The will to act

Former Southeast Missourian sports writer David Wilson and his fiancee Becca spent May 28 helping with recovery efforts in Joplin, Mo. This is an account of their time volunteering in the tornado-ravaged city.

May 27

9:14 p.m.: We drove to Lee's Summit tonight. It's a shorter drive from here to Joplin (about two hours), rather than the four hour drive from Columbia to Joplin. According to the email confirmation we received tonight, we are to report to the Mayes Student Life Center for our 9 a.m. shift. We merely volunteered our time to this point. We could be assigned to five or six different tasks, including cleaning debris.

May 28

5:26 a.m.: It is an early wake-up call today (5 a.m.). We are bound for Joplin after a quick stop at a Quick Trip for some rocket fuel, doughnuts and ice. There is some definite anxiety in the air about what's ahead of us. We're not sure if it will be safe but we're just not sure about what we will see. We've seen the pictures on the Internet and television, and we've read the stories but nothing will prepare us for being amongst the destruction. Becca sighs deeply as we pull into the gas station.

8:20 a.m.: We arrive in Joplin. We entered the city through an area that had not been touched. Immediately, we are looking for any signs of the tornado that swept through last week. Nothing out of the ordinary and no signs of destruction all the way to the university. We are early for our shift so we decide to see the area that was hit hardest by the storm. We still don't know what our task is for the day, so we might not get a chance to see the area otherwise, and we both feel obligated to pay our respect and remind ourselves exactly why we are here. I turn left and head south on Rangeline, a main thoroughfare in Joplin that was hit the worst. Everything is as it should be for several blocks, we pass restaurants, stores and shops that show no signs of damage. And then, we see it.

It's as bad as they say.

Before the Civil War, Joplin was a small mining town. Lead was discovered and in 1871 a resident named John C. Cox laid out a plan to form a city. The city was named after a nearby creek, which acquired its name from the Rev. Harris G. Joplin who founded the first Methodist church in the area. The city went through many changes and welcomed many visitors over the years. As of the 2010 census, Joplin had a population of 50,150, but officials say the city can swell to more than 200,000 during the day as many people commute to the city for work.

Rangeline is jammed with cars so we are able to drive slow and survey the damage. I'm trying hard to concentrate on the road and the cars in front of me, but my eyes are wide to the scenes to my left. It's like a bomb went off. The devastation is complete. The destruction is total. Minutes pass and neither of us have speak. Becca breaks the silence and points out a car that had been completely wrapped around an electric pole. She documents the scene by snapping a few quick pictures. We continue driving until it's time to for our appointment at the university. We found a spot to turn around on a side street. As we turn on to the street we see what's left of a Home Depot store. It's completely leveled. Not even a portion of the walls are standing. I don't feel anything. I'm so overwhelmed that I feel numb. I embrace it and point the car north, in the direction of action.

8:50 a.m.: We arrive at Southern Missouri University (which, by the way, I didn't even know existed until yesterday). It seems like a really vibrant campus with lots of nice, new buildings. The parking lot is near capacity when we arrive. There are big yellow school buses shuttling people in and out. The numbness has passed and our emotions turn to anxiety as we go to find out what we are here to do. As we get out of the car and walk closer to the student center we find hundreds of people lined up, waiting to board buses. We speculate they are taken to work sites to help clean debris. There are already a massive number of people here to help. Inside the student center, to the right are about four or five tables set up with about 15 people ready to accept donations. To the left is our destiny. At the first set of tables, there is a line of 40 or so people in line to obtain a sign-up form. Then we pass about 10 tables where organizers are conducting interviews with potential volunteers (something we didn't have to do, we would later find out). Beyond that there are at least 20 tables set up all in a row with around 25 people accepting the sign-up forms. Having completed ours last night, we head straight for the table and hand them our forms and identification. The lady didn't even hesitate: We are off to a work site to clean up debris.

