The morning news reported that today is the 48th anniversary of the Palm Sunday tornadoes. If you live in northern Indiana like I do you have heard a lot about the Palm Sunday tornadoes over the years. If you are old enough and live in the right area it is burned in your memory.
I was a third grader that spring. We had just moved into a new house around Christmas that my dad, with the support of many friends and relatives, had built. Our new house had a finished walk in basement. That day my parents heard the tornado warnings on the radio or TV and had called all of us into the house and into the basement. The sky was this weird gray color and the air had a strange stillness. My dad walked outside to see and hear what he could. All of us kids were crying, worried about our daddy. I remember begging him to come inside where it was safe. I wanted him next to me, holding me.
All of a sudden, it sounded like an enormous train was coming through our house. Daddy ran inside and we all hid in the back corner bedroom. It was in the part of the basement furthest from the door and big windows. After an eternity, the sky and the sounds returned to normal. Our neighbors swing set was in our yard and there were lots of fallen trees, but things around our place seemed pretty normal.
A couple of miles north there was a lot more damage. A lot more loss of life and property. A few days later my dad took us on a car trip around the country to see the trail the tornadoes left.
Every year on Palm Sunday I recall that train sound, the fear for my daddy, and the damage we saw.