by Randy Turner
No matter what the answer, one thing was certain. The value of education to the community had never been spelled out so clearly. My depression, at least for the moment, had vanished.
It was a building that was destroyed by the tornado; my school was alive and well.
WELCOMING THE TEACHERS
A pre-claustrophobia nervousness settled over me as I wheeled my car into a space in the parking lot at Missouri Southern State University Monday morning, August 15.
It was the first day for teachers to report back to work in the Joplin School District and that meant the annual pep rally. I had never particularly cared for this event. It was two hours in a small space with all of the hundreds of people who worked for the school district. Being extremely claustrophobic, I dreaded the pep rallies and with the added attention drawn to the Joplin Schools after the tornado, I was dreading this one even more.
In past years, the event had traditionally been held in the high school auditorium, but that high school no longer existed, thanks to the tornado.
The second I opened my car door, I could hear shouting, intermittent applause, and music, punctuated by the pounding of a bass drum.
At first, I thought it was an early MSSU band practice, but as I took the crosswalk to the building where our district meeting was scheduled, the purpose of the noise became clear.
The sustained applause was for teachers returning to work. As someone who has written numerous times over the past few years about the constant barrage of attacks on public schoolteachers, this was a pleasant surprise.
Our community was showing its appreciation.
When we entered the auditorium for the program, we saw Missouri Gov. Jay Nixon standing in the wings. The rest of the morning was something teachers in the Joplin School District will never forget.
During that time, we heard a powerful rendition of the National Anthem by one of my former students, high school junior Hannah Cady, an uplifting speech by the governor, and the remarkable chronicling by our Superintendent, C. J. Huff, of how the school, the community, the nation, and the world, had combined to produce the miracle of a school district that had 10 buildings either destroyed or heavily damaged, starting on time.
We left the auditorium ready for whatever challenges may come our way as we began the 2011-2012 school year. Eleventh and twelfth graders would be holding their classes in a refurbished building at Northpark Mall, the ninth and 10th graders, would be at the former Memorial Middle School building, which long again had been one of Joplin’s two high schools before they were combined. At East Middle School, we were ready to begin classes in our refurbished warehouse.
But it's school. The teachers were ready, and maybe for the first time after a summer in which everything has revolved around the destruction of the Joplin Tornado, the students were ready, too.
Three short months ago, we were looking at once proud structures that had been reduced to rubble by the fury of nature.
It was only a week after the tornado, in what had been termed as a family gathering, Superintendent C. J. Huff made the inspiring announcement that school would start on time.
The following day would be filled with meetings to prepare us for our return to Joplin Schools, as we had never known them before.
Our meeting at Missouri Southern was the first step in the school district’s road to recovery.
FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
It was the first day of school and a sixth grader did not know where the office was in our new building.
He asked eighth grade science teacher Mike Wallace for directions. Wallace, glancing down at the end of the hall, told the youngster, “Go down the hall and turn right at the governor.”
Whether the child knew who Missouri Gov. Jay Nixon was, I had no idea, but the presence of the governor in our hallways and the national media at every new or refurbished building in the Joplin School District made our first day of school a memorable one.
Though it was a new era for the Joplin schools, my routine stayed the same. I arrived at the building shortly after 6:30 a.m. That would give me approximately two hours to collect my thoughts, make final revisions on the introductions to my classes and the tedious explanations of class rules that every teacher goes through on the first day or two of classes.
The media and dignitaries began arriving shortly after 8.
Normally, so much media might be considered intrusive, but not on this day, just three months after the tornado destroyed or heavily damaged 10 of our 19 schools.
On this day, the national and world media were welcome because it was so important to thank the world that made this day possible.
In the days after the tornado, the idea that school would start on time seemed an impossibility. Joplin High School, a center of the community, had been blown apart by nature’s fierce fury, leaving the words “Op High School” for all to see. That did not last long. Within a couple of days, someone had added two letters to that sign, an H and an E, turning it into Hope High School, and setting the stage for the complete resurrection of the Joplin School District.
The effort began with school administrators and board members who had to create solutions because there was no blueprint for how to deal with this kind of devastation. Teachers and staff were brought into the equation and the Joplin community, parents, students, business owners, and people who had no connection to elementary and secondary education except for paying the taxes that support it. The restoration of Joplin schools and the idea that they could open on time, only 87 days after the tornado, became the goal of an entire community.
And that community extended far beyond the city limits of Joplin. There was much need in this community and in this school system and people from across Missouri, the nation, and the world, stepped in to take care of that need.
Millions in donations came, brought about in part by the national media that brought attention to the difficulties we were facing.
The United Arab Emirates chipped in with a half-million dollars and the promise of another half-million in matching funds to provide laptops for every Joplin High School student as a part of the school district’s Oneto-One initiative.
Most of the effort was steered successfully through the district’s Bright Futures program, an initiative started two years ago to help provide equipment for schools and to cover the needs of the poorest children in our community.
Bright Futures’ success had already been imitated in neighboring school districts well before the tornado. Its expansion to meet the challenges of tornado recovery guaranteed it would be imitated across the nation.
