Seeking refuge in my past was often a useful move when problems followed me. Take tornadoes: Today, parts of the country are ravaged by tornadoes, which makes me think back on my history with them. Growing up, I was told, “Run at right angles from tornadoes.” Puzzling advice for a boy who had heard of angles, but was probably thinking of angels. If I ever met an angel, I would probably run in all directions. I had seen pictures of angels on illustrated pages of the Bible and was not very keen on meeting one. I found all those wings, halos and plastered-on smiles threatening. Angels scared me more than tornadoes.
I soon experienced a tornado at the age of six, when around 7 p.m. the city siren started blaring on top of the water tower. A most unusual event, but because the sky was cloudy and it started to rain, my father told us to cross the street and duck into the Batemans’ basement. There we were met by John and Lizzy Bateman, John opening the door as the five of us walked down the stairs into the musty subway. John closed the door. We stood there waiting for our homes to be swept into southwestern Iowa and probably neighboring Illinois.
“Climb into the potato bin, Mike,” Lizzy said.
My father hoisted me into it and scraped my head against the concrete ceiling. I sat down on the knobby potatoes. Nobody spoke. I could imagine my mother bursting into prayer for our safety, but she didn’t. Perhaps she saw us in a damp and clammy hell, while the fervent prayer of a righteous woman helped nothing.
Years later, after I moved to Springfield, while reading a newspaper at a professional meeting in St. Louis—taking my daughter to visit her old neighborhood friends—I received a call from my neighbor that a tornado had ripped through our street had raged and uprooted the roots. trees, tearing off some roofs and causing significant damage.
“Mike,” he said, “it’s real.”
“Everyone okay?” I have asked.
‘Yes, but your wife and son are a bit upset. Part of your roof is damaged. You better come home.’
I left without attending the meeting and was shocked to see the devastation in our neighborhood. The next day, as we were installing plastic coverings on top of the roof, the sirens went off. My wife in the garden begged me to come down. “It’s safer here,” she said. I climbed down. Nothing else happened. We were safe.
I have a healthy respect for the violence that tornadoes cause. Unexpected violence. Often deadly violence.
I was once a victim of personal violence. I emerged battered, but not permanently injured. I fought and for the most part it worked out. Physically. I have become increasingly aware of the seriousness of the violence inflicted on others, and of the effects and consequences that can be lasting to varying degrees. Mental and emotional scars sometimes remain hidden. War violence on a massive scale leaves many with unresolved trauma, both physical and mental.
Seeking shelter from the ravages of nature is one thing; get out of the danger zone. But seeking protection from the consequences of personal violence can often bring unusual consequences. Where do we turn? Some turn inward. Some seek social isolation. Some hide in compulsions and strange behavior; balms that seem to work, but sometimes don’t. Those who seek solitude and detachment as a result of such violence may appear distant or even haughty. But the tired old adage I once heard will perhaps be best remembered by those seeking shelter: whatever works.
Michael Pulley lives in Springfield. He can be reached at mpulley634@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Springfield News Leader: Michael Pulley: Looking for shelter during storm season
