Watchers in the Rain

Father stood on the sidewalk looking at the clouds. A few raindrops were coming down. He was standing in the rain, on purpose.

He was a watcher.

Today, he stood watch against the weather. It was May 6th in the northern suburbs of Minneapolis, and he took great interest in the sky. His stance said something without having to say a word. He would be still. Then he would walk to a position in the road with a better view and look in various directions. It was as if he was reading the shapes and movements like a story, or a beginning of one. He looked back at us as we watched him.

The air felt heavy. The heaviness grew hour by hour. It felt as though we were trapped between Heaven and Earth. In that moment, heaven didn’t look inviting.

Father came indoors to get the battery-operated radio. After clicking it on and waiting for the tubes to warm up, he rotated the dial to 830. Hearing familiar voices, he said, “Check! Radio is ready.”

We prepared to have dinner. Father stood in the living room. The room featured a large window with a wide view. Standing there, he continued to assess the shapes, forms, and movements of the atmosphere beyond our walls. He looked like someone who had seen evidence of something but didn't feel ready for a conclusion. Looking for words from outside, he switched on the television in the corner of the living room. Not looking for entertainment like “The Munsters” show, he was hoping for news. Specific news. When it became time for the “Weather-News,” we all paid attention. The “Weather-news” was more than a brief announcement of sunny skies and temperatures, followed by the big world news. It was news, just about the weather – on purpose. Only the weather.

We gathered at the dining room table. It sat in a corner of the kitchen. Tonight, it held meatloaf and veggies. In ordinary times, we turned off the television before eating. It was rude to ignore the conversation at the table and turn your attention to the other room. It was supposed to be a time for good food and conversation. Father said, "Leave it on, but just loud enough to catch anything important, just in case."

At the table, there was much to talk about. May was more than a change of seasons. My sister and I were both nearing the end of the academic year at the university. It was both an end and a new beginning for both of us. Beyond our tiny world, other changes were underway. More famously, one of Minnesota’s own was in New York, writing and singing about change. Yes, “The times they are a changin'.” It was 1965.

We said grace and settled in to eat. There was little conversation. We didn’t give the television much notice until we did. We would notice if the announcer’s voice changed cadence or got louder. If that happened, we would turn our attention to the little box in the corner of the living room. Important announcements called for quiet around the dinner table.

The usual patter of advertisements and normal stories suddenly changed in the background. Father sat at the end of the table closest to the living room. He swiveled around to look as well as listen. He saw diagrams of serious thunderstorms lined up around the area. The announcer's voice was cautious but also warning. We stayed silent and continued to listen for additional details. The unstable air and stormy conditions were surprisingly widespread. But, not close enough to us to worry about.

Dinner and dishes were done quickly. Usually, we could linger and chat while taking dishes to the sink or helping. Not tonight. We did the after-dinner cleanup almost wordlessly. Was the news really a warning?

We had our own early warning system: Father read the weather.

We read Father.

Father and I went outside and looked. The sky seemed somehow darker. Suddenly, it looked like snow falling from the sky, but it was small hailstones. The neighborhood kids from across the street were out, standing and looking, scooping it up as if it were snowing. Weather turned into a plaything.

The wind seemed to calm slightly. The neighborhood kids looked around. Suddenly, the hail resumed, but supersized. The size of golf balls, the frozen, falling ice balls, could cause pain or injury. Anything, such as a vehicle left outdoors, could be damaged. The neighborhood adventurers and we took cover. Playtime was over.

The hail stopped, the rain continued, and the wind picked up. Father motioned me to go inside while he watched. We watched Father go out to the middle of the street and take a long look to the East, West, and South. He seemed to make mental notes while standing there in the rain.

Father came in. “Is the basement ready?” Not a usual question; we didn't question it.

We gathered a few food items, sleeping bags, candles, flashlights, and some water.

We kept watching Father. He’d gone back out to get a better view. The sky had darkened and taken on an eerie greenish cast. Shortly before 7 o'clock, Father hurried back in. He said, “Get to the basement!”

We didn’t ask why.

We calmly walked down the basement steps. In the Southwest corner under the stairway, we had a special place cleared. It had candles, blankets, and pillows. We added the radio.

Basements have windows. You can’t see well, but you can tell when something major is going on. We all looked at various positions and saw the sky change again.

The air, even in the basement, felt electric, and we could see some of the trees were straining against the wind.

