Tornado Anniversary
Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2004 8:03 am
The folks in northern Illinois had a bout with violent weather yesterday. On the eve of the anniversary of the April 21st, 1967, tornadoes, it served as an unnerving reminder of that weather event that shaped my life and changed the lives of countless others
I had just washed my '67 Mustang that afternoon...getting home for the weekend from Northern Illinois University. It was a mild day...breezy and humid...but neither hot nor windy.
Minutes after I washed the car, the sun disappeared and the sky drew dark. The crowning sunlight outlined an approaching anvil. I was angry that my car would soon get rained on.
With the front door open, I could hear the wailing of a distant siren from a squad car. I went to the door (which faced west) to see if I could hear more. Just one...in the direction of the storm.
I shifted my view to the southwest sky. Beyond the trees which were budding, but not full, I could see debris flying in the air. And there, heading right toward me, was that massive funnel that seemed a city block wide. I did not know at that time that the lone siren I had heard was enroute to a destroyed shopping center where 7 persons lay buried and dead beneath the rubble.
The debris field stretched to our neighborhood. Pieces of lumber and metal and insulation and bricks began falling and hitting our house. The front pine tree stood 50 feet tall against the approaching storm.
I shut the door, raced to the kitchen, grabbed my mom, and we headed to the basement. The crashing sounds were major...but little other noise could be heard. Peering through our small window wells I thought it strange that I could not see that pine tree.
The minutes that followed found our ears popping and sounds of heavy heavy debris hitting the house and others in the neighborhood. It was mixed with large hailstones...about the size of quarters.
In the 7 minutes that storm took to pass through our town, more than 450 persons were injured and 24 were killed. Most of those who did not make it were kids under 16. It had hit our brand new high school directly.
My wife (then girlfriend) was sucked up twice in the vortex of that F4 storm. The car she was in was picked up once, slammed to the ground, and then picked up again. All seven in the car survived. The car did not.
There are many memories associated with this F4 tornado, but none so vivid as the scene at the high school. I still see images of those who were picked up and dropped on the high school roof, a young child asking for help who had a wood splinter through his leg, and a lightless hallway in the school lined with dozens of students covered in mud and blood...each looking like the other and mostly unrecognizable.
While we may find tornadoes fascinating and have a great wish to see one or chase one or photograph one, no one wants to have one rip through the soul of your hometown as that did ours.
A moment of silence, please, for those who lost their lives that year...and EVERY year, to nature's most destructive winds.
I had just washed my '67 Mustang that afternoon...getting home for the weekend from Northern Illinois University. It was a mild day...breezy and humid...but neither hot nor windy.
Minutes after I washed the car, the sun disappeared and the sky drew dark. The crowning sunlight outlined an approaching anvil. I was angry that my car would soon get rained on.
With the front door open, I could hear the wailing of a distant siren from a squad car. I went to the door (which faced west) to see if I could hear more. Just one...in the direction of the storm.
I shifted my view to the southwest sky. Beyond the trees which were budding, but not full, I could see debris flying in the air. And there, heading right toward me, was that massive funnel that seemed a city block wide. I did not know at that time that the lone siren I had heard was enroute to a destroyed shopping center where 7 persons lay buried and dead beneath the rubble.
The debris field stretched to our neighborhood. Pieces of lumber and metal and insulation and bricks began falling and hitting our house. The front pine tree stood 50 feet tall against the approaching storm.
I shut the door, raced to the kitchen, grabbed my mom, and we headed to the basement. The crashing sounds were major...but little other noise could be heard. Peering through our small window wells I thought it strange that I could not see that pine tree.
The minutes that followed found our ears popping and sounds of heavy heavy debris hitting the house and others in the neighborhood. It was mixed with large hailstones...about the size of quarters.
In the 7 minutes that storm took to pass through our town, more than 450 persons were injured and 24 were killed. Most of those who did not make it were kids under 16. It had hit our brand new high school directly.
My wife (then girlfriend) was sucked up twice in the vortex of that F4 storm. The car she was in was picked up once, slammed to the ground, and then picked up again. All seven in the car survived. The car did not.
There are many memories associated with this F4 tornado, but none so vivid as the scene at the high school. I still see images of those who were picked up and dropped on the high school roof, a young child asking for help who had a wood splinter through his leg, and a lightless hallway in the school lined with dozens of students covered in mud and blood...each looking like the other and mostly unrecognizable.
While we may find tornadoes fascinating and have a great wish to see one or chase one or photograph one, no one wants to have one rip through the soul of your hometown as that did ours.
A moment of silence, please, for those who lost their lives that year...and EVERY year, to nature's most destructive winds.
I have often said for us weather enthusiasts, it's a double edged sword, we want to see the action but we don't want the death and destruction. I guess all we can do is continue to study mother nature and improve warning times. These storms are inevitable but we can learn from them and therefore decrease the fatalities. The victims of that fateful day are in my prayers, as are all the victims of these powerful storms.