Welcome to another week! May 31 marks the 30th anniversary of the 1985 tornado.
My mom, sister, brother, and I were away visiting relatives when the tornado came through our yard, but my Dad and great-grandma were home. Dad vividly remembers the night the F-4 tornado gouged a trail through Ohio and Pennsylvania. An F-4 tornado reaches wind speeds between 207 and 260 miles per hour.
While working in his basement furniture repair shop on Rocky Glen Road that famous Friday, the lights went out. They came back on thirty seconds later, and Dad went back to work. But the lights flickered off, then on again, in thirty second intervals. The third time the lights went off, they stayed off for three days.
“I went upstairs to check on my grandma. She had Alzheimer’s disease and couldn’t be left alone. I looked out our bay window to the east and saw golf ball-sized hail hitting the porch. I ran outside and pulled my truck into the garage. By the time I got outside, the hail was baseball-sized. Then I looked through the tree line to the west. The sky was chartreuse. I couldn’t see any blue. I thought to myself, ‘Could this be a tornado?’”
Dad ran inside and up the stairs three at a time. He saw the tornado from his bedroom window: “I could see roofs, what looked like cows, and trees inside the tornado, and it was coming right at our house.” The tornado was 1/3 mile wide.
“I didn’t even think. I jumped down half the steps to get Grandma. She didn’t understand what was happening. I prayed, ‘Oh, God, keep us safe!’ as I pulled Grandma down the steps.”
Dad was reupholstering a sofa with oversized cushions at the time. He hurled everything out from under his basement steps and threw a cushion down on the floor. He pushed his grandmother down onto the cushion.
Dad grabbed the other cushion and shielded their heads with it. Debris slammed against the house as loud as sledgehammers.
“It sounded like a freight train was coming right through the house. Gray slime pelted the windows, like someone was spraying the windows with brown primer,” Dad said. He heard his aerial antenna snap.
The tornado roared by in 90 seconds. After about five minutes of silence, Dad went outside. Tree limbs were everywhere. Everything was covered in gray slime, but the house was virtually untouched.
Dad looked east and could see a path clear down Rocky Glen Hill to Atlantic, one mile away. “Atlantic looked like a torn up jigsaw puzzle,” Dad said.
He could see a path straight to his church, five miles distant. But his house stood.
“Trees and power lines were down all over. Splintered limbs and uprooted trees covered the road,” Dad said. Several neighbors met with Dad and they decided to walk up the road and see if anyone needed help.
Dad got his grandma upstairs and a neighbor came to the house and sat with her. Dad walked to a neighbor’s home and borrowed a truck so he could drive to his mother’s house.
“When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was sitting at her table, tears running down her face. She was so glad to learn that Grandma and I were all right. She couldn’t get up Rocky Glen Road. The National Guard was out and they wouldn’t let anyone come up.”
Fuzzy Shields of Atlantic was the very first responder. He radioed the Greenville Fire Department, where he was Fire Chief. He rode out the tornado under his Chevy Malibu. When he saw the tornado he slid feet first under his car because there was no time to head for the basement. He said the tornado looked like a swinging elephant’s trunk as it wove through Atlantic, demolishing everything in its path.
When Dad returned home Rocky Glen Road swarmed with police, helicopters, and the National Guard.
“We had to be careful when we went outside for a few days, because there were thousands of gawkers. Everyone wanted to see Atlantic. The National Guard blocked the roads so no one but ambulances, fire trucks, the Red Cross, and locals could get through.”
On Sunday morning our family worshipped at Adamsville Presbyterian Church. Our home church, Fallowfield United Methodist, had been blown away.
Adamsville Presbyterian was also used as a relief center. They offered food and shelter. Atlantic Congregational Church did the same. Many people donated food, blankets, and campers for people to live in until they rebuilt their houses.
Five people died in the Atlantic tornado: Andy G. Byler, Frank and Wanda Talbot, Cindy Godwin, and Darlene Rigby. The Talbots attended Fallowfield United Methodist. They were sweet, special people. I didn’t know any of the other victims.
If you have a chance, read Jonathan R. Byler’s booklet about the tornado titled, Diary of a Tragedy. He helps you see and hear the tornado, gaze in awe at the debris, and experience the search and rescue effort. You might be able to buy a copy of this booklet at the annual Atlantic Amish school auction held the fourth Saturday in June. It is usually held on the Mullet’s farm on Atlantic Road, just a short distance east of Atlantic Community Church.
Even though the tornado nearly erased Atlantic from the face of the earth, God spared far more lives than he took. He also used this tragedy to give people the opportunity to help victims recover. I see this 30-year anniversary as a chance to praise God for his goodness.
Have a wonderful week. Blessings!