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“You got more tricks in them boxes than Houston had back in ’69.”

“Sir?” quizzed Luke, as he switched the windshield wipers to maximum.

Nate, sitting beside Luke in the front of the specially-rigged Station Wagon replied, “My Grandaddy is comparing your Twister-Tracker with the equipment NASA used when Armstrong and Aldrin went to the moon.”

“Why does everyone always forget poor ol’ Michael Collins?” I complained.

“Probably because he didn’t walk on the Moon,” answered Becky with quiet diplomacy, and without taking her eyes of the radar. I was impressed.

“You ever seen an F5, sir?” she asked.

As we sped down the interstate, my Grandson knew exactly what I was about to say; the same reply I always give to that question. I didn’t disappoint him. “Two in one day; more than enough to last me a lifetime.”

My Grandson’s friends were agog, and I knew what was coming next - the questioning - always the same from fanatical storm-chasers. I knew I’d have to re-tell the story of that day back in ’68 when Iowa witnessed two F5 tornados in quick succession; that day when my brother and I were hit by both of them.

“What’s it like? An F5, I mean,” asked Becky, sitting next to me on the back seat of the storm-chasing Station Wagon Luke and Nate had bought between them. She’d finally lifted her eyes from the monitors lighting up in front of her.

“Whenever Reverend Jones preaches at us in one of his ‘Lord Almighty moods’, and hollers at us about Hell, well, I just call to mind a vision of those F5s, and that just about does it. Hell ain’t gonna be any worse than that.”

“Were you out storm-chasing on that day?”

“Haha, no, I ain’t never chased no storms; not until today. No, I’m happy to let the storms chase me. And if they choose to ignore me, that’s just fine. No point pokin’ the bear.”

“So what made you decide to come out with us today?” asked Becky.

“Nate’s been pesterin’ me for months now. He showed me all this fancy electronic rig when he bought it and, I guess, I bin kinda curious ever since. Folks, like me, who grew up in the ‘60s, watching all that NASA achieved, kinda get interested in all sorts of technical stuff, I guess.

“Then, he promised to take me out in this fancy Wagon for my 70th, and I couldn't say no. Truth be told, I didn’t wanna say no. I was just curious how it all worked these days. We had none of this stuff back in the ‘60s. CB radio was the closest we ever come to such electronics. If you wanted to know the weather you’d listen to KCHA, our local station up in Charles City. If you wanted to know from where the wind was blowin’, you’d do it the way God intended, just lick your finger and stick it in the air.

“And, you’d just keep an eye on them clouds, and if they started circling, you knew there was gonna be trouble; just like Grandma’s temper - as soon as she started circling the kitchen, you knew there was a storm brewin’.”

“Remember the first time I asked you, Grandaddy, about tornados?”

“Sure do. You wanted to know why they had a letter F in front of them, and what the number meant. And I had to explain all about the Fujita scale, introduced by Ted Fujita of the University of Chicago. Course, it wasn’t started until 1971, so back in ’68 we had no way of callin’ them twisters F-anything. You guys today use an enhanced version of the scale, but folks nowadays know an F5 means bad news, winds above 260 miles per hour, and incredible damage. You listened to every word of my explanation that day, Nate, and I knew then you’d caught the ‘Tornado Bug’.”

Luke switched the windscreen wipers down to normal speed, and then announced, “I think we’re losing it, guys. Becky, what does the radar show?”

“I think you might be right. It looks like the storm is heading south-west. Can you head for the next interchange and follow it?”

“I can try,” replied Luke, “but the traffic is getting heavier and we’re gonna be slowed down. Not sure we can catch it today, but I’ll see what I can do.

“Looks like we’ve got a bit of time to kill. D’ya mind telling us ‘bout that double F5, sir?”

