Part Three - The Arkadelphia Tornado

    There was really not much to salvage, at Kinley and Mickey's house. 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 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,, 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, and gunned it some more. With much scratching and screeching, it came out.

     As soon as I got a chance,  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 following 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 NBC. 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, noticing she spoke well, and frankly, is totally beautiful, which always helps. She  called her boss. 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 tonado's path. It was still standing. Everthing across the street was rubble. In seconds, it went from being the worst house in the immediate neighborhood to being the best. Some roofing was off, trees were lying on it, the windows were all broken, the electrical service was torn off. Except for that, it seemed to be intact. The tenant, I found out later, was on the run from the law, and had left before the tornado hit. He never showed up to claim his stuff.

     I went to the Clay Streeet 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.

     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.

      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 at some point.“

      He looked at me. "today?"

      "Well, I hope not!" He looked me over good, then started going through my tool bag around my waist.

     Our Photography 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 of  NBC 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 uh‘s and maybe a duh. I just knew I was about to become a major fool, on national TV.

CONTINUED IN FOUR DAYS