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Today, I pray... my story of the Andover Tornado

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We watched the news with interest. My husband and father-in-law were both volunteer firefighters, trained storm watchers and my husband was currently training at the Police Academy. Tornado warnings are relatively common in Kansas and severe weather happens every spring. But the tornado (on TV) looked a bit scary as we saw it hit the Air Force base 15 minutes away. I wasn’t really scared when my father-in-law suggested that everyone head down to basement, “just in case”. I was more insulted that the women were not allowed to stand outside and watch. However, that changed when he flew down the stairs a few minutes later saying, “it’s coming right this way. I saw it from the back porch!” Uttered in fear, while huddled under a pool table with my in-laws, I prayed what I feared might be my last, “Dear Lord. Please be with those suffering from this disaster. Help them remember that life and what we make of it is more important than material possessions.” We truly believed that one of the largest and most damaging tornados in Kansas history was headed straight for us. With relief and delight, we climbed up from the basement to realize that the freight train sound that had seemed just above was really a mile away and had missed us. I will never forget the view I saw from their East facing door and saying, “Where is the tornado?” Instead of the kind that hit Dorothy in the “Wizard of Oz”, this one was wider than the door. There were visible objects moving in the force of the dark black cloud that still sounded loud and ominous. My husband, Bill, left immediately to do what all volunteer firefighters, paramedics and police officers do in an emergency. I hitched a ride with his grandfather and arrived at the scene of the tornado moments after it passed with a journalist’s state of mind. Wow! Cool! Look at all the destruction. My camera was in my husband’s car. Thinking back on it now, I am glad that I didn’t have my camera with me that night. The horrific memories are vivid enough without film. Reality hit hard as I realized that it was MY neighborhood. I wasn’t a journalist; I was a victim. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I trekked carefully across what was once a road in my long skirt and heels looking for where my home used to be. A ray of hope in the dark evening appeared when I saw my trailer home on the south side of the park. It was still standing! My pace quicken as I worked my way across the rubble to get to my home. I didn’t think about my husband who I knew was okay but had reported for duty at the police station in shorts and a t-shirt. I didn’t know that my grandmother would spend a few hours looking for me in the destroyed town, thinking I was home when it hit. I saw the people helping others into trucks because the ambulances couldn’t get in. In the end, my trek across the ½ mile of 12 foot deep debris was a waste. It wasn’t my home. It was my neighbor’s. All the homes just south of mine were still standing, damaged beyond living in but had walls and roofs. My lot was wiped clean. All that remained were the free 2x4 cheap steps we received with the trailer. The $300 in lumber from the new porch we had just built that month was no where to be seen. After a weekend of searching through debris, we found my husband’s duty weapon, my wedding dress, my childhood sock monkey and a couple other odd & ends. We were never sure which trailer frame was ours but I think we found our couch smashed into small pieces of material. Very few photos were salvaged but I did find one of my high school yearbooks. When I think of those days, I prefer to remember the kindness and selflessness that I saw from others. The outpouring of support was astonishing. We stayed at my parents’ house in their basement. My grandmother took me to Target and said, “You’ll need some new underwear, socks, and shoes. Let’s go shopping.” We received mail addressed to Bill Duggan, Andover, KS from a stranger in Missouri with a check for $50 and a copy of the article that was written about him by the Associated Press. Several weeks later an envelope arrived at my parents’ house that had my tax return in it. Some one in Illinois had found it in his corn field. There was just enough of an address visible to mail it. We received donated furniture, clothing, and food to start over. We were even able to buy an old house and with lots and lots of help from family, we fixed it up and still live there today. But the incident that surprised me the most was the day after the tornado hit. I still get chills when I think about it. While Bill was working at the incident command, a little girl walked up to him. She handed him an envelope then ran off. Inside the envelope was $500 cash and a note, “All we ask is to remain anonymous.” Today, I pray that I will never forget that prayer I gave at the heart of the moment under the pool table. I want to live my life in a way that I could never have understood before losing everything, having nothing except my friends and family. Note: All the photos were taken by me, Kristy Duggan, except for the awesome shot of the actual tornado. I do not know who the photographer was. However, this would have been very similar to the view I would have gotten of the tornado if my father-in-law had let me join him on the back porch. :)