Fortunately, Barbara interviewed first, and
that gave me a chance to settle down some. Barbara did great, as we all knew
she would. She’s that way. 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 stumbled 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.
My
banker had a good laugh when I told him. When he finished laughing, he told me
that if the insurance people had just came down and looked in his files at his
pic of that house before the tornado, they would never have paid me a dime.
*
Years passed. That house, which I have lovingly called Crittenden House
for many years, sat right under the new city manager’s office window. I guess
they finally got tired of looking at it, because the city finally bought that
house from me, on a handshake, and it is now a nice new city hall secondary
parking lot. The new city manager told me that I could salvage it, then bring
him the keys. I did, but when I took the keys over to his office I had to tell
him; “Here’s the keys, but you see, Jimmy, it now has no doors. Or
windows.“ My beloved Crittenden house
passed on at the ripe old age of 106. Yet much of it lives on, spread all over
Little Rock as antiques from the Blue Suede Shoes flea market.
*
I
decided to repair it myself. I did, and three weeks later, it was leased again.
One of those guys who makes a living off disasters came up from Florida. Told
me he was short on cash, long on tools, and talked me into accepting a chain
saw for a deposit. Said he would have a lot of money in a few days. But
Arkadelphia had put in emergency rules to keep that kind of stuff down. He had
no permit, so he must have been disappointed, because he called me a couple of
days later from Hot Springs. Seems he had gone over there to drown his sorrows,
got himself thrown in jail, and asked if
I would bring his truck over to bond himself out of jail. I did. A week or so
later, he went home. Later, he called and asked if I would send his chain saw
to him. I told him that if he would send his rent money still due, and shipping
charges for the saw to me, I would. I never heard from him again. His chain saw
is still in my garage, but I have never been able to get it started.
One
day, as I sat on top of that house putting shingles on, I sat awhile 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 FEMA 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 the old dad 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.
We
hauled the plywood from my storage building.
I grabbed a piece of plywood, got up on the house, drove a nail, then
took a step. My right foot slipped off a 2x4 down to another, only 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 old man’s house, I was not going to be able to climb for
a while, so I just had to confess to the old man, who was eyeing me hard. I
again gave him another promise not to sue him.
They
continued on with the house. A group of Mennonites came down from up north
somewhere, and they helped finish it. How they ever talked the dad into letting
them, I'll never know. Maybe since he had dodged one bullet already, he was
softening a bit. Just as they had put on the finishing touches and the last
nail was driven, the city decided to use that land for the new City Hall. So,
it was immediately torn down again. But I guess the old man, (who reminded me
of my Dad) his hard working son, wife
and kids, came out better financially. When the city takes land, I've heard
they pay by the square foot, which also means through the nose. I never did
know their names, or what became of them. But I still think of them
occasionally, with a lot of respect and a smile.
Much
of this next segment is based on facts, as I remember them. The rest is based
upon the scuttlebutt around town about what was going on at City Hall.
Scuttlebut is not necessarily true, but it sure began to seem to me like it
was. Some said City Hall was being transformed. Since so many were rebuilding,
It was a really good time to toughen up the city building standards. The City
Manager at that time seemed to me to be a bit of a gunslinger, and, as he came
from Cut and Shoot, Texas, maybe he was.
Our
Clay street house was rebuilt, for about what the house cost me in the first
place. This was the first rebuilt house to be finished since the tornado, I was
told, and the scuttlebutt was, it was destined to become the test house for the
new building policy.
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