On the radio, we heard many other watchers calling in to report what they saw. They were seeing tornadoes forming. Some tornadoes stayed high up, sometimes dipping near the ground, then going back up. Some appeared to dance along and then vanish. Others started as one and became two. When touching down, they swept up trees, houses, and anything in their path.

None were reported close to us.

Then one of the watchers phoned the radio station and reported that parts of the roof and most of the windows were ripped out of a school. The school was .35 miles from us.

The lightning seemed almost constant. It was almost like daylight except for the strange colors. We were relieved to be untouched, though that one was close.

Reports on the radio from those who watched and reported continued.

New reports and new sightings were coming in every 10 minutes or less. On the radio, we heard calls for Civil Defense emergency workers to check in. There was a call for all available doctors to report to Mercy Hospital. Based on reports from the watchers, there could be at least 5 tornadoes moving around the greater area.

Slightly more than an hour into our watch, we all sensed something was happening. The rain was louder, and the wind was louder. We were grateful to be below the basement steps, even against the cold cement walls and floor.

Then it happened. The roar of the wind increased. It no longer sounded like wind; there was a roar and a rumbling sound.

We heard a wailing sound. Off in the distance, a siren at the firehouse sounded an alarm for all to hear.

Then the storm's roar grew loud enough to swallow the siren. The roar and the rumbling continued. It grew even louder.

I’d never heard that sound before. The sounds were like a big locomotive bearing down on us. Then we heard the house rumble and shake. It was as if the walls were breathing in and out with the pressure of the storm. We heard sounds like breaking glass. Sounds like objects crashing into the house. Or were the objects crashing through the house?

We began to feel it more than hear it.

Just when we thought nothing more could happen, we felt the decompression. The pressure seemed to drop like we zoomed up a couple of thousand feet. Our ears were popping. The air pressure seemed to drop, then return to normal. The rumbling and shaking went on for a while.

Then it stopped—nearly silent. There was just rain. The rumbling faded away.

It was dark. Father led the way. He went up the stairs to open the basement door.

We still had a basement door.

We heard him take a broom to the place, sweeping and scooping up what sounded like glass. Then came “Come on up, but be careful”.

The sky was quieter now, and there was still an odor of ozone from all the electricity in the air.

The streetlights were dark.

Power was out.

Then we realized that some of the streetlights were gone.

Upstairs was intact. Rain and debris from around the neighborhood had blown into the house through broken windows. We decided to sleep downstairs. “What if it isn’t over?” we thought, then decided sleeping bags and a camp stove would be good enough.

Somehow, we all fell asleep, though our thoughts were edging toward tomorrow’s uncertainty.

It was the morning after, and we went upstairs to assess our house in daylight. The kitchen window was blown in. A piece of debris had gone through, taking part of the kitchen curtain with it. The back door was intact despite the screen door outside it being gone to another world.

We cautiously looked out the back door. What we saw was too overwhelming.

We looked at the house across the street. Our neighbor’s children's bedrooms were on the second floor of their 2-story rambler. Huge parts of the second floor were torn off. Parts of their garage were gone. We went for a short walk and saw homes that had been wiped clean. All that remained was most of the flooring over the basement and shreds of plumbing, gas line, and electrical wiring. Streets and lawns were a mess of debris and pieces of homes strewn randomly around.

We saw that our house had a few more broken windows. Some of the interior walls were plastered as if a giant sandblaster had blown them, with junk from the twister. Next to our front door, a long piece of 2 x 4 stuck out from the side of the house. When it was torn from its home, it came loose equipped with a very long, very sharp, pointed end that pierced the outside wall of our house next to the front door.

We imagined it would be fatal to anyone who stood in its way.

We felt disbelief. It was dark when the tornado swept through. Father could only see a vague outline and see where the clouds in the greenish sky met the ground, sparking and sending debris.

We couldn't see it, but felt it and heard it, especially as it rattled and shook us and our home. It swallowed up the warning siren, then moved to swallow up houses and anything else in its path.

It came in the night. Seeing its effect in the light made its work in darkness more terrifying.

We couldn’t imagine a thing that turned some homes into matchstick-sized pieces while leaving others virtually untouched. Much less, such a thing made up of mere wind.

On the radio, the city mayor said, “Yes, we will rebuild.” Most of us did.

Decades later, that night is still remembered. The awful wailing sound of the siren still frightens people and brings back memories of that night that are too vivid and still terrifying.

We owe a lot to all the watchers who stood in the rain and wind and yelled “head for the basement”. We owe much to those who spotted twisters and reported where they were and where they were going. They undoubtedly saved lives.