Wednesday, April 27 started with a bang. Loud thunder and a lot of lightning roused us from a cold sleep about 5 am. An hour and a half later, I woke up, sent my dear wife off to work and went out for a short 3.5 mile run. It was a nice morning-- just a little breeze a little humidity. My right Achilles had been bothering me (due to overtraining) and I was just starting to work my way back into shape. I also took note of power crews that were already out at 9 am cleaning up after the storm.
I then cleaned up and headed off to our prospective new home for final walk through, after which I headed off to The Athlete’s Foot in Midtown Village for my 12-4 shift. I passed through the intersection of McFarland and 15th street as I hit McDonalds. Since I’m starting to run up against time, I hit the drive through and head to work.
Now we’d known that the day would be eventful from a weather perspective, because of the advance warnings that technology gives us. We’d heard about the havoc this system caused in Arkansas, so it was hard to stay focused. Get a little work done, look at the radar. Work, radar. The wind started to blow more intently. Finally, the radio station we listen to ran EAS tones, signifying the start of the weather situation for the state of Alabama. My blood ran a little cold. Tuscaloosa had a brief tornado hit the southern parts of town a few weeks earlier, and we considered ourselves lucky.
About 3:15, the boss called. We discussed the situation, and he said he’d call back. Our stores will shut down if the weather’s nasty. Happened a few times back in December, with winter weather. A few minutes later, I got instructions to close the store. About 3:35, we’re out of there. My coworker Chris and I have no idea what’s coming. Just that there’s a southwest-to-northeast flow to these storms, and they seem to be gaining strength.
So I start home by turning onto McFarland from 15th street. The same intersection I used nearly four hours earlier. I call Ann, who is headed for a basement on campus at the University of Alabama. She asks me to join her. I readily agree. She is my wife and I want to be with her, but the place we’ll be is much safer than the second-floor bathroom in our apartment. I drive in on University Boulevard and notice that a giant tree has fallen on some power lines in front of a frat house that is under construction. Crews are on the scene. It’s close to 4 pm. Some traffic lights are still out, traffic is a little slow and I’m getting a little anxious, so I turn left onto Hackberry, in front of Canterbury Chapel, where we worship. I see college kids in flip flops, shorts and ball caps returning from class, at a somewhat leisurely pace. Meanwhile, the TV weatherman simulcasting on the car radio is not mincing words in saying that he hasn’t seen a storm like this in the 32 years he’s been on the job. Most times, they deliberately speak clearly and calmly so as not to alarm people unnecessarily. Not this time. James Spann is very stern in his warnings in that this storm has the chance to make history. The students I see seem to have no sense of urgency. I am incredulous.
I get parked and go meet my wife and we hunker down in the basement in Doster Hall at the University of Alabama, literally across the street from Bryant-Denny Stadium, where the Crimson Tide plays football. It’s a touch after 4 pm. We are happy to be together as we are joined by about ten other people, mostly students. It’s a pretty loose environment—we’re watching Spann online and we see the storm stay together and start to take aim on Tuscaloosa. More students join us, upping the total to about 25. We hear warnings on the campus-wide intercom—the first two or three tell of a tornado warning. The next… says a tornado is heading toward campus. The weatherman says it could be headed for the stadium. Swell. The vibe in the room becomes more serious. Then the lights go out, and along with the power, the intercom system is done. Ann and I start to hold hands. A few minutes later, we lose the wi-fi connection. So we’re literally in the dark and have no way of knowing what’s happening. Faces in the room are lit up as people use their phones to find out what’s going on.
Last word we had before wi-fi went out was that the tornado warning expired at 5:45. About six, we’re able to learn that the coast is evidently clear. We start to poke our heads outside and decide to head home. Though we have two cars, Ann and I go home together. On our way to the car, three students start to fill us in on what went down. The hospital and 15th street are torn up. The gravity of the situation creeps in. The store I left a few hours earlier is a half-mile away from sheer, complete and utter destruction. And there’s plenty of it.
We know not to go back up University, so we go home through downtown. All we see are some power outages and some small branches in the street. We get home to find out that we have electricity but not cable TV or Internet. But we do have our phones, and we do the Facebook and Twitter thing, telling the world of our safety, and starting to learn what happened, and the true gravity of the situation. This monster missed us by about 500 yards. Way too close for comfort.
We see pictures and some video. People dying. Widespread serious damage. Buildings demolished kind of damage. Serious damage to the McDonalds where I got my lunch. The tornado seemed to head east on 15th street. Restaurants and strip malls do not exist anymore. Places where we’ve eaten. The intersection I drove through twice earlier in the day is unrecognizable. I contact a few coworkers at the running store and learn of their safety. So we park on the couch and try to unwind and process.
Now Wednesday night is trivia night, and we initially decide we don’t want to go—the situation is too serious. However, we start to think that human contact is needed. Since the outage hit the bar where we play, we go to the store for provisions. Our friends call and invite us to their place for a spell. Salt of the earth, these friends of ours. We bring beer and pizza and crank the oven and at about 7:30 start to think about supper, when someone knocks at their door.
It’s a man and his wife and about six-year-old daughter. They can’t get to their home or car because of tornado damage, and got a ride to the neighborhood thinking they had some help lined up. When said help wasn’t home, they came here. The four of us don’t know who these people are—it could be anyone. But our friends did not hesitate to let them in. The man was trying to get in touch with his mother a little further up the road so they’d have a place to spend the night. I’m ashamed to say I spent a lot of the time in or near the kitchen, frightened of people I don’t know and what they might want. But my wife and my friends showed them much kindness, sharing our food and drinks and offering fellowship. Eventually, I warmed up and joined the crowd.
The gentleman contacted relatives, and soon, they were on their way. I wonder what kind of courage it took for him to knock on the door. He doesn’t know who’s on the other side, whether they’ll even be willing to help. So the four of us go on with our evening. And as we thought, we needed our friends. It was good for us. But this episode was very powerful for me—watching my friends display the love of Christ without hesitation.
About 11 that night, we went home to further decompress. Hanging out on Tweetdeck, and spending more time learning from the outside world what happened in my own backyard. An hour and a half later, Ann and I went to bed, becoming more and more thankful. We had each other, our health, and the tornado stayed south of the river. Nothing we own was damaged. But life as we know it will never be the same.
I find myself drawing parallels to the ice storm that hit Kansas in December 2007. Nasty stuff. Power outages, trees snapping in two under the weight of the ice, and ice-covered roads. My apartment had no issues. Heater worked, I had power and hot water and my automatic coffee maker came on every morning. I had it easy compared to folks who went to the armory for a shower. We have it pretty easy now, as well.
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