Arkadelphia Tornado - Part three

      A renter, in one of my duplexes a mile away, called me. The front half of the building had been smashed to the floor. His mama was having a heart attack, and the lady from next door was out in the street, looking for help. I told him I was afoot, and could not get there. Call 911.

      Finally, it seemed to me, rescue people began to arrive, and take over. I realize now, they got there very quickly, everything considered. But it seemed like forever at the time. I had no idea of the scope of this thing. Help was needed all over.

      The police moved in, full force, and secured the buildings. I talked an officer into letting me go into our building and get our cameras and money, while he watched me like a hawk. About that time, Barbara and son Corey were arriving. They told me Kinley had been moved to Hot Springs. Her back was injured. Since she was sitting cross legged, Indian style, the doc said if she had been pushed down another couple of inches, it would have done her in. The large chunk of chimney, holding the walls up a little, saved her. The monster F-4 had to be at least a half mile wide. We went to where Kinley was.

      The next day, it was raining. Mrs. Lois Barksdale, Mickey's Grandmother, along with my family, had mobilized a crew to help salvage what was left at their house. The town was shut down, tighter than a drum. We need in, but only rescue persons were allowed. I found an old Red Cross shirt, and led our caravan to the roadblock. "They're with me," I told the cop. He looked at my Red Cross shirt, and waved us in. Sometimes, you just do what you gotta do. Kinley and Mickey's house was a mess, what was left of it. While the others salvaged what larger items they could, I looked for little things. Kinley had always collected, and dearly loved, hundreds of little things. We were soon forced out of downtown by a gas leak.

      I wish I could wrap my mind around the scale of this thing and tell you all of it. There were hundreds of stories in the making there, alongside mine. Many had a much worse ending. I just can't. All I can hope to do is tell you my family's story. Just one tiny ant in a very large anthill.

The next day, thank goodness, the rain stopped. My car was still trapped. I needed wheels. Officials were coming down the street, checking each building. Danger zones were being roped off. I knew my car would soon be inside a no-go zone, and I could forget about it for days. Trying to move it would tear it up worse, but I had to have it. I got in, started it up, and gunned it. With much scratching and screeching, it came out.

      As soon as I could, I went up on the roof of our building. The roofing was mostly still there, but it was all torn loose. I looked up and down the street. Every building that was still there had people on top that day.

      Most of the old brick buildings, except one, were still standing, although badly damanged. Those old walls in the brick buildings were mostly three bricks thick. Almost all of the wooden buildings in the main path of the storm were just gone. If you ever have an F-4 swooping down on you, look for a brick hidey-hole. Not brick veneer, but the old fashioned type, three or four bricks thick. Or, concrete block with brick outside. Almost all of those buildings remained standing, some just barely.

      The streets were littered with roofing nails. I got a lifetime supply of flats in the next two weeks. I have a confession to make.The days after the tornado are sort of blurred together in my mind. Some of this story may very well be out of order. But it all happened.

      I was in our building one morning, still checking the damage. Fortunately, our business equipment was still intact. The front wall had been pushed out six inches at the top, and would have to be replaced. The side walls were questionable. Heavy cables would have to be strung from one side to the other, then tightened, to hold it together.

      A girl with a notepad wandered in. I warned her the building was still dangerous to be in at this point, but she didn't care .She was looking for a story for Dateline. My son, Corey, a good writer in his own right, and a good a salesman to boot, came in. He started telling her about Kinley's experience, and about Mickey, her husband, a paramedic. Mickey, though he knew his neighborhood was hit, he was unable to check on Kinley because he was too busy pulling survivors out of the remains of a trailer park across town. Corey told her about Kinley, and about she and I finding each other afterwards. She wanted to meet her. He took her to Kinley at our house. She talked with her, then called her boss. "Yes," she told him. "She's very well spoken, and she's totally beautiful."  A story was in the works.

      I went to check the damaged rent houses. The nearest one, on Crittenden Street, was on the very edge of the tornado's path. It was still standing. Everything across the street was rubble. In seconds, it went from being the worst house in the immediate neighborhood to being one of the best.  Some roofing was off, small trees were laying on it, the windows were all broken, the electrical service was torn off. Except for that, it seemed to be intact. It was vacant when the tornado hit.

I went to the Clay Street house.While it was out of the main path, the associated high winds had blown a huge oak tree across the street down and crushed the front one third of the house down to the floor. It also crushed a tenant's car in front. The lady who owned the car had already salvaged her things and moved out. The tenants of the other apartment consisted of an elderly lady and her son. She had suffered a heart attack during the storm, but was recovering. The son was still there salvaging when I arrived. He told me, "The living room furniture is brand new. We just paid $2,000. for it."  It was totally intact, not even wet, though I don't know how. The store they had bought it from, not a downtown business, had offered to buy it back for $300. They were to pick it up the next day, he told me. I told him, "You can get a lot more for it than that. Why sell? We can move it back into the protected part of the house and run it in the paper." He answered, "We are living in Little Rock, and we need the money now." They were in a bad situation. "All right," I said. "I will buy it from you right now for $300. I'll run it in the paper, and call you when it sells. Whatever I can get is yours." He agreed. Two days later, it sold for $1200. I called him, and two hours later, he was there to pick up the $900.

I didn't see the lady from the other apartment in that house again, until later, I ran across her up town. I apologized for not being able to get there when she needed me, and gave her what money I had on me, $100.     Continued on Thursday. Thanks for your time, and your attention.