Fate, Faith and Four Strangers

By Paul Smith
paul.smith@collegeblitz.com

MICHIGAN CITY, Ind. — This is a very short tale about four very lucky people -- Janet, Shirley, Ronnie and Paul.

Four folks from four very different backgrounds, four people whose fates were brought together earlier this week when they discovered just how unforgiving Mother Nature can be.

Your faithful scribbler, Paul, was standing at his bus stop across the street from the fast-food restaurant Tom Snyder used to affectionately refer to as "The Arches" and had heard on WBBM-Newsradio 780 from Chicago, that northwest indiana was in for it in a very few minutes.

"A strong front with potentially violent thundershowers is racing down Lake Michigan," intoned the AccuWeather voice...

Standing directly opposite "The Arches," a glance northward revealed some of the nastiest dark gray clouds this native midwesterner had ever seen.

Worse, there were unmistakable downward extensions that looked suspiciously capable of spawning the dreaded T-word, the most extreme weather event known to North America, even more so than a hurricane.

The bus pulled up and the driver, Janet, headed tentatively northward as some soft singer crooned in the background.

Suddenly...

The unmistakable three squiggles, repeated 2-3 times on WGCI-FM, the urban-contemporary radio station in Chicago that was playing on the bus radio, was followed by an ominous sounding voice...

"This is a weather advisory for Porter and LaPorte Counties in northwest Indiana (about 35 air miles east-southeast of Chicago)...Tornado clouds have been spotted about 8 miles northwest of Beverly Shores, Indiana and are headed southeastward at 30 miles per hour..."

The winds kicked up, it seemed, every tenth of a mile. By the time the Michigan City Municipal Coach bus headed through a district populated by small businesses, a couple of restaurants and bars, a former high school and St. Stanislaus Kostka Catholic Church, the wind was howling at gale force for sure and rain and quarter-sized hail flew sideways.

Crossing the South Shore railroad tracks, the bus began to rock sideways and visibility was foot-by-foot. 10th Street...9th...8th...it was a countdown to -- what?

By now the reality was this: The next worst thing to a fullscale tornado -- a fullscale microburst with swirling winds and damage-wreaking hellaciousness -- was all around the bus. Janet pulled the vehicle to a stop at 6th street and joined Shirley, Ronnie and myself in the middle as low to the ground as possible.

Outside, all imaginable hell was breaking loose. Leaves were caking on the windows. What we didn't know was a plate-glass window to a nearby business was caved in. Part of Trinity Episcopal Church's steeple was knocked asunder.

And still the winds came, mercilessly. "Our Father, Who art in Heaven..."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners..."

"As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be..."

We were too frozen in fear to even envision a bad out-take scene from "The Wizard of Oz." But we knew this wasn't Kansas, Toto.

When what was officially measured at 106 mph winds, but quite honestly had to be more than that, finally found other places to romp, a visibly shaken Janet dropped Shirley and Ronnie at the corner of Fifth and Franklin Streets.

Michigan City, where I camp out several nights a week (as well as nearby Chesterton), had reported 23,000 people without electricity. Whole stately, 30-40 foot high trees had been uprooted and sent to the ground by this terrible force of nature.

Word was that there had been a tornadic touchdown in Michigan City. And I wasn't about to argue with the climatological dalai lamas about terminology.

But for the second time in 3 weeks, all the major Chicago stations, the major news channel, and a Spanish-language station had a second home in Michigan City. This came on the heels of a major fire that killed four Mexican migrants who lived in an overcrowded house and worked at a local Chinese restaurant.

Three of the five major-channel reporters did their "stand-ups" within 500 feet of where I sit on Fifth Street, dubbed "Fifth Lake".

I'd seen snow on New Hampshire's majestic Mount Washington in August. Walked outside (for literally half a minute where I almost became a frozen monument to the baby boomer generation) in -34 degree windsqualls in suburban Minneapolis, experienced a 28" snow blitz two winters back, just before Christmas.

Saw a Hurricane's havoc in Connecticut, funnel clouds in southwestern Ohio, the hardest rainfall I'd ever experienced in St. Louis as a cold front battled with 110-degree daytime heat, and 96 degree daytime heat under a fully cloudy Arizona sky.

But never this. It is said one's life flashes by at least once. I'm really not keeping score, but the events of that early evening this week certainly qualifies as one.