Vehicles of Hope

PROLOGUE

Deadly Rampage

On April 8, 1998, the Wednesday before Easter, a storm developed in Tuscaloosa County, Alabama, spawning a tornado that chewed up several miles of timberland. Mustering strength, it made its way into western Jefferson County on the outskirts of Birmingham, reaching the densely wooded community of Oak Grove around 8 p.m. There, packing winds of 200 mph, it claimed the lives of 4 people and completely leveled the 80-year-old Oak Grove School attended by children from kindergarten through high school.

As the storm advanced to nearby Rock Creek, the winds accelerated to 300 mph, qualifying it as an F-5--the most powerful designation for a tornado. It summarily ravaged that community, felling hundreds of trees and demolishing the Rock Creek Church of God Family Life Center and the Concord Fire Station. Obliterating dozens of homes, it left 10 fatalities in its wake.

Relentlessly slashing a half-mile-wide swath on its 30-mile deadly rampage, it hit Sylvan Springs next, taking 4 more lives. After that, it slammed into the communities of Edgewater and McDonald Chapel, killing another 14 people. Then, dropping down to F-3 strength, it battered Pratt City before disappearing into the night sky and later touching down in St. Clair County, where the last two deaths occurred.

In the heart of the Bible Belt, many of the residents had been at Wednesday night church services. That fact accounted, in great measure, for the phenomenally low loss of life--34 altogether. Not a single person inside a church was killed.

If Only...

Many times my husband Larry and I had sat in our living room watching news of such an event on TV and remarked, "If only we could just pick up and go help those people." In that statement lay the seeds of a dream that finally came to fruition a week after the Birmingham tornado struck. Dressed in work clothes, with a streamer of blue cloth tied to our belt loops (evidence that we were officially checked in at the registration tent), we sat in a van with a half dozen strangers, headed to McDonald Chapel for our first day of clean-up.

The driver was sharing one of those incredible stories that always emerge from disasters. A large dog was found lying in the driveway of a man who lived in Rock Creek. It appeared to be dead, but when the man approached, it opened its eyes, shook its head, and sat up. Leading the dog to his house, the man called the number on its identification tag and discovered that the owner lived in Tuscaloosa. Two days later, the fortunate dog was reunited with its family, seemingly unscathed after its miraculous 40-mile journey by air.

Our First Real Look

The van turned to enter the community of McDonald Chapel, which had consisted primarily of small, tightly packed homes--a mining camp during the years when Birmingham grew so quickly as a major producer of iron ore that it became known as the "Magic City." The driver of our Birmingham Baptist Association van stopped at the entrance until the National Guard officer waved us through.

As we slowly approached our work site, my eyes darted about, taking in the macabre scene; my mind, however, could only process in slow motion what it was taking in. McDonald Chapel looked in many ways how I imagined a war zone must appear after a bombing attack.

The steel frame of a doublewide trailer was wrapped around a sheered-off tree--as though someone had tied it in a knot. Clothing, insulation, curtains, pieces of metal, and even cars were wedged between tree branches. Only the lower portion of many trees remained, the splintered tops of which bore evidence that they had been literally pulled apart by the sucking force of the tornado.

A small church had imploded, the plush red pew cushions of the newly built chapel standing out starkly amid the crumble of white bricks. All that remained of another small chapel was its marquee which read, "Spring--A Time of Rebirth." Up and down every street and hillside were piles of rubble, which a little over a week ago had been the homes of several hundred people--some leveled to their foundations, others with a wall or two left standing, a few looking relatively untouched on the outside except for a missing roof, and two that had been pulled together by the powerful tornadic vacuum.

So, this is what it really looks like, I marveled--much more intense and ghastly than it appears on TV. Everyone in the van was silent with their own thoughts. It was hard to believe that it wasn't a nightmare and that Larry and I were actually there.

Nevertheless, being in that place at that time was the next natural step in a progression of events that had led us to divest ourselves of the majority of our possessions, sell our home, and climb into our travel trailer with our cat Ross to begin a journey that would have unimagined impact on our lives.