Where is our house? Dongola cyclone of 1917

G. Ivan Bidewell, 100 years of age Sept. 3, 2010

WHERE is OUR HOUSE?

Those were the first words I

spoke after the Dongola

Cyclone on Decoration Day,

1917. I was six years old and

had spent most the day

playing With my

three brothers,

Cletis, Henry and Len.

Mother and Sara Newell

were in the house doing

housework and making preparation

to get supper. Sam

Jackson was working in the

ridge field south of the old log

barn. Sam and Sara were

helping with the extra work

that comes on the farm in the

spring. Dad had taken some

plowpoints to the blacksmith

shop to be sharpened and as

yet had not returned.

As Cletis drove his "hoop

car" and I rode my stick horse

across the yard, strange

things began to happen. Big

limbs and trees started dropping

out of the sky and hitting

the ground on the 30-acre

field in front of the house. We

yelled this news to Mother.

Her immediate reply was,

"Get into the house. We are

going to have a cyclone." And

was she right!

We had scarcely gotten into

the house when everything began to happen.

As we came into the front room, Henry

was trying to hold the clothes

that were being blown from

the house. The 100-egg incubator

was sliding crazily out of

the corner toward the center

of the room. From the front

room I went into the parlor.

Windows were popping out

and the whole room was filled

with dust and falling plaster.

From the parlor I headed back

through the front room out

into the kitchen where things

seemed to be more in order,

but out of the kitchen and

onto the west porch was my

next move.

I could barely see the combination

smokehouse and surrey

sheds 60 feet away, so I

looked up. Unforgettable!

Forty feet above the house

was a swirling cover of

leaves, limbs, dirt and dust,

all moving from the south

west to the northeast.

Terrified, I ran back into

the kitchen and toward the

east porch and the cistern top.

The cistern top and porch

joined into what would now be

called a patio. Just as I got to

the door, something very drastic

happened because the next

thing I remember I was out in

what was left of the orchard.

To be more specific, I was in a

patch of plum sprouts. Every

time I raised up to a sitting

position, the wind flattened

me back on the ground. On my

four or fifth effort, I was able

to get up. It was getting lighter

after the passing of the tornado

and I could see a man walking

around some 50 or 60 yards

away. It was Sam Jackson.

After I got to him, I said,

"Where is our house?" The

news was so bad as any six-year-

old ever got. "Your house

is gone, even the foundation."

The cellar under the combination

kitchen and dining room

was the only part of the house

that was intact.

It was then that dad

appeared. He seemed unusually

glad to see me and I was

soon to learn why. Mom, Sara,

Cletis, Henry and Len were

under an 8 x 10 section of roof

from the house which dad had

propped up to make a shelter

from the driving rain that followed

the storm. Mother was

in pain from a cut on her leg;

Sarah had numerous cuts and

bruises; Cletis' right cheek

looked as if it had been sandpapered;

Henry had three bad

gashes on his head; Len and I

had no marks on us. The family

was sure I was lost. They

were all blown down the lane

and I was blown into the

orchard which made me the

last to be found.

For a prime view of a tornado

in action, dad had had it.

On his return from the black-

smith shop, he was not able to

make it from the barn to the

house because the storm was

roaring in. He lay down on the

ground and hung on to a big

gate post in the barn lot fence.

He watched helplessly from

his position on the ground and

saw the house quiver like a

bad movie picture, twist and

explode into thousands of

pieces. All of this happened

and he could do nothing but

watch.

What do you do when a

cyclone has wiped you out? We

walked a mile to Uncle

Charley Bidewell's place - all

that were able to walk. Mother

and Len rode. The storm had

missed Uncle Charley's farm

and it was our home for the

next 10 days until the Red

Cross came in with their

tents. We were in those until

an old house on the place was

turned into a more suitable home.

A word as to how the other

neighbors fared: To the south

west, Fulton Cooper lost

everything and Mrs. Cooper

was killed. To the east, my Grandma

Crites lost everything and my Aunt Dora

Crites and my great-grandmother

Killian were living

with her. Grandma Killian

was killed. Further east

toward Dongola, Uncle Henry

Crites saved himself and his

family by getting under a

bridge near the house.

I'm no longer six years old

and many times Kathlyn and I

look at a pink rosebush in the

backyard. The bush is cut

from one Dad and Mother set

out in the yard before the tornado.

Somehow this bush

seems to keep saying to us,

"This is where your roots are."