After tornado kills brother, man says- 'There's no finality to

STOCKTON, Mo. -- Cliff Hewitt can only imagine his brother's horror.

As storm sirens wailed across this Missouri Ozarks town, Bob Hewitt scrambled to get his wife and four children to a neighbor's shelter. And then away he sprinted, hoping to also bring a neighbor and her children there.

His good intentions, as described by his brother, proved deadly during Sunday's destructive tornado.

The twister that tore through this town of 2,000 killed Bob Hewitt, just 40, and two others on a night when tornadoes left at least 40 dead in Missouri, Kansas and Tennessee and sent thousands scurrying for cover beneath desks, in basements and bathtubs -- even in a recliner.

Bob Hewitt was buried Friday as his neighbors in Stockton -- and people in Pierce City south of here -- pressed on with reconstruction following a night of swirling devastation.

"Although we're burying a family member, a lot of people are having to start over," said Cliff, days after frantically trying to breathe life back into his brother. "There's no finality to this."

The evening had seemed innocent enough to Cliff Hewitt, 36, as he drove with his 19-year-old sister, Jennifer Hewitt Smith, and an acquaintance into Stockton for dinner.

Though the radio was abuzz with severe weather warnings, those riding with Cliff's group didn't have the car stereo on.

Storm sirens sounded, but still Cliff's group found little cause for alarm despite darkened skies.

"It didn't appear to be anything but a spring shower," he said.

Cliff called another brother and learned a tornado was supposed to hit Stockton about 6:30 p.m., within about 10 minutes. Cliff spotted "this black cell in the sky," rotating and evil-looking.

"It didn't take a second glance to know we were in trouble."

Cliff and his group retreated to the courthouse's basement, as did many others.

Something slammed the courthouse. Booms and crashes were met by panicky gasps and screams by those hunkered down.

It was 6:31 p.m. About that time, Bob Hewitt was dying.

Eerie silence

When eerie silence came moments later, a woman stepped out and, with what Cliff called "sheer panic," screamed: "There's nothing left!"

Much of the town square was dusty mounds of brick and stone.

"It was numbing," Cliff says. What he saw left his mouth agape. The park and Bob Hewitt's house on its edge in a small valley were both gone.

He saw only a concrete slab where his brother's three-story ranch house had been.

When Cliff yelled for his brother, Bob Hewitt's wife, Kristi, shouted back. She was standing over her husband, who was unconscious and on his back -- not far from another injured man propped against the exposed roots of a toppled tree. The neighbor Bob Hewitt had tried to save also was injured, but she and her children ultimately survived.

Kristi Hewitt, less than two weeks from her wedding anniversary, rushed to keep her unharmed children -- ages 13, 9, 7 and 2 -- from seeing death.

Still, Cliff went to work on his unresponsive brother.

Bob Hewitt's forehead was bruised, suggesting he suffered what Cliff calls a "very substantial blow." Cliff noticed moments later that his brother's left arm was nearly severed by a "very deep, horrific circular cut."

Cliff felt for his brother's pulse. Nothing. Cliff put his head over his brother's chest to see if it was rising and falling with breaths. Nothing. A paramedic came by and checked Bob's neck for a pulse, found none and walked away.

Cliff puffed a couple of breaths into his brother, then wiped away vomit from Bob's mouth after the brother convulsed slightly. Bob gasped a couple of times. Still no pulse. A paramedic came again, saw Bob's pupils were fixed and convinced Cliff to stop.

At another ambulance worker's urging, Cliff and his sister scouted for other victims.

A couple of hours later, Cliff did what he resisted doing by cell phone hours earlier: Tell his mother, already aware that a tornado had hit Stockton, that one of her sons was dead.

Days later, Cliff still was angry about his brother's dash into harm's way instead of simply joining his family in the shelter -- and living.

"But we're proud that when someone was in need of help, he took steps. It took courage," Cliff says, crying. "And that's all we have to hold onto."

------

Associated Press Writer Connie Farrow in Springfield, Mo., contributed to this report.