Silence of the storm

KOKOMO — To some of those whose homes were in the path of two tornadoes that ripped through the city Sunday evening, the sound of the sky falling resembled a series of explosions.

It’s right out of an action movie, one woman said, leading up to the big “boom!”

After the boom came the roaring winds. The rain poured down as hail pelted buildings, streets and windows. Traffic lights hung like dangling icicles on a wire, while brick buildings that once stretched long and tall throughout the area crumbled like a Lego set.

And then there was the silence.

* * *

A cluster of severe storms produced multiple tornadoes that touched down throughout the Midwest, including Indiana and Illinois. By Monday evening, the National Weather Service preliminarily confirmed 12 tornadoes across the Hoosier state.

Kokomo was among the most heavily damaged areas as a result of two confirmed tornadoes — one of them zipping at least 10 miles across the city. As of Monday evening, most of the city was still without power. Mayor Greg Goodnight declared a state of emergency that lasted through early Monday morning.

In Kokomo, there is an old adage that states tornadoes never strike north of Wildcat Creek.

Before Monday’s storm, three tornadoes had since struck Kokomo — two in April 2004 and one in July 2005, according to the National Weather Service.

Sunday evening, the first tornado took 45-year-old Ella Cunningham by surprise.

“I always thought it would be completely dark,” she said.

But it was still light out.

Cunningham stood and watched the winds form swirl formations as it picked up dirt from the roads. When she heard the large boom from above, she ran into the bathroom where she curled into a ball in the bathtub with a blanket. After the roaring and shaking subsided, it was absolutely still, she said.

Ella emerged from the bathroom.

The front room, near where she watched the beginning stages of the storm, looked as if it had been ransacked. The windows were blown out with furniture, portraits and collectibles scattered across the floor.

Ella has collected eagles for the past 20 years. Her collection took the form of sculptures, portraits and drawings around the room. When the tornadoes hit, the eagles took flight. Only three from her collection were accounted for after the storm.
She drove to the Waffle House, where she works midnight shifts, to charge her phone. It was the only thing she could think to do.

Ella couldn’t help but be surprised at the disproportionate nature of the damage. Some parts of the city lay in piles of debris while others remained virtually untouched. The fire department made inspections to damaged homes and structures — a red “X” was sprayed on planks that were secured over the gaping doorways and shattered window frames.

“It’s so funny how it blocked up certain things and not others,” she said.

* * *

As the storm peaked, Linda Rood was still half asleep on the couch.

That’s when her husband Charlie came running through the living room.

“Come on, babe,” he said, “Let’s get to the basement.”

Parts of the house shook as the violent winds erupted through now-shattered glass windows.

Charlie’s hand was on the doorknob when they felt the stillness. The roaring of the storm ceased. The two hurried over to a window, and Linda began to sob as she peered outside.

The exterior garage — with her van inside — was in ruins. Immediately, through the tears, she began making welfare calls to family and friends. The garage outside was merely a pile of splinters and tree limbs, but all she could think about was everyone else.

Where were they when the tornadoes came through? Were they OK?

Monday began the bulk of the surveying and restoration process.

An adult tree had leveled their garage to a pile of splinters, insulation and chunks of siding. After a surveyor signed off on the damage, Linda and Charlie, both 54, with the help of other family, combed through wreckage.

Without notice, swarms of what appeared to be high school students began to show up at their home. First there were maybe 10. Then there were 20, they said, and then 30.

The Roods don’t know for sure because they never asked. Nothing was said, Jim Mote, 56, said. “They just came in, cleaned shit up and didn’t say a word.”

After assisting with cleanup, the students continued on to another location.

It was moments like these, Charlie said, that reminded his family they weren’t alone.
“(They’re) just super people,” he added.

Monday evening, the group stood in debris staring into the wreckage while they puffed e-cigarettes and cracked jokes as the sun set on Kokomo.

“It’s all replaceable,” one of them said.

Follow reporter Michael Majchrowicz on Twitter @mjmajchrowicz.