In my last post I teased you, the loyal yet nonexistent reader, with the prospect of a mind-boggling and unforgettably intriguing and enjoyable post. Well, my master plan for that one has been postponed because I have something perhaps a bit more important on my mind tonight. Because it will not leave me I feel obliged to post on it instead. I am leaving my lousy attempts at humor and puniness (new word, boom) behind on this one. The subject is much to somber for that. That being said, this is not meant to be depressing or sad though it has the capability to be perceived that way. It is a descriptions of the observations of one man who is used to observing from afar, but this time observed from quite a bit closer. And he was struck rather deeply by what he observed.
Yesterday a large tornado tore its way across Arkansas, impacting in particular two towns. Each town was essentially blown off the map. One of these towns was blown off the map for the second time in three years. It is to this town that yesterday night I ventured. Myself and two friends climbed into my car and made the frighteningly short drive from our location at the height of the storm to the affected area. Curiosity drove our desire to see for ourselves what happened there. It was the opposite of what they say to do: never drive into an area directly after an event because you’re likely to get in the way. But we three still thrive on the need for adventure that comes freely with youth, We three had some desire deep inside, though we knew not how nor did we come upon the opportunity, to help in some way. We three had need to see for ourselves the immediate aftermath of the deadly force that descended on that town. In fact, neither we nor anyone else knew of that deadliness yet. So we ventured into the depth of the disaster, ad we leaned of its immensity.
Never have I been on the scene of a tornado immediately after its occurrence. A day or two later, yes. But never within an hour of its strike. The difference is staggering. We knew we were reaching the affected area at the first disabled stoplight. Not even the yellow flashes indicating an outage accompanied the light. There was only black. We turned left towards the town and were met with occasional limbs and debris on the road. We could not see in front of us and we wondered if we were going the right way to see the damage. We knew something was amiss when we hit the traffic. Red taillights on the road ahead, as well as roads surrounding us marked solely by those lights, were everywhere. They, along with the still flashing lightening and blue explosions of transformers, were the only lights we could see. It was only afterwards that I realized the real reason why I could see the distant taillights of vehicles on the other roads so clearly through the darkness. My view was uninhibited. There was nothing in the way. There was nothing left.
We pressed on. The eeriness of a passed graveyard took was inflated. A decimated gas station was the first real damage we saw. We turned right down a residential street. The houses were shredded. One was missing a roof. Two garages were caved in on themselves under the pressure of objects hurled by the wind. One of my friends had to assure me that the power was cut off as we crossed over down power lines on the road. We dodged scraps of metal from unknown structures. We passed the shattered foundation of what used to be someone’s home.
There were people everywhere, both in the cars and out. Men and women with flashlights looked through the wreckage of their homes and wandered up and down streets to check on their neighbors. We reached a downed tree and turned around, then up another street. The red taillights were now mixed with blue flashes. The emergency vehicles could be seen far in the distance. They tended to people we never saw. We were forced to turn around again, this time by a citizen of the town telling drivers which roads were clear. His location was strategic. It was one of the town’s primary streets. From what we could ascertain, it was impassable. We asked how we could help this man. His response was at this point, the best thing we could do to help was to find our way out. We agreed. A few turns and traffic officer later, we headed back to the highway and the burned out light.
We knew of another, much tinier town, that had been hit via the radio and followed a police car the opposite way through the light and towards that town. We did not make it there as we hit the tornado’s half-mile in width path across the highway and the ensuing traffic jam along with it. One lane was always entirely covered in debris, so our line of cars slowly traveled single file to the right and then to the left and the back again, meandering in avoidance of would be hazards to our tires. On our left, surrounded by blue ambulance lights and illuminated by a spotlight, we saw a car on its side. It had been tossed some fifty feet off the roadway. Paramedics huddled over what appeared to be a man on the ground. His injuries were significant to be sure. I feel that I will always think about that man. I will likely never know the extent of his injuries, I will never be sure if he survived.
We left the highway and its twisted scraps of metal tied in bows as if by a seamstress around the wired median railing and turned onto a small country road. The road probably had never seen the traffic it saw that night. I pulled cautiously into the grass each time an oncoming vehicle came our way. The road wove for a moment out of the path of the storm, revealing momentarily the untouched woods that once were. Another turn took us back into the carved out section of desolation. We passed a barn, at least part of it, upside down and leaning heavily on an amazingly sturdy fence. The farmhouse was further up the road, damaged but ok. Another jam caused by debris just beyond the house forced yet another U-Turn. We found our way back to the highway and decided it was time for us to head home. We had seen enough.
But we had not seen nearly all of it. The darkness hid the full extent of the damage from us. Through pictures and hearsay, I know what it looks like in the light. Eventually I will go and see for myself, but for now, I have seen enough. Three times after I went home, I heard helicopters overhead ferrying the injured to the hospital. Each time one passed by, the image of the man by the overturned car came to mind, Each time, I hoped that whoever was on board that chopper would be ok.
Not all were. As of the last time I checked, 16 people were dead between the two towns. I was told the next day that nine of those people died on the same road in the town we visited: on Cemetery Road. A deep chill overtook me when I was told the name. We were right there, most likely yards from those people lying somewhere within the impassable debris.
My experience was not quite firsthand, but was instead from the relative safety of the car. But what I saw will surely not leave me anytime soon. Nor should it. Am I to learn some lesson from this experience? I don’t know yet. I did at least gain some perspective. I can chock it up as a near miss. A lot of other people can’t. Makes one think, doesn’t it?
Colonel thinks a lot.
little plane little plane 