1975
It was twelve noon, the day after Easter, when everyone heard the siren go off. A few minutes later, the clear blue April sky suddenly turned an ugly, sick-looking dark green, and the wind picked up and began whipping around in circles. Merle Wheeler saw the gray spinning cone first and yelled, “Tornado!” Soon they all heard the loud roar as it got closer, twisting and twirling right through town, spewing roof shingles, chicken coops, and lawn chairs in the air, then passed right overhead, taking baskets of Easter lilies and broken parts of the old wooden archway up at the cemetery along with it. An eerie silence followed, then came the sound of fire trucks and news helicopters.
Everybody up at Still Meadows waited, worrying about their friends and family members in town. By the horrible sound of it, they were sure that many people would be coming up in a few days, due to the tornado. Will Shimfissle was especially concerned about his wife, Elner. “God, I hope she reached the cellar.” Thankfully, her neighbor Verbena had warned her in time, and she had made it to her cellar along with her cat and a baby squirrel she had in a shoebox.
AFTER A FEW WEEKS, when not one person came in, they were all relieved. Gene said, “I guess nobody was killed. That’s good.”
He was right. But the tornado had taken down the old wooden water tower and had completely leveled the entire Elmwood Estates Trailer Park. There was nothing left of it now but a vacant lot full of broken and scattered butane tanks and thirty-four cement slabs where mobile homes had once stood.
Many people in town immediately volunteered to take in families rendered homeless by the event. A kind and generous neighborly gesture to be sure, but everyone who signed up made one stipulation. “We will be happy to do it, as long as it isn’t the Griggs family.”
The parents were one thing, but it was the son they were really leery about. Eleven-year-old Luther Griggs was a hellion on his way to being a fully fledged juvenile delinquent. He had tried to burn the school down twice.
By the following week, all of the families had temporary homes. But only one displaced family remained. Luther’s parents decided to go back to West Virginia, but they thought it was best to leave Luther behind to finish out the school year.
“I ain’t gonna live with some old lady,” he said as he was being dragged up Elner Shimfissle’s front stairs with a paper bag of donated clothes. A frustrated Merle Wheeler, who was in charge of the Placement Committee, said, “Well, Luther, that’s too bad, but she’s the only one who will take you, so shut up.”
Elner was at the front door to greet him. “Well, hey, little Luther. Come on in and welcome.”
Luther did not move, so Merle pushed him through the door and said, “Good luck, Elner,” and left in a hurry.
Once inside the house, Luther glared at her. “I ain’t gonna stay.”
“Well, that’s fine, honey. But before you take off, let me fix you a little something to eat and maybe wash those clothes for you.”
“Well…but I ain’t gonna stay. And you can’t make me.”
“I’m sure not.”
He looked around. “This is a stupid old house anyway…and you’re old and ugly.” After he said it, he flinched, waiting to be hit, but Elner just agreed with him.
“Yeah, it is pretty stupid. And I am pretty ugly at that,” she said, looking in the mirror. “Oh, well. Come on, let me show you what I’ve got in the kitchen. I’ve got bacon, hot biscuits, and honey…and do you like strawberry ice cream? We can have some of that before you leave, if you want.”
He stood there and then, after a moment, followed her to the back of the house.
When Norma heard that Elner had taken in Luther Griggs, she called Elner, almost hysterical. “Oh, my God, Aunt Elner. Why did you let Merle Wheeler talk you into doing such a stupid thing? You should have called me first.”
Elner knew Norma and so she had been expecting the call. She said, “I know, but Norma, somebody had to take him in. Besides, it’s just for a little while.”
“Well, don’t be surprised if he burns your house down…or murders you in your bed.” Norma put the phone down and was still upset. “Good Lord.” She was worried enough as it was, with Linda being off at that big college so far away from home, and now this. How could she possibly relax? Her Aunt Elner was in danger of life and limb.
The next day, Mayor Smith came over to Elner’s house carrying a box. He said, “Elner, I found this old box of Bobby’s things in the closet and thought maybe Luther might get some use out of it.”
After Robert left, Luther looked inside the box in the living room and quickly grabbed the metal toy car that had once belonged to Gene Nordstrom, ran to his room with it, and locked the door. It turned out the boy loved anything with wheels.
Four weeks later, when the school year was almost up, Elner and Luther were having breakfast, and Elner said, “I know you must be missing your parents something awful about right now.”
He looked up at her between bites of buttermilk pancakes dripping with maple syrup. “No, I’m not.”
“Aren’t you getting anxious to see them again, honey?”
“Nope. They didn’t never care a thing in the world about me. I’d just as soon stay with you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure that’s not true.”
In this case, it was true. He had been unwanted and had been told so many times by his mother. “If it weren’t for you, me and your daddy wouldn’t have to stay in this rotten town. We could be living in Las Vegas or somewhere where we could have a little fun.”
When Elner called Luther’s parents and asked if it would be all right to keep Luther a little while longer, his father had said, “Hell, yes. You can keep him as long as you want to.” And so she did.
IN AUGUST, WHEN HAZEL Goodnight arrived at Still Meadows, everyone there was anxious to hear about the tornado. “Oh, it was awful,” she said. “There was a lot of damage downtown—blew out a lot of windows. The hardware store and the Blue Ribbon Dry Cleaners both lost their signs. But at least they’re still standing. The worst-hit area was out past 289. It took out the entire trailer park.”
Ida Jenkins immediately said to her husband, “See? Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say the minute we let it be built, it would attract a tornado? And it did!”
Old Henry Knott, who had died in 1919, asked, “What’s a trailer park?”
“Oh, Daddy,” answered Ida. “You don’t even want to know. People are living in tin cans now.”
“Why?”
“You tell me. The world has lost all the graciousness and charm that we knew growing up. I’m just so glad I was raised where I was, when I was.” A curious sentiment coming from someone who grew up on a pig farm.