Texas Tornado

David called from California just as I was getting on the elevator to go downstairs to play bridge. On television he saw 18-wheeler trucks flying through the sky like airplanes during a tornado in the Dallas-Fort Worth area.

I told him I saw the same thing – on television. Then I told him I was on a bus going past Arlington, half-way between Dallas and Fort Worth, just before the tornado struck.

Rene, our petite young activity director, drove the big white bus to take five of us from our retirement home in Garland, east of Dallas, to the Kimball Museum on the west side of Fort Worth. We left after breakfast, going to see the Kimball’s exhibit of impressionist paintings from the Clark Museum in Massachusetts. Sue Montgomery said it was worth going on our bus (it rides like it has square wheels) in order to see bluebonnets in bloom beside the highway.

John Quinlin’s daughter came with us to push his wheel chair. Bob Sanford who, like John, is a stroke survivor, walks with a cane. Visiting a museum is a challenge for all us old folks. Even without a physical disability to make walking difficult, we all tire quickly. Sue and I went because we were eager to see the paintings. We were relieved to find padded benches in all but one of the rooms exhibiting the paintings.

After spending an hour looking at Monet and Pissaro landscapes and a dozen or more Renoirs, we lunched in the museum’s buffet. John put just a sandwich on his plate. When we convinced him that it was a “one price” meal for whatever he chose, his daughter Nila filled his plate with the Kimball’s fresh fruit salad. I regretted not taking more of the fresh pineapple and strawberries.

We lingered over lunch. After finishing my quiche I had a second mug of English breakfast tea. Sue said she was tired and ready to go home. Bob and I insisted the others wait while we had a quick look at the permanent collection. Once again I was impressed by the quality in this small museum. In one alcove were masterworks by Rembrandt, Velasquez, and El Greco.

If we had left when Sue wanted to leave, we would have missed all the excitement. As soon as John’s wheelchair was on the bus, it started to rain. Crossing Fort Worth on Interstate 30, it began to pour. By the time we passed the city limits, the rain was so coming down so heavy that Rene could barely see the taillights of the car in front of her. Traffic crept along. Rene faced the ordeal of braking the bus, moving forward a few feet, braking again.

Water flowed in from a leak at the back of the bus and made miniature riverlets in the ribbed flooring between the seats. Then it began to hale, hitting the roof like machine gun fire. Out the window I saw white marbles dive bombing into the water filling ditches beside the highway.
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Long lines of cars and trucks stopped behind the lucky few who found shelter under bridges. At one point as we approached a bridge, all four lanes stopped. Surprisingly when we managed to get through the bridge, the weather cleared. Then Rene saw the sign: “Tornado warning. Take shelter immediately.”

She pulled the bus off at the next exit, turned right at the traffic light, and drove up to the door of a LA Fitness Center. The entire staff was standing in the doorway looking at the funnel cloud approaching from the South. When Rene told them we were a group of old people seeking shelter, it was as if they had assembled just to greet us. They whisked John away in his wheel chair, leaving the rest of us to plod along behind. Bob was sent into the men’s locker room.

The women’s locker room was like a bomb shelter, windowless and deep in the heart of the building. A young woman stood near us casually drying her hair. I sat on a bench beside Rene. She was shaking uncontrollably.

“I’m just cold,” she insisted. “I left my jacket on the bus.” While the rest of us jumped out of the bus and into the doors of the fitness center without getting wet, Rene stood in the rain to bring John’s wheelchair down on the bus’s lift. Her clothes were soaked through to the skin.
Nila took a sweater out of her little backpack and draped it around Rene’s shoulders. We told this tiny youngster she had done an amazing job of driving the bus through the storm.

“Where are we?” I asked the woman drying her hair.
“Arlington,” she said.

A staff member of the fitness center came in to tell us when the danger had passed the area. As we went out the front doors of the fitness center, we met a young man arriving with his gym bag. He looked in amazement at this group of senior citizens climbed on the bus, Bob with his cane, John in his wheel chair, and this fat old lady. Not the sort the young man expected to see at the LA Fitness Center.

As we sped along the interstate highway, Sue was happy to see the bluebonnets survived the storm. The rest of us watched the funnel cloud coming up from the south.

As the bus stopped in front of Montclair, we gave three cheers for Renee. We were told not to go to our apartments but to go to the dining room. Garland was under a tornado warning.

I told Rene that my son David designs software to control signs like the one which told her to take us to shelter. She said, “God bless David.”
I said, “He’s done it for cities all over the country, but I don’t think he did these for the Dallas-Fort Worth area.”
“God bless him anyway,” she said. “I’m sure he has saved someone’s life with those signs.”

An hour later we saw on television that the tornado skipped over us and hit Forney. We were allowed to go to our apartments.

Charlie met me at the door and insisted I sit down and cuddle him in my lap as the thunder exploded above. I turned on the television where I saw trucks flying over Lancaster and cut a half-mile swath across Arlington, damaging and destroying hundreds of homes. The tornados, eleven in all, moved into the Eastern counties.

The rain pounded down on Garland. Nothing separated my third floor “penthouse” apartment from the heavy rain except a very old roof. It leaked in the dining room and in Everett’s apartment next to mine. Charlie and I were snug, warm – and dry – in our usual place, sitting in the recliner in front of the television set.