So when we saw reporters with their cameras and notebooks approaching our students and us Wednesday morning, we met them with deep gratitude.
They were the ones who allowed us to express our thank yous to a world that adopted the Joplin community and made it their own.
During the first hour, my planning period, I followed Gov. Nixon as he visited some of the classrooms. When the bell rang for second hour, I was ready for my first class of the 2011-2012 school year. After all of the turmoil, the sounds of children talking non-stop as they entered Room 804 added a touch of normalcy in a world that had not seen normalcy since May 22.
MEMORIES OF THE TORNADO
MY TORNADO STORY
BY JENNIFER NGUYEN
“Happy Birthday!” Everyone knows that these words are meant to be said out of happiness and celebration. But when they are expressed on a day of total destruction, devastation, and depression, are they really that effective? A birthday, a day of joy targeted at the passing of age, is usually a whole day filled with presents, smiles, and cake. Lots and lots of cake! Well, that’s at least what my family thought birthdays were supposed to be like. That was, until the day came. The day that was life changing and will be forever marked in the history books of our nation for generations to come. The day that caused souls to be ripped apart from their families and thrown out into a jungle of madness. The day that my city lost, what seemed at th
e time, everything.
I woke up that Sunday morning to a bright, dazzling sun. As I went through my daily morning routine, I checked my iPod to discover the weather conditions for this particular Sunday. What it seemed like to me was that Joplin would be experiencing rain showers and maybe a few strokes of lightning. This was not unusual for this time of the year, which was late spring, in our Southern Missouri region. So, my family and I attended our regular eleven fifteen mass at St. Peter’s Apostle Church. By that time, the sky had developed a gray-like color and was covered with poufy, dark clouds scattered into bunches, compiling up into the air. What was ironic was that during church that day, my parish prayed for the unfortunate people in the paths of the latest natural disasters, without a single clue about what was heading our way…
My cousin had her birthday party held at about noon that same day, so, as you can imagine, we rushed out of our church right after mass finished. Actually, she was having two birthday parties- one with her friends and one with her family, and I was invited to both! Her birthday party with her other five-year-old friends was at the Macaroo Gym, the most wonderful place a five-year-old could dream of. Who wouldn’t want to spend three hours jumping on blown up, bouncy devices? I think I was there to help the little kids have fun, but considering the fact that I wasn’t allowed in quite a few bouncy houses; I don’t know if I was any help. Anyway, when her first party was over, around two to three o’clock, the sky was at a dark, cloudy phase. But at that time, no one was really worried. It was just another heavy rainstorm, wasn’t it?
After that party, she had another party that started around four to five thirty. You would think that a little five-year-old would be partied out, but apparently, she wasn’t. So, at that time, the sky was still pretty dark. And when I say “dark,” I mean a deep gray. But halfway through the party, right after we finished dinner, it really started pouring outside. We didn’t think much of it.
But as the weather started to get worse, we decided to click on the Weather Channel and take a look at the news reports. We weren’t really scared, yet; we just wanted to make sure. Hey, it’s better to be safe than sorry. There was only one problem. In the path of my aunt and the remote control was a very difficult obstacle. My dad. These things happened to us all the time (the storm, I meant), and my dad wasn’t going to easily let go of the remote and the heated show of Cops that was on the television screen. In his mind, in everyone’s mind, this was just the same crazy Missouri weather that always circled our region. In fact, my aunt had to practically wrestle the remote from my dad! It was not an easy battle. But in the end, everyone was laughing…until the news flashed on. At that point, there was no more laughing and merry faces, just serious expressions and gasps from the silent, but alert audience.
We had a lot of people at the birthday party, not only family, but also close friends, so we decided to take precautions. All the kids were shoveled into the center of the house, which was the living room, away from the windows. I’m pretty sure the panic mode kicked in when the first tornado siren went off and a power outage engulfed the entire neighborhood. That was when the crying started. The crying, whimpering, and outbursts of sudden prayers. Right then, my uncle, who works at the Granby Fire Department as fire chief, left the party to alert his town about the forming twister. When I heard he was leaving, I almost started crying. Everything was going wrong. It was a horrible nightmare.
By the time the second siren went off, total chaos was already loose among our party and its attendants, especially the children. We had kids that ranged from the age of sixteen months to twelve years old. We totaled to a headcount of about ten remaining kids and eleven adults. When I used the term, “remaining,” I meant that stayed at the party. The hosts of the party, my aunt and uncle, tried to calm everyone down enough to escort them to their underground crawlspace. Actually, they didn’t really escort; they rushed. By the time most of the population of the party was safe underground, the sirens were blaring in our eardrums. All I could do was sit there and stare. Stare into sudden space. Stare into the midst of the dusty underground lantern. Stare, while clasping my hands together in a firm grip and muttering silent prayers.
