President Clinton came to town. He
was walking up the street toward our business, and a Secret Service
dude was ranging out in front. I told him, "You better keep him
away from my building. That front wall is going to come down."
He looked at me. "today?" he asked. "Well, I hope
not!" He looked me over good, then started going through my tool
bag around my waist.
Our building would be unusable for
a long time, but our equipment was intact. We were in the running for
the job of photographing the Arkadelphia Prom. We needed that money
badly to help stay afloat. They decided to use the big city photog'
from Little Rock. I try not to hold grudges for a long time, but I
have to admit that bothered me for some time.
Dateline NBC was coming to our
house that night to interview Barbara, Kinley, Mickey and I for their
segment. Barbara always keeps her house very neat, and takes a lot of
pride in it. It was spotless. Well, the Dateline crew descended on
our living room, and just changed everything around completely. They
moved a couch, and there was a big pile of stuff under it. Mostly
shoved there by me, I would imagine. Barbara was horrified! Oh well,
at least the cameras weren't rolling yet. That pile got gone quickly.
The lights were on, cameras ready
to roll, and Fredrica Whitfield was sitting there, smiling, her
notebook in hand. Now, me, I'm not always a good spontaneous speaker.
Never, I would guess, with a national audience. I could not think of
a single intellegent thing to say, the best being a few "uhs"
and maybe "duh." I just knew I was about to become a major
fool, on national TV. Fortunately, Barbara interviewed first, and
that gave me a chance to settle down some. Barbara did great, as we
all knew she would. But every word she said wound up on the cutting
room floor, because she was not actually "in" the tornado.
I did not say anything profound, but I got through it. At least, the
whole town was not laughing at me the next day, not to my face,
anyway. Kinley interviewed well, as always, a little gift handed down
to her from Barbara. Mickey told of being busy hauling injured people
out on doors, etc. while knowing his house had been hit, not able to
go there. Also, about the total loss of their house, the loss of a
very large number of family antiques. But he jerked a lot of tears
with his declaration, "But I got what I most wanted from that
house!" Tears on his cheek really set it off, and he was
instantly every woman's hero. After the Dateline show aired, they
also got a trip to New York to be on the Montel William's show, where
they got a new living room and bedroom suite out of the deal.
Kinley's back was still bad, so Montel even upgraded them to a first
class flight.
Insurance appraisers descended
upon the town in droves one day. Before I knew they had even seen the
house, they came to see me, bringing me a check for the total loss of
the Crittenden street house. I told them, "The contractor said
he could repair it." But for the amount of the policy?" he
asked. "Well, I don't know, I haven't got a bid on it yet."
Finally realizing I was talking against myself, which is not uncommon
for me, I shut up, thanked him, and gracefully accepted the check. I decided to repair it myself, I
did, and three weeks later, it was leased again.
One day, as I sat on top of that
house putting shingles on, I sat a while just looking over all that
destruction with a bird's eye view. It still had a pink cast to it,
from all the insulation lying around. FEMA was doing a great job,
hauling off the waste. I had heard this town was the first one in
which they went onto private property, instead of requiring the
landowners to haul it to the curb. This was back in the days when
FEMA was still run by a good ole' Arkansas boy from Danville, and it
was getting done right. Volunteers from everywhere were all over down
there, chain saws going. I looked down at the nice little lady,
trudging along the street, pulling her little red wagon filled with
cold water for the workers. She had been doing that for days and days
now. I didn't know her, but I wished I did. I just lost it, and sat
on that roof bawling like a baby for my town.
The neighbor across eighth street
were not as lucky as I. His house was just a pile of rubble, along
with two other small houses his dad owned. That was to be his
inheritance, he said. His dad came to town, and they set in to
rebuild it themselves. They worked endlessly, day after day—Even
the young children. Every plank was pulled out, the nails removed,
stacked neatly. When I had finished my house, I asked the dad, a
tough old man from the old school, if I could help. He thanked me,
then said, "As sure as I do start letting people help, someone
will get hurt, then they'll be sueing me, sure as the world."
They finally got ready to put the
top on, but there was just no plywood to be had in town. They were
stalled. Then I remembered. I had some plywood in a storage building,
and I knew it would just about be the right amount for that small
house. I told him I would give it to him if he would let me help. The
Dad was in a bind. No top for his house, and it was supposed to rain
in a day or two, or risk getting sued. I told him, "Now look!
I've built three houses, almost completely by myself. I've worked on
these rent houses of mine for years. I don't get hurt, and I wouldn't
sue you if I did."
He just looked me over good for a
long time, started shaking his head, grudgingly agreed, and walked
off, muttering about getting his pants sued off. I got up on the house, drove a
nail, then took a step. My right foot slipped off a 2x4 down to
another, 3 inches or so, and my sometimes trick knee gave out, and
something went bad wrong with my foot. Good grief! What could I tell
that dad? So I didn't tell him. Just said I had to run an errand, but
he knew by the way I was hobbling what the problem was. I knew he
thought I was headed for my lawyer's office. But, I drove to the
emergency room. Seems my big toe had popped out of place.
The doc came in, gave me pain
shots.But I had been wearing the same pair of tennis shoes every day
since the tornado, three weeks, and my bare foot smelled really ripe.
Rather that endure all that waiting for the pain shots to kick in, he
just grabbed my toe and yanked it back into place. I thought about
screaming, but decided against it.
When I got back out to the house,
I was not going to be able to climb for a while, so I just had to
fess' up to the old man, who was eyeing me hard. I again gave him
another promise not to sue him. Continued Thanks for reading!
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