“You guys are real enthusiasts,” I replied, “so, I guess, I don’t mind telling you what happened back on 15th May ’68.” So, I told them exactly how it was. They listened attentively to my narrative, but my mind’s eye was back there, re-living that day again as my eighteen-year old self…

ooooOOOOoooo

My younger brother and I were playing football with Troy and Alan, two friends from the village, trying hard to emulate our heroes from Green Bay. The Packers had won the first two Super Bowls and were the favourite team of everyone around Dresden, Chickasaw County, just west of Fredericksburg, Iowa. I was close by when I heard that terrible sound. It was a sound once heard, never forgotten, it was the sound of a breaking bone. My younger brother, Dale, had insisted on playing quarterback, despite being the smallest. He’d just goaded Troy and Alan into sacking him; and that’s when his arm broke. Nobody’s fault, he just landed badly.

Being the eldest, and the only one who could drive, it was up to me to get him as quickly as possible to Floyd County Medical Centre in Charles City. The hospital had only been finished back in 1965, so it was well equipped for the time.

I told Troy and Alan to find my parents, and tell them what had happened and where I was heading. Then, driving faster than I’d ever done before, Dale and I headed west to the town of Nashua. There, I turned north to Charles City. The sky was growing darker, matching my mood as I watched Dale’s face contort in the pain of his broken arm. The speed limit along them roads was 55 mph, fine when hauling home groceries from the General Store for Mom, but frustrating when you’re trying to get your injured kid brother to the Emergency Room. I was unsure if our pick-up could even go above 55; I’m sure Pop had never tried it. The roads in the area were all pretty straight, so I just hit the gas, and prayed the police would be elsewhere.

Close to Charles City I did see the police, but by then the pick-up could move at only 15 mph due to the worsening weather and the heavy traffic. The officers were turning all cars around. As I pulled up to them I wound down the window.

“Turn round, now, sir. That’s an order.”

“But I got to get to the Floyd County Medical Centre, my bother has a broken arm.”

“He’ll have much worse than that, and so will you, if you continue.”

He saw the look of quizzical concern on my face.

“Charles City is right in the path of a giant tornado heading down from Lime Springs. Can’t be long now until it hits. Get your brother down to Mercy Clinic in Oelwein. Do you know the way?”

“Sure. Thanks, officer.” And, with that, I turned round the pick-up and sped back the way we’d just come.

As we left the outskirts of Charles City the rain increased further, and the wind was disturbing more of the crops in the surrounding fields. Under normal circumstances, vast areas of crops, gently swaying in the breeze would be a wonderful sight to behold. Today, that sight was unsettling, similar to a normally benign sea stirred up to a ferocious, battering storm by relentless winds.

The moment I checked in the rear-view mirror, I realized just how dangerous our situation was becoming. Through the lashing rain I saw the sky darken further and, above the silhouetted skyline of Charles City, the clouds rotating in ever widening circles. I’d seen a few smaller tornados as a kid, but nothing of this magnitude. Like many other drivers around me, I hit the gas.

The road down to Nashua was busy with cars escaping, the same way we were doing, but most continued south, heading for Waterloo. We turned left and headed east, back the way we had just come. I guess the police were all busy preparing the county for the weather system that was menacing the whole area. Anyone caught speeding this afternoon surely had a good excuse?

Just before Dresden we turned right to travel south, through Frederika, on to Artesian. So far so good, two-thirds of the way there. In Artesian we turned left and headed east again, through Readlyn, through Oran, one more junction and we’d be in Oelwein. Dale’s arm was looking pretty bad, but he was dealing bravely with the pain.

As we raced towards Oelwein, the vast sky that stretched uninterrupted over my home state became engulfed in the ominous clouds that were spreading rapidly everywhere. In the days that followed I was to discover that, of the thirty-nine tornados touching down in Iowa that day, about half were small-fry, what later would be called F0s and F1s. Part of the anxiety, though, was not knowing each tornado’s potential for growth; each one could become more powerful, vengeful and deadly, increasing its violence to frightening proportions; an inverted volcano, sucking instead of blowing, but just as deadly if anyone became trapped in its relentless, indiscriminate path. Everywhere we looked grey skies were darkening further. Winds rose. Rotations began. Was this the next big one?

