November 15, 1989

If there is one thing you learn when living in Alabama, it’s how to deal with tornadoes.  They are a regular part of our lives and can strike at almost any time during the year.  They only last a handful of minutes, but their legacy is never forgotten.  I have known many places and quite a few people affected by these terrible twisters, but there is one Alabama memory that overshadows all others when speaking of this disaster.  The twister that forever changed my life and the lives of my family and friends hit at 4:30 PM on November 15, 1989, in Huntsville, Alabama.

It has been some time since I reflected on this surreal story, but reflection is good for the soul I’m told.  I remember I was employed with JC Penney as a manager trainee in the Fall of that year.  I was at work and my new wife was home in our apartment.  We were both on the northwest side of Huntsville when the tornado warning was announced.  I did not know it, but at the moment I heard the warning sound the tornado was already gone and all of the damage had been done. 

{To read an account and see some photos of the infamous Category 4 you can go here or here.  To read other stories you can go here or here.}

After working her shift at a local hospital in Huntsville, a good friend of ours and the maid of honor at our wedding five months prior was sound asleep in her upstairs apartment in Waterford Square.  She would never wake up.  At 4:30 PM the category F4 tornado crossed Memorial Parkway packing 250 mph winds.  It hit her apartment head on smashing her and the entire building in seconds.  I am sure she never knew what hit her.  After traveling another 16 miles more on the ground the funnel lifted back into the sky and the whole thing was over, for some.  For everyone else the long and extremely difficult night had just begun.

After contacting parents and other family members my wife and I were able to determine that almost everyone was okay.  However, one of our close friends, Steve, had still not been able to get in touch with his fiance of two weeks, Vanessa.  As the night progressed we started to fear the worst.  We went to his house to join him as we waited for news.  After some time it came.  Vanessa was dead.  I still weep as I think back on that horrible feeling that washed over me the moment I found out.  I remember exactly where I was standing in Steve’s house.  I also remember the very, very long week that followed.  Don’t get me wrong, there was a lot of love and a lot of encouragement for all of those affected by this tragedy, but Vanessa was no longer present with us, and that hurt more than any words can ever begin to describe.

My wife, who lost her best friend, went with others the following day to see what they could salvage from the wreckage.  All of them came back stunned and silent.  It was more overwhelming than they ever imagined, total destruction.

So, I will post this blog with teary eyes as I remember Vanessa Hastings-Poole and everything she meant to Steve, my wife, myself, and countless others.  I will post this blog seventeen years later at the exact time the tornado took her life on that dreadful day in 1989.  I will post it in her honor and with reverence for the One who took her out of this world at such an early age.  For no matter how much we may strive and strain to control our lives, ultimately we cannot.  This particular story is vivid evidence toward that fact.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

My Field of Dreams

I am a huge Cincinnati Reds fan. 

Why on earth would someone raised in Alabama root with sincere fervor for a team that is located in a city more than five hundred miles away?  Well, there are several reasons.  First, I have always loved the game of baseball.  It is a thinking man’s sport, full of strategy and statistic.  Second,  I had the privilege of playing baseball as I grew up.  This gives me a deeper understanding and appreciation of those who still play today.  Of course, neither of these reasons gives foundation for being a Reds fan.  For that loyalty I have my father to thank. 

I loved my Dad.  He passed away in 2002.  My love for my father is central to my love for baseball.  It will sound cliche, but the one thing we always had in common was baseball, more specifically Cincinnati Reds baseball.  I could talk to him about the Reds any time and it would always turn out to be an excellent conversation.  That was not the case about everything.

I still remember going to Riverfront Stadium with my father to witness the Big Red Machine in action in the 1970s.  Back then I did not understand the game as well as I do today, but I had my father all to myself.  I asked him question after question and he answered every one of them, glad to share the knowledge he had acquired.

As I got older I decided I did not need to ask any more questions.  I had all of the answers and my father needed to listen to me.  Needless to say that did not work out very well.  My arrogance hurt my relationship with Dad quite a bit.  Fortunately for me I was able to apologize to him as I grew older.  By God’s grace I quit trying to share all of my knowledge with him, and I started listening again, just like I did at Riverfront back in the ’70s.  Our relationship healed, and all was right the night he died.

In the 1989 movie Field of Dreams based on a novel by William Kinsella, there are many memorable lines.  One of these is “If you build it, he will come.”  I don’t think there is much that I would not set out to build if it meant I could spend some simple time with my father again.  If I could play catch with him or watch a baseball game with him one more time, it would be an experience beyond words.  I am sure that is why I always find myself in tears at the end of this 1989 movie.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Resurrection is a beautiful thing!

When I was a younger man growing up in the northern part of Alabama I had a Golden Retriever named Feather.  I remember him with a warm heart even though I cannot bring to mind any specific tender tales to share at the moment.  My most vivid memory surrounds the end of Feather’s life.  He was thirteen and I was approaching my teens when he died.  The day I heard the news was one of the saddest I had ever experienced in my short time of existence.  I remember crying and hurting and hurting some more.  I guess his death really blindsided me.  Somehow I thought Feather would always be a part of my life, and now he was gone…forever.  I cried a lot that day.  I think I also learned a lot without really knowing it.  Maybe that is why I recently felt the need to honor the memory of my childhood companion by bringing him back from the dead.  No, I am not talking about performing a Christlike Lazarus moment.  Instead, I am speaking of turning a vague, shadowy, dearly held memory back into reality.

Three weeks ago my family and I went to a show breeder in southern Mississippi and picked up our seven-week old pet-quality male Golden Retriever puppy.  With too many smiles to count and more happiness than you can find in a lifetime, our new puppy has become a family member overnight.  It almost brings tears to my eyes as I think of my memory reborn and the joy he is already bringing to my children.  What’s his name you ask?  Why, of course, you already know.

It’s Feather.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.