Weather the Storm You Never See Coming

We were on the way back home from my piano lesson when we drove right into the tornado.

It was February 18, 1975, about 4:30 in the afternoon. My Mother had just picked me up from my piano lesson at Ms. Nancy’s. She had a lovely Victorian-style home surrounded by full English gardens and a menagerie of cats, just out past R.T. Hancock’s place.

Ms. Nancy insisted on teaching me all the classics, you know, Mozart, Bach, Chopin…if you can imagine such a thing. I insisted on becoming the next Fats Domino or Jerry Lee Lewis…which you can probably easily imagine. After 10 years of squabbling, neither one of us got what we wanted out of those piano lessons. Except a lifelong friendship.

Mother pulled out of the drive and steered our big Buick back toward the main road, taking us past Pine Needles Country Club, where I was surprised to see those towering loblolly pines swaying and bending, normally quite stately and solemn.

We topped the hill and made our way past Blue Bird, with their acres and acres of gleaming yellow school buses.

Just before we got to Five Points, we spotted it. A big funnel cloud off to our left, maybe a quarter of a mile. The long, dark, rope tail swirling and snaking and carving its way through our lives. We immediately stopped, mesmerized and confused, as if we were watching that scene in The Wizard of Oz while also somehow being in that same scene.

For those couple of minutes, there was literally no sound. We could see the effects of the hundred-mile-an-hour winds. Limbs flying, trash swirling, dust as thick as fog. But to us, in those few moments, everything was silent.

And, just like that, it was gone, heading out Hwy. 96 in search of pecan and peach orchards as it continued its assault on our tranquility.

In its wake, three Fort Valley residents lost their lives and much of our historic downtown laid in ruins.

As we turned our car toward home, the terrible tornado siren continued wailing. My Dad made it home from the bus plant a few minutes after we did and we all hugged each other, terrified by what had occurred and blessed that we were all safe and together.

That very afternoon, the cleanup began, which, in my young mind then and my old mind now, seemed to drag on for years. Slowly but surely, we all rebuilt our little town and our little lives and continued moving forward, altered though our path now was. There are still scars of that day visible, if you know where to look.

It’s the suddenness of change that makes it so shocking. One minute you’re making sweet music in an idyllic setting, the next you find yourself in the middle of the worst storm of your life.

Yes, the good thing you had going comes to an end, replaced by something usually not of your own making that wreaks havoc. But that storm also ends; they always do.

And you continue moving forward, scars and all, altered though your path now is.

Written by Jason Anthoine, SVP, Managing Director of Arketi Inside
Jason Anthoine is Senior Vice President and Managing Director of Arketi Inside, Arketi Group’s internal communications offering dedicated to workforce communications and change management. Anthoine helps organizations engage and inspire employees to build thriving cultures. He has worked with hundreds of companies to transform workforce communications, strengthen the employee-employer relationship, and create more resilient organizations.