Bob Hartig
EF5
Today is the sixty-third anniversary of the Flint-Beecher tornado. My dear woman, Lisa Hedger, has written the following brief account of her mother Mary's experience. I had mentioned in a previous post that Lisa lost a grandmother, an aunt, and four other relatives in the tornado. Those fatalities occurred at a different house and are a separate account; Lisa's father and mother had not yet met. There were, fortunately, no lives lost in Mary's house, though Mary's landlord died in the storm.
While the following account is straightforward and unadorned, it was not easy for Lisa to write. It is her mother's story, and Lisa has done her best to share it faithfully as her mother told it to her. Behind these brief, simple words lie the emotions of heart ties and family history.
Mom’s Account of the June 8, 1953, Flint-Beecher Tornado
Lisa Hedger 6-8-2016
In 1953, my mother, Mary Cowell, lived on North Dort Highway in Beecher, Michigan, in a two-story farmhouse with her three young children. These were my sisters Mary Ellen, age six, and Brenda, almost four, and my brother Joe, two. My brother Paul was due in July.
On June 8, Mom put the children to bed early in their upstairs bedroom, as they were sick with the German measles, and the shades were down to help them sleep. Then she went back downstairs to clean the kitchen.
When Mom had finished her cleaning, she went upstairs again to check on the children. As she entered the bedroom, she thought she heard someone yelling her name. She pulled the shade back to have a look and saw her landlord out in the field, wildly waving his arms and yelling, “Mary! Mary! Get the kids and go the basement! Tornado!” And just beyond the field, about a half mile away, was a double funnel.
Mom got the two older children moving and, carrying the youngest, followed them down the stairs to the first floor. By the time they reached the dining room, the storm was upon them. Brenda kept moving, but Mary Ellen was dawdling. Mom shouted at her to run for the basement, and Mary Ellen raced to the stairs and made it almost all the way down. Mom was at the top of the stairs holding my brother, and Brenda was in front of her, when the basement door hit Mom on the back so hard that it knocked her down the stairs.
Mom fell on top of my sisters and didn’t remember much after that. Her memory was in and out for the next six weeks. She never could remember how they got out of the basement. But she remembered waiting all night for help to arrive. Her landlord, who had shouted the warning, died in the storm.
The next day, as Mom sifted through the damage, she found her cockatiel still in its cage and missing only its tail feathers; a board with a piece of straw stuck in it; the telephone still in its cradle; and a jar of cold cream, ruined with dirt. Mom couldn’t remember giving birth to my brother Paul on July 24, 1953, but her memory was fine from that point on.
While the following account is straightforward and unadorned, it was not easy for Lisa to write. It is her mother's story, and Lisa has done her best to share it faithfully as her mother told it to her. Behind these brief, simple words lie the emotions of heart ties and family history.
Mom’s Account of the June 8, 1953, Flint-Beecher Tornado
Lisa Hedger 6-8-2016
In 1953, my mother, Mary Cowell, lived on North Dort Highway in Beecher, Michigan, in a two-story farmhouse with her three young children. These were my sisters Mary Ellen, age six, and Brenda, almost four, and my brother Joe, two. My brother Paul was due in July.
On June 8, Mom put the children to bed early in their upstairs bedroom, as they were sick with the German measles, and the shades were down to help them sleep. Then she went back downstairs to clean the kitchen.
When Mom had finished her cleaning, she went upstairs again to check on the children. As she entered the bedroom, she thought she heard someone yelling her name. She pulled the shade back to have a look and saw her landlord out in the field, wildly waving his arms and yelling, “Mary! Mary! Get the kids and go the basement! Tornado!” And just beyond the field, about a half mile away, was a double funnel.
Mom got the two older children moving and, carrying the youngest, followed them down the stairs to the first floor. By the time they reached the dining room, the storm was upon them. Brenda kept moving, but Mary Ellen was dawdling. Mom shouted at her to run for the basement, and Mary Ellen raced to the stairs and made it almost all the way down. Mom was at the top of the stairs holding my brother, and Brenda was in front of her, when the basement door hit Mom on the back so hard that it knocked her down the stairs.
Mom fell on top of my sisters and didn’t remember much after that. Her memory was in and out for the next six weeks. She never could remember how they got out of the basement. But she remembered waiting all night for help to arrive. Her landlord, who had shouted the warning, died in the storm.
The next day, as Mom sifted through the damage, she found her cockatiel still in its cage and missing only its tail feathers; a board with a piece of straw stuck in it; the telephone still in its cradle; and a jar of cold cream, ruined with dirt. Mom couldn’t remember giving birth to my brother Paul on July 24, 1953, but her memory was fine from that point on.
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