In total, Charles City to Oelwein is nearly 60 miles by car, but because folks preferred wisely to take shelter as soon as they could, the roads were sufficiently empty for us to make good time, reaching the outskirts of Oelwein in less than an hour.

We weren’t sure where exactly the Mercy Clinic was situated in Oelwein, but we knew it was a much older hospital, built in the 1920s. I slowed down, hoping to get my bearings and see something that looked like a hospital, or someone who might help us. Nothing - the streets were empty. Surely people here weren’t sheltering from the Charles City tornado? That was nearly an hour ago, and would have blown itself out by now. I stopped the pick-up and told Dale I was going to get out briefly and take a look around. I told him not to move; a pointless command, as the pain in his arm caused him to remain as still as possible.

From the look of the rotating, battleship grey sky, I feared this afternoon of tornados was not over. The streets were still. No bird song. Something was not right. I turned to look north-east, towards Fayette. I froze. It had to be a new giant tornado, what we’d later call an F5. I ran back. As I jumped in the pick-up, I screamed at Dale what I’d seen. I fumbled the keys in the ignition. Nothing. Tried again. Still nothing. As my fist pounded the steering wheel for the third time, I realized the problem. No gas. Fleeing from Charles City, we’d been eating up the miles so fast we’d burned more gas than usual.

I looked again in the direction of the tornado. How could it move that fast? It was almost upon us. A wall of cloud, almost as wide as the town itself was bearing down on us. There was just no time to flee. Dale’s arm was so painful, he was unable to open the passenger door. I tried my door, but the wind was now so strong, it felt like it had been locked. We were trapped. Debris was flying across the windshield at incredible speeds. This was deafening, so much louder than waiting at a railroad crossing for a train to pass. The pick-up began to shake. Battered by debris. Despite the pain, Dale dove for the floor of the pick-up. I followed. The shaking increased. The noise increased. The battering increased. Stronger. Louder. Harder.

And, then my worst fears were realized.

We became airborne.

Orientation was completely lost.

Neither of us heard our screams.

Time stopped …

With a violence I’d never before experienced, the pick-up hit the ground. Glass. Wood. Metal. Shattering everywhere.

Time stopped once more …

… and then the sound of the retreating wind. We exhaled. The initial relief of simply being alive lasted no more than two seconds.

“Dale?”

A groan.

“Dale!”

“Ugh. What?”

“You alive?”

“Just. And you?”

“I think so.”

And then the pain hit me. Dale heard my gasp, “You hurt?”

“My leg. Dale, can you move?”

“Yeah, a little. What’s that? Listen!”

“People!”

The tornado had cast aside the pick-up like a used, crumpled beer can. We were on our side, about two hundred yards from where we’d run out of gas. People were running towards us. Shouting. Sounding concerned.

Dale and I just waited, knowing that they wanted to help, wanted to be busy so they didn’t have to think about what had just happened to their town. We let them.

Eventually the small group of helpers arranged for us to get to the Mercy Clinic, which had been spared much of the destruction seen elsewhere in the town. Dale’s arm was finally set. A doctor confirmed my suspicions, my leg was broken. Both of us had also suffered a few cuts and bruises from the battering inside the pick-up. We were given neighbouring beds in the hospital ward. Our parents had been informed by the police of what had happened to us, and they visited as soon as they could.

Dale was discharged after one night, returning home with Mom and Pop, but I had to stay for longer. They visited every day, and each time we discussed the events of that day. Each day they brought further news of the mayhem caused by those two F5s.

It seems the severe weather activity began as a low pressure system crossed the state. The first F5 had travelled 65 miles through the counties of Cerro Gordo, Franklin, Butler, Floyd, Chickasaw, and Howard. The damage in Charles City was put at $30 million, much less elsewhere. It killed thirteen and injured over four hundred. Outside of town, farms had been swept away, and cycloidal marks were visible in the fields we’d passed as we fled the city.

The second F5 hit Fayette County, affecting churches, businesses, schools, and nearly a thousand homes along its thirteen mile course. Oelwein was one of the hardest hit areas, with five people killed and over one hundred and fifty others injured, thirty-four needing hospitalization, including Dale and me. Damage here was around $21 million.