9:05 a.m.: We are boarding the bus bound for our work site. Just a few minutes ago, one of the organizers made some announcements about the work that is ahead of us and thanked us for coming out. None of it seems incredibly organized, and we still haven't seen any government officials. Our bus is to drop us at 22nd Street, just one block from Rangeline -- ground zero. The bus is quiet and many of the passengers strain to look around as we travel to our destination. I get the feeling that most of these folks haven't seen what we've seen yet. But as we get closer, something is different this time down the road. On nearly every single street corner there are people. People with RVs. People with trailers. People with trucks and barbecue grills. People with signs that say, "Free food and drinks" and "Volunteers Come Eat!" By that time, the radio is playing overhead in the bus. A caller is telling the host to encourage any volunteers to come to the Walmart parking lot for free meals. "Breakfast, lunch and dinner. We've got you covered. Come eat!" she exclaims. I'm overwhelmed again.

9:20 a.m.: We have arrived for our morning's work. The bus dropped us behind a bank on Rangeline, and we are to walk to our block. The team leader, who is from Iowa Conservation Corps, tells us that we will be moving debris from the yards of houses to the edge of the street. We are to sort them into six piles: building materials, electronics, vegetative (limbs and brush), garbage, hazardous material and large appliances. We get to 22nd Street and pick out a yard that is littered with wood and limbs and go to work. The work is fairly easy going as the temperature is not too hot. Between carrying loads one of us would find something worth noting. Like, "Hey, it's a door stop!" Or, "Check out this teddy bear." None of it's surprising, because we are sorting through people's lives. Later in the morning, we looked up in the midst of one of our loads and across the street was a Chik-fil-A that we stopped at in February on our way to San Antonio. It's a shell of the building we visited then.

11:45 a.m.: Our group finished the block of 22nd Street and Becca decides to break for lunch. We ride the bus back to campus to eat. We left a cooler and sandwiches in the car. The radio was on while we ate and the host is reporting that more than 9,000 people have contacted the United Way to offer their time for the recovery effort. More than 500 retired military personnel are arriving next week to help. There is a lot of buzz about the president's arrival tomorrow.

12:25 p.m.: We boarded the bus bound for our second work site today, the block between Alabama and Florida streets. The second part of the day was much more difficult than the first. The block we were working had not been touched, and it was much hotter. The first house we worked had its roof blown off. All four walls were standing but the remnants of the roof were scattered in the yard. Midway through the cleanup, a sheriff appears at the house with a K-9. They were searching it for survivors. No one was found, dead or alive. They spray-painted the outside of the house "K9X," then below it "5/28." Later, a group of people driving in trucks offered us some water and Subway sandwiches, which we gladly took. Then, a man in his car drove up and offered us some water: He gave us an entire case. Even later, when we were on a different house, a couple driving an ATV offered us some hamburgers and french fries. We politely declined, but were extremely grateful. None of them were officials (local, state or federal authorities); they were citizens. They were just people trying to help, doing what they could.

3:56 p.m.: We are departing Southern Missouri State University for our last mission of the day. The campus is no longer accepting donations, so the direct us to a First Calvary Baptist Church. We have a collection of supplies donated from various people back home, so we head there to drop off the goods. The scene at the church was the same. No local officials micromanaging the project, just a pastor and his deacons helping the congregation and neighbors sort supplies. There were even tents set up where people had been camping out in the yard, trying to help unload two tractor trailers full of supplies. That seemed to be the theme in Joplin. There weren't people from the police, fire and emergency departments. There weren't city council members, judges and state senators. I didn't see FEMA, the Red Cross or the National Guard. These were just citizens. Just people, like you and me, who showed up with their chain saws and a will to act asking, "What can I do?" I've never felt the resolve of the human spirit like I did in Joplin. American flags were everywhere, a clear signal to all who could see it, "We're still here." One home owner even painted, "Down but not out," on what was left of his house. When the chips are down, people band together to get the job done. And because of that, the city will rise from its knees. Joplin will look different, there's no going back, things have been changed forever.

After witnessing this experience I can say my own life has been changed forever, for the better.

If you want more information on how to volunteer, visit www.stl.unitedway.org/getinvolved/volunteercenter/volunteer/joplin.aspx.

David Wilson is a Cape Girardeau native and Central High School graduate who now lives and works in Columbia, Mo. He is a former sports writer for the Southeast Missourian. This column originally appeared on his blog, tilimblueintheface.wordpress.com.