52 Ancestors #11: How an F5 Twister Shaped a Man

Today is my grandpa’s birthday. Today is the anniversary of the 1925 Tri-State Tornado.  One single event that happened on the 6th birthday of a little boy shaped the man we called JR. 

James L. Raines

Grandpa was born on March 18, 1919 to Phoebe (Douglas, 1880-1932) and James Albert Raines (1877-1957) in Murphysboro, Illinois.  He was the 7th of 9 children and he outlived them all.  To look at his red hair and blue eyes, you would have known immediately that he was of Scotch-Irish descent, and he had the temper to match.  He had mellowed by the time I came around, but I’ve heard some rather spectacular stories about his younger days.  I won’t repeat any of them here, though.  

On March 30, 1940, Grandpa married Doris Louise Schuster (1923-2006) in Jefferson City, Missouri.  A lot of couples ran over the state line to marry in those days because there was no wait for the marriage license. Grandpa was 21. Grandma lied on the marriage license, confirming that she was “over the age of 18” at the time of the wedding.  She was a mere 16 years old!  I suspect she had to lie because … nobody knew they were getting married!  Oh, the sagas of my grandparents. In fact, they didn’t let it be known for 3 whole months.  They went back to their normal lives in their respective homes.  I didn’t know this information until recently, but it explains their lack of expected judgement when I told them I was moving in with Chili … before we were even engaged.  That’s another story! 

Five children came from this union … James, Kay, Gary, David and my mom, Debbie. In Grandpa’s lifetime, there were 9 grandkids, 6 great-grandkids and 1 great-great granddaughter that he was able to meet before he passed away. There are even more than that, now, and a variety of steps. One thing about my Grandparents, it didn’t matter if you were a step-grandchild or just the friend of a grandchild, you were theirs, too.  I loved that about them.  

The Tri-State Tornado

I suppose there is something in all of our lives that makes a lasting impression or shapes us in some way.  I connect the 1925 twister with Grandpa for several reasons … it happened on his 6th birthday and he would talk about how he hid in school all while the twister destroyed Murphysboro.  He told that story well into his elder years just like it had happened the day before.  

The Tri-State Tornado ripped through Missouri, Illinois and Indiana during the afternoon and evening of March 18, 1925.  The worst damage was from an F5 tornado that touched down across the Mississippi River in Missouri, traveled through the southern part of Illinois and into Indiana. This is still considered the deadliest single tornado in US history, killing 695 people along its 219 mile trek. In Murphysboro, Illinois alone, almost 300 were killed. The tornado left a 1 mile-wide path of destruction through the main part of town.  

If you grow up in or near Murphysboro like I did, this is one of the first historical events you learn about … maybe not in school … but you learn about it nonetheless. 

I have countless stories about Grandpa … and I’ll tell them to you all in good time.  It is this connection, however, that I think about when I remember what kind of man he was.  Strong. Independent. Stubborn. Courageous. Beautiful. Tempestuous. 

The Fascination 

My mom will tell you that I’m slightly crazy because I stand on the front porch during tornado warnings and watch the sky … waiting.  I will tell you that I get it honestly.  When I was about 10, maybe 12 years old, my Aunt and her family were visiting from California.  During their visit, and while the ENTIRE family was at my grandparents’ house for dinner, Murphysboro was blessed with another tornado. Albeit, much less destructive.  I can still see the dark sky looming over the town. I can still hear the weather report break in on the television. I can still hear my mom and grandma ushering all of us to the basement. I can still see Grandpa walking out the front door and standing on the porch … watching … waiting.  He was always waiting.  For what, exactly, I’m not sure.  I often wondered if he waited for the next big tornado to come through. Then I wondered what he thought he would do when it did. I never asked.

I wasn’t a good girl that day. In the mass exodus to the basement, I escaped to the front porch.  I was hesitant to open the screen door, thinking I’d get scolded for leaving the safety of the southwest basement corner.  Grandpa looked at me, reached back to open the door and told me to “have a seat”.  Over the years, he and I spent many an hour on that front porch during storm warnings … watching … waiting together.

I was his little clone and sometimes partner in “crime” … to the point that I get called “Jim” a lot by my family.     

Incidentally, Grandma always grabbed her pocketbook and a crowbar … in case we got trapped in the basement! I think that might be why I dislike going to the basement during storm warnings.  I can’t see what’s coming at me, and I think about needing that blasted crowbar to escape! JD thinks I’m slightly crazy, too. 

The Weather Man

I learned a lot from Grandpa.  Even well into my adulthood he was teaching me life’s lessons.  He also taught me practical things, like how to tell when a big storm was coming!  I learned how to determine the weather by the colors in the sky, the way the wind blows, how the leaves are positioned on a tree, and even how the air smells.  I learned how to listen to animals and pay attention when their sounds change suddenly … or stop altogether.  I learned how to tell if winter will be long or short … and to never believe that confounded groundhog!  I learned how rain impacts the rivers and lakes where I live and why bridges may still be icy when all the other ice on the road has melted.  I realize men and women who have lived alongside Mother Nature understand how to read her, but I was always amazed at how he just seemed to know things.  

I was thankful … grateful really … that Grandpa was alive when Noodle was born. She doesn’t really remember him, only a few scattered things here and there, but she made such an impact on him.  I hope she never gets tired of hearing “Old Papa Raines” stories, because they are plentiful. I only hope I can teach her all of the things he taught me. 

Grandpa left us on May 26, 2008 … Memorial Day. He was laid to rest in Pleasant Grove Memorial Cemetery with Military Honors.  

I still stand on the front porch during storm warnings … watching … waiting … now alone.