunctorily. “I had to do something. Like everyone else, I was thinking, ‘What can I do? Little ol’ me?’ But I didn’t let that hurt me. I got on the phone. I called disaster-relief people. I told them, ‘Get me a jazz guitarist.’ And they did.”

Sure thing, less than a week later, Jones arrived via cab with his trademark Yamaha acoustic.

“He loves to play that thing,” said Morrie with a smile. “Honestly, he won’t stop playing it.”

Still, there are others. Few who have given to disaster relief groups can match the sheer generosity of Ketcham, North Carolina strip club owner Paco Wiley, who opened his home and his club to 13 refugees from a New Orleans brothel, including 12 high-priced prostitutes and a madame, Ms. Louise.

“You’ve got to remember these are people like you and me,” said Paco, wiping his forehead with a lacey pink bra, in one of his rare public appearances outside his club. “You have to give them back their independence. Give them back their dignity. So immediately, rather than just give them charity and let them live off my contributions, I put the ladies to work for me. It’s all in the name of relief, folks.”

And we spell relief with media coverage—oodles and oodles of media coverage.