We stayed down there in the musty underground shelter for what seemed like hours. My dad, along with the other “brave,” but ignorant men of the family, stayed outside to watch the skies. But soon enough, a low rumble grew louder and louder until it produced the sound that could very well be compared to the coming of a train. The sky held a vision of death itself. By then, my dad, as well as the others, gained their senses and bolted toward the shelter. They quickly jumped/sprang into the safety of the haven with sighs of clear relief.
Terror filled the eyes of many as the raging storm continued on. Silent prayers and pleas for help were whispered through a heavy flow of tears. Mother clutched son; son clutched father; father clutched wife. Parents soothed their young children in the panic of the night. All sat there, awaiting possible death. Then, a sudden silence filled the walls of the heavily guarded shelter, and all was still. Those moments were filled with astonishment, with joy. We had survived. We survived the storm that surely caused damage in our beloved town.
We came out of the shelter to a neighborhood trashed entirely with debris. Everywhere, and I mean everywhere, there were pieces of paper, parts of furniture, and even precious family heirlooms. We knew that the area we were in was pretty lucky; we didn’t get hit that badly. The worst of the disastrous tornado was yet to be discovered. The way it seemed, at the time, over the radio, was that our town had encountered some serious damage, deadly damage. The only transportation of information was over the treasured MP3 Player my little sister had brought along with her to the party. We listened intently to the faithful radio speakers as they delivered updates, news, and messages from distraught loved ones. Our eyes swelled with tears as we discovered that many of our friends were hit. Did they survive? We didn’t know. At the time, the cell phone signals were weak, and everybody was having the same idea, to call their friends, families, and neighbors. Actually, everybody they knew! Enemies called enemies, friends called foes, kids called kids they hardly knew. There was a concern for everybody and everyone around. Some calls were sent through, but most were, sadly, unsuccessful.
As the search for lost ones continued on, the traffic in town became heavier and heavier. Due to the fallen power lines, trees, and buildings, many streets were closed. You just couldn’t get through them! Destruction was everywhere! And to make matters worse, the direct routes everyone took to get through town were blocked by police officers because of certain disastrous matters.
So when people finally got through to see the aftermath in our suburban town, they were shocked, astonished even. I was shocked. Restaurants, grocery stores, banks, clothing stores, they were all gone! Well, some of them were not completely gone, but they were pretty close. Buildings were shredded to pieces, with foundation and cushioning flung everywhere. You couldn’t even recognize where you were or what street you were on. Tidbits of debris gave away hints and clues about what buildings might have been where, but other than that, citizens walking up and down the destructed path were completely clueless. What hit me the most, though, was that St. John’s Regional Medical Hospital was a direct hit during the lasting minutes of the deadly tornado. This was the same hospital my sister, my cousin, and I were all born at. To drive by the once tall standing building was absolutely heartbreaking. I felt my insides shatter as I saw the charred edges of the once smooth, glistening skyscraper. I felt a pang of pain go through my chest as I realized that while an image of remembrance for the hospital, before the damage, was still around, that one day, it would eventually disappear. And all that would remain would be a memory of what unfortunate fate was put upon the hospital and how that fate came to be.
We drove countless roads discovering the same horrid things over and over again. Neighborhoods held corrupted streets. Some even contained lifeless bodies. Searches for signs of life in heavily damag
ed areas were organized everyday. With the help of volunteers from Joplin and many other cities, tons of lives were spared. Still, families were on the streets with nothing left but a few salvageable items. Tear -stained faces were seen every minute of every day. Our city wasn’t crying because we felt pity for ourselves; we were crying, because we felt pity for others.
Yes, we cried, mourned, and felt sorrow, but that’s not all we did. We did these things while we worked, while we worked to rebuild. Yes, when the tornado came by, we were, in a sense, crushed and devastated by what had been put upon our town. But did we give up? Did we sit around on our butts thinking about our losses and everything that went wrong? No. We looked at the future, at what the rebirth of Joplin would bring. We had hope, faith, and love in our eyes and hearts, and we accepted the challenge that awaited us with an air of determination. Everyone and I mean EVERYONE felt an urgent need to get up, to do something. Hundreds of policemen and special forces came to our rescue. We might have been struck down, but in the process of getting back up, we had not only the help of our local citizens, but also the help of our nation.
Volunteers from all around the states came to distribute food, water, clothing, and supplies. Shelters were set up in the town’s Memorial Hall, and many local townspeople opened up their homes for the homeless and for the many volunteers who came. One volunteer even traveled the sea for Joplin. He came all the way from Japan just days after the tragic incident. When asked why he chose to come help our town, he simply replied that our nation had done the same for his when the cruel tsunami raged through Japan last March. With so much help and support from our nation, from our world even, Joplin was starting to brighten.
With all the work efforts, Joplin was starting to look like itself again. Streets were cleared up a bit, and trash was starting to be picked up and disposed of. The tornado might have crushed our town, but it didn’t crush our spirits. And it certainly didn’t touch a sign of hope. Through the rubble of East 26th Street, the cross of St. Mary’s Catholic Church stood proudly above the destruction. It was like a sign of hope, a sign telling our community that Joplin will heal; we will rebuild.
