The Colonel And The Tornado
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DAVE’S WORLD
By David Howell
One of the best parts of this job is the front counter. People come in to renew a subscription, place a classified ad, pay a bill or just say hello. Some are in a hurry. Others lean on the counter and start talking.
I’ve learned not to rush those conversations.
A few weeks ago, Roger Shields came by the Herald office to renew his paper. Roger retired as a brigadier general in the Mississippi National Guard, but back in April, 1984 he was a colonel, and one of the officers called into action after the tornado that devastated Water Valley.
Roger was living in Grenada at the time, and received word that his hometown had been hit hard by a twister.
He called city hall and was able to get through to Mayor Hamric Henry, who told him the phone line was not working properly, they could receive calls but could not call out. Turns out Shields was the first real outside contact the mayor had with anyone following the storm. It was a good connection, as Shields immediately started mobilizing dozens of National Guard soldiers to head to Water Valley as quickly as possible.
He gathered artillerymen from around the area, loaded military vehicles with Meals Ready to Eat and the convoy was headed to the Valley at dawn.
Just before they rolled out, Roger briefed the soldiers.
Only then did he notice two unexpected visitors quietly standing in the back of the room.
Mississippi Gov. William A. Allain and the state’s adjutant general had slipped in.
Roger walked over to shake the governor’s hand.
Before he could, the adjutant general stopped him.
“Roger,” he said, “that’s one of the best briefings I’ve ever heard.”
Nearly 40 years later, Roger still smiled when he told that story.
Then came the drive to Water Valley.
“When the sun came up, we were here,” he said. “It looked like a B-52 raid had come through.”
The tornado cut a devastating path through town, killing residents, injuring dozens more and leaving neighborhoods almost unrecognizable. Trees were snapped like matchsticks. Homes and businesses were destroyed. Across the South, 15 people lost their lives as a series of tornadoes swept through four states.
Mayor Hamric Henry summed it up in an interview the day after the storm by saying,” I don’t think things will ever get back to normal.”
Roger left after a half-hour or so with another year’s subscription.
I sat there for a few minutes realizing I had just been handed enough material for several Dave’s World columns. The arm-wrestling with the Vaughns, the high school beauties, the memories, I also realized I had already forgotten half of it.
That’s when I thought about Mrs. Betty Shearer.
Betty had a habit of standing at the front counter, visiting with folks just like Roger, all the while scribbling little notes on whatever piece of paper happened to be handy. Back then, I never paid much attention to it.
Now I understand.
She wasn’t just taking notes. She was rescuing stories. The little ones.
The ones that never make a headline but somehow tell us more about Water Valley than any front-page article ever could. I think Mrs. Betty knew something I’ve only recently begun to appreciate.
Everybody who walks through that front door has a story.
If you’re lucky, they’ll tell it. If you’re smart, you’ll write it down.
