Palm Sunday April 11, 1965

My family survived the Palm Sunday tornado. We lived in Berne in a mobile home on Berne St. and that evening we had just returned home from visiting my Dad's sister in Dayton, OH. My Mom told us to get ready for bed and I distinctly remember standing on the bed trying to reach the drawer that held my pajamas when I heard my Mom yelling. I remember seeing her opening the door and leaning outside and then she was just gone. My Dad was yelling, telling us to come and I remember being irritated because I hadn't gotten my pajamas yet and was still in my undies. The next thing I remember is my Dad shoving me into the car from the driver's side. He kept pushing me, but my hips were hitting the steering wheel. I turned in protest not understanding why he would hurt me like that. I'll never forget the sight of my sister, Teresa, with her nightgown belling out around her lifting off the ground. My Dad grabbed her and shoved us both inside our tiny car. It was a white Mayco, (like a Volkswagon Bug-except smaller). He jumped in and as he drove away I looked back to see our home rolling away. He drove to a factory at the end of our road that had a recessed ramp to the loading dock and I can remember my parents tensely discussing whether we would be safe there or whether something would fall and crush or trap us there if he drove down the ramp. The tornado had already moved on by that point and by the time my Father drove down the ramp it was obvious that we were out of danger and the shock of losing our home and all of our belongings was just beginning to sink in. Tonight the tornado watches and the strange stillness outside has raised my hackles. J is due here any moment and I'm still sitting here petrified by those memories.