One thing soon became clear. The lack of gas in the pick-up had actually saved us. If we’d had some on board, the pick-up would probably have exploded in a ball of flame. Fortune also favoured us as a family, Dresden lay between the paths of the two giant tornados. A few miles either way, and our home would have been destroyed.

Having seen, and survived, two F5s in one day, I became something of a minor, local hero, attracting even the attention of the town’s media. I was interviewed at my hospital bedside by the local radio. I received letters from people unknown to me, expressing how brave they thought I’d been.

One letter, though, contained a warning. It was from an older guy who’d survived a horrible car wreck on an interstate. For years after his physical recovery, he’d suffered fatigue, tinnitus and nightmares. A specialist had eventually put it down to him not dealing with the mental trauma of his accident. He explained to me in his letter that although doctors can do wonderful things to repair the body, I should also make sure I didn’t neglect the recovery of my mind. He recommended I didn’t bury the memories of my encounter with nature, but that I revisit it regularly. So, talking to others about the F5s is really a form of therapy.

I’d been the only one talking the whole while, and all was quiet in the Station Wagon, just the steady beat of the windshield wipers. I reached in my jacket pocket and removed a newspaper clipping. I passed it to Becky sat next to me.

“Here, read this, it’s from the local newspaper special edition on the day following the events.”

Becky looked at the newspaper clipping, in particular the photograph. “Which F5 is that?” she asked, pointing to a grainy black and white image.

“That’s the first one, the one that hit Charles City. Them telegraph poles were ripped straight out the ground not long after that picture was taken. Read the report, it’ll give you all a good idea of the scale of the damage.”

Becky read, “Charles City hit by F5. In a sixty-two mile path of destruction, 372 homes have been destroyed, and a further 544 damaged as an F5 tornado hit our county in the late afternoon yesterday. Nearly two hundred businesses have been hit, and about a quarter of them are now completely destroyed. Charles City’s new housing project has also been flattened; as has at least one department store. Three schools and all our churches suffered either damage or complete destruction but, strangely, all the bars have been spared. The police station has also been affected; and, at the last count, over a thousand cars are now wrecks.”

“Thanks, Becky,” I said, as she returned the cutting to me.

“You know, dark clouds often have silver linings; and believe me, these were very dark clouds. When I left the hospital and was driven home, there waiting for me was a welcome home present from my parents - a new colour TV, bought mainly so I could follow my beloved Apollo space program. In mid-October 1968, NASA were planning the first live public TV broadcast from a crewed mission. I’d be able to watch astronauts Wally Schirra, Walt Cunningham, and Donn Eisele climb on board Apollo 7, and become the first crewed Earth orbital demonstration, launched on a Saturn rocket.

“So, kids, that was May 1968. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think about how your Uncle Dale and me were … some say ‘fortunate enough’ … to see two F5s on one day.

“That was the start of a year or so when so much happened. We’d been defeated by nature - those terrible tornados causing so much destruction, but we’d also conquered nature - escaping gravity and landing on the moon, right before the end of the decade, just as JFK had promised. On the colour TV Mom and Pop got me, we watched intently those first few small lunar steps, and listened to that historic phone call from the White House oval office. It really was a great time to be an American.”

It seems I had not instilled on the other occupants the sort of awe and wonder I’d hoped for. “Don’t you all know about the Apollo program? What do they teach kids in school today? The teaching of History should inspire the new generation, not bore them to sleep.”

Nate answered, speaking for the others as well, I think, “We know how important the moon landings were to Americans of your generation in particular, and the world in general. I’ve seen the footage and it really is awe-inspiring. But, I guess, our generation has other problems; other things on our minds. I guess we think there’s still quite a bit of work still to be done here on Earth before we start reaching for the skies. Global warming, for example. Poverty. Injustices. Don’t get me wrong, a space program to the moon again, or Mars, would be great, but I’m not sure we can really justify the cost, in time, effort and money.”

I nodded; he made a good point.