larry versus the microburst

Kansans' heads are filled with tornado stories from an early age, be they from movies, news reports or poet-hobos who wander the streets telling folks about the night they rode a twister across county lines and in and out of reality. Rarely, however, are we lucky (or unlucky) enough to actually witness such an event.

March 12 was one of those big days for folks in Lawrence. At around 8 in the morning, some crazy winds bent a bunch of signs, messed up some buildings and felled trees all over town. One of my friends saw the swirling winds directly above him and claimed it was one of the most intense things he'd ever experienced. Another was on the toilet at the time and felt his entire house shake, presumably from the tornado. Most folks either took shelter or slept through it.

I had planned to stay up all night and drive from Kansas City to Lawrence that morning, but all that coffee at Chubby's at 6 a.m. just put me to sleep. I didn't drive up until after the KU vs. Texas Big 12 Championship basketball game, a resounding victory for the 'Hawks. Brother James and I drove up K-10, marvelling at the way the giant green highway signs were curled back. The signs looked so awkward bent up like that, as if some giant had messed with them for his own amusement.

Fortunately, Jennifer and Brother David got up early to take some photos of the chaos. Although I was a late arriver on the scene, I did record a few observations.

The streets were full of debris and broken trees, including several I used to duck around and under on walks to campus.

Downtown, the U.S. Bank revolving door was bashed in, awnings were ripped out and two steeples were toppled from an old brick church, making it once again look like some giant with a perverse sense of symmetry had acted in violent disdain against our beloved college town. The sirens had stopped working earlier, so when there was another tornado warning that afternoon, police officers drove around with megaphones and megaphoned for everyone to take shelter. Most people ignored them.

On Ninth Street, the sign at Jensen's liquor store had been blown out, but the line to buy booze was almost out the door. People were stocking up like it was the last day anyone would be selling liquor ever. The clerks had the new Roelofs album playing overhead, adding nicely to the apocalyptic effect.

On Mississippi street, David's bike had been thrown into the middle of the yard along with the porch fence it was locked to. We sipped beers and drank in the weirdness around back where the porch was more intact. The wooden owl on the outside staircase looked pretty ominous in the stormy twilight, as did the branches overhead. Across the street at the stadium, the hammer/discus cage had been pitifully beat in. There was greenish haze all over town, the result of everything having been stirred up at once. "It was like we were living in a zombie movie," someone said later.

By evening, people had grown a bit bolder in celebrating the weather and KU victory. Fireworks and shouts rang out from Oread apartment complexes. People gathered on lawns to drink and barbecue by the light of tiki torches. It was Lawrence at its finest, and I don't mean that in a "banding together to help one another" way, though I'm sure some of that went on. It was more of a "classes are canceled, my DVD player won't work and it's not like I'll be paying for the damage to my apartment, so let's go outside and be weird" vibe.

After dark, South Park was pitch black and blocked off, its darkness both foreboding and appealing, as if the park had suddenly become a boundless haven for revelers and murderers. The streetlamps around the playground and bandstand were all knocked out, and it looked like what it would have been like had the Ents lost their battle with Isengaard.

We drove West on Sixth Street to get some food and watch the news from Kaspar's (or whatever it's called now). On the way we passed by the rocket in Centennial Park, which might have been the strangest thing I had seen all day. Even in broad daylight, the structure looks like a curious remnant from and/or tribute to the cold war. But in the midst of all the damage, fireworks and lingering flashes of lightning, the fake warhead took on a brand new absurdity. It was as if to say, "Should the communists or tornadoists decide to return to Lawrence, Lawrence will be ready."