Access Family Care Update: From the Heart of Joplin
Posted on Thursday, July 7th, 2011 at 9:43 am
The below is a continued firsthand account from Access Family Care Executive Director, Don McBride, who is communicating with us from the heart of the Joplin, MO, tornado relief efforts. We wanted to share these accounts and will be bringing them to you regularly, here on the MPCA website.
*****July 7*****
It’s been 7 weeks since the devastating Joplin tornado. So far, 158 people lost their lives, 8,000 properties were destroyed, and 5,000 homes damaged or destroyed. Lots of debris has been removed, but it still looks like a war zone. Some businesses have moved and are back up and functioning—many are not. Every time I drive to Joplin, it never ceases to take my breath away. The devastation is unimaginable. Pictures don’t capture the full scope of it, and I have been at a loss for words in describing it to people. I finally just say, “You just have to see it for yourself.”
The other day I was clearing out old text messages on my cell phone when I found an exchange between me and a good friend who lived through the tornado. I had forgotten that I had it. As I read over it, feelings of that night came back to me. I’ve been such a crybaby lately.
I live in Neosho; we were packing for a trip to DC. I was going with a group from Missouri Primary Care Association to do some legislative visits. The lights were flickering, the radio was announcing a tornado warning for Joplin and then it was hard to get news. One thing was clear, not many knew how bad it was until hours later.
My cell phone rang, and I could see it was Jon. I answered the phone but he wasn’t there. He was in church with us that day, but had to go to Joplin to work on a house he was framing. He’s a contractor. I had loaded up his iPod with a bunch of Bible teaching messages that day. Well, here is what the text exchange looked like from him:
Me: I’m trying to call you. It won’t ring.
Jon: I was in a tornado (he tried calling again after this text, but it failed)
Me: Calling won’t go thru. Are you OK?
Jon: (attempted call again, but failed)
Me: Text me. You didn’t come thru
Jon: R u there
Me: At home
Jon: My truck is gone and the house I was in is completely gone.
Me: I can try to come get you but they got it all blocked I don’t know what to do…
Jon: It’s ok I’m walking
Jon: Were r u at
Me: Where are you? I’m at home.
Jon: R u home
Me: Yes
Jon: Walking to 32 …everything is destroyed
Me: Find someplace to stay if you can. They will set up shelters. I know Memorial Hall will be one at 7 and Joplin streets. Emergency people will be out
Then there was nothing more from Jon.
We loaded up in the car to go to the Joplin clinic, which was being opened by Darlene, our Site Supervisor, and staff who could make it in. Cell phone use was horrible. Gary, our facilities manager made it in, but it took him a long time dodging debris and emergency vehicles. We took the long way around to Galena, Kansas, and then back down 7th Street heading east. Darlene called and said no doctors had arrived and they were already bringing victims. Her voice was shaky and tear-filled as she described them with bones sticking out. “Darlene, do the best you can and I’ll make some calls.” I got a hold of Dr. Jumper in Seneca and he didn’t hesitate, neither did Judith LeWallen, our nurse practitioner living in Pineville. I couldn’t reach Dr. Bentlage, our Medical Director, but he just showed up at the clinic. Others finally were able to get in. I can’t express how grateful I am for these dedicated individuals.
We stayed at the Joplin clinic until after 1:30 in the morning then we met up with our Senior pastor and others who were delivering sandwiches and water to the emergency personnel who were staging on Main Street south of the destruction in the Newton County part of Joplin. My wife, Shirley, is a chaplain with the Newton County Sheriff’s Department and we met up with Sheriff Copeland. There were officers of all sorts gathered as search and rescue plans were being made, dogs were being brought in, and still none of us yet knew the scope of the devastation except that it was bad. I hadn’t heard from Jon anymore, but on the way back to the car, I saw Jon’s dad, Denny, a Seneca police officer, and then the man standing next to him turned to me and it was Jon. He grabbed me so hard in a bear-hug that I will never forget. I hugged back with all my might.
That stupid iPod! Jon had it in his ears working on plumbing on a new house just west of St. John’s. He stopped and went to the doorway noticing the darkening sky. He removed the ear buds and heard that loathsome freight-train sound everyone talks about. He said he knew there wasn’t a train near that location, he looked up and saw clouds circling. Then he took off running down the street passing a few houses until he found one that had a crawl space. He ran up to it, pulled back the plywood access and scrambled in all the way as far as he could. By this time, it was upon him. The noise was deafening; he covered his head and prayed. Foundation blocks were popping out all around. When it passed, he crawled out from openings made by the displaced blocks.
He couldn’t tell where he was—everything had been destroyed. He went back to the house he was working on—it was gone. His truck was tossed and destroyed. Then he started trying to call me. The next day, he showed some friends where he went for safety. The house had fallen into the crawl space.
There are lots of tremendous stories like this. Not all had fortunate endings, but we are thankful for the many that do. When I look at the devastation I’m utterly amazed that the loss to human life wasn’t greater.
People are working on recovery and navigating the FEMA and insurance processes. Twenty minutes of destruction has turned into weeks of recovery. It will go on for months and years. Many will have inner scars with which they will have to deal for a lifetime. But, even as the makeshift sign that replaced the missing letters for Joplin High School that now spell HOPE, there is another sign of hope. The trees that were stripped of their leaves, limbs, and even totally stripped of their bark are blooming again. They have leafed out. They are doing what they know to do, and the people of Joplin are also doing what they know they need to do. Joplin will come back, stronger than ever. That’s how we are down here in southwest Missouri.
