THE DEATH-DEALING TORNADO AT OMAHA
THE BOLT OUT OF THE BLACKNESS--RESCUERS WORKING IN DARK--A CITY TO
THE RESCUE--PATH OF THE STORM--INTERRUPTED MERRYMAKERS--FAMILY MEET
DEATH TOGETHER--FREAK TRAGEDIES--BRAVE TELEPHONE GIRLS--VIVID TALE
OF THE STORM.
Easter Sunday did not dawn very brightly in Omaha, but in the afternoon
the sun came out warm and bright. The usual Easter promenaders thronged
the streets in holiday attire. Then, as the afternoon wore on, clouds
appeared in the sky. They gathered very quickly, came lower, and as they
approached the earth there was suddenly a fall in the temperature. In a
few minutes the sky turned black and then came the bolt of wind down out
of the blackness. Through more than three miles of the city it cut a
clean path of from three to seven blocks in width in which not a
building was left whole. Then the storm mounted the bluffs and sped away
to the northeast, carrying destruction with it.
Omaha's destruction was kept secret from the world for several hours by
the storm, for all wire communication was broken down in the wrecking
of the homes. Messengers with the news stories had to go to Lincoln, the
state capital, to give out first definite news of the disaster.
During the early hours of the night uninjured citizens worked
desperately to remove such persons as had been caught beneath razed
buildings. No great number was killed in any one place. The wind swept
along, taking its toll here and there.
No sooner had the great wind passed than a second violent gale swept
over much the same territory, but with lessened fury. The total number
of dead in Omaha and suburbs amounted to 154; the number of homeless to
3,179.
Fire started in the debris of many wrecked buildings in the Nebraska
metropolis, and these were menaces for some time, as the fire companies
were hindered by fallen walls and blockaded streets. A heavy rain
followed the wind, however, and whilst it drenched the hundreds of
homeless persons, it also put out the flames.
RESCUERS WORKING IN DARK
Rescue work started as soon as the people were able to hurry to the
stricken district, but the night's work was by the light of lanterns and
little was accomplished. The storm took down all the wires in its path
and the electric power was shut off immediately to prevent further loss
of life. All night the stricken section was patrolled by government
troops from Fort Omaha.
With the arrival of daylight, a train-load of militia from Lincoln and
the presence in the city of Governor Morehead, the work was
systematized.
[Illustration: MAP SHOWING THE PATH OF THE TORNADO]
The hospitals in Omaha Sunday night were full of injured, many of whom
had not been identified, apparently because their friends were either
dead or among the injured.
A CITY TO THE RESCUE
Immediately City Commissioners appropriated $25,000 for relief work;
citizens present at the meeting organized and donated $25,000 more. The
Citizens' Relief Committee was organized, composed of fifty citizens and
an executive committee of seven to work with the seven city councilmen.
Governor Morehead notified Mayor Dahlman that he would send a special
message to the Legislature asking for the appropriation of sufficient
funds to care for the homeless throughout the state.
Cots were placed in the Auditorium, and those without shelter were
housed here. The city purchasing agent arranged for enough beds to care
for all those who could sleep in the Auditorium. The Elks' rooms were
thrown open to the homeless and the Union Gospel Mission provided
seventy-five men with beds.
PATH OF THE STORM
The storm appeared to have started at Fifty-fourth and Center Streets.
From there it traveled north, veering slightly to the east, to
Leavenworth Street. Then it took a northeasterly course to Fortieth and
Farnam Streets, sweeping its way through everything. Still traveling a
little east of north, it covered a course from Fortieth Street east to
Thirty-fourth Street, six blocks.
Striking Bemis Park, where the homes of the wealthy Omaha residents were
located, the storm turned sharply to the east and passed along Parker
and Blonde Streets, to Twenty-fourth Street, where its path was six
blocks wide. In the latter section the damage was complete.
Finally, at Fourteenth and Spencer Streets, the storm swept over the
bluffs, high above the Missouri River, demolished the Missouri Pacific
roundhouse, leveled the big trestle of the Illinois Central Railroad
over Carter Lake, wrecked several buildings near the Rod and Gun Club, a
fashionable outing place, and disappeared to the northeast.
The Child Saving Institute was a veritable death house after the storm
had spent its fury. Every available room was pressed into service, and
one after another the dead and injured were brought into the house.
INTERRUPTED MERRYMAKERS
At the home of Patrick Hynes, a party in celebration of his eighty-first
birthday was in progress. The guests had just begun dinner and were
drinking a toast to the health of their host when the storm swept the
house away. All the party succeeded in getting out with minor injuries,
except a grandchild, who was internally injured.
"The party had just begun dinner," said Mr. Hynes. "The young people
were making merry and, old as I am, I had entered into the spirit.
Suddenly there was a roaring sound. The next minute the house was in
ruins. I wiggled around and out and aided the others in escaping."
FAMILY MEET DEATH TOGETHER
Cliff Daniels, his wife and their two children met death together. When
soldiers, digging about the ruins of their home, found the four bodies,
the two little girls were clasped in the arms of their mother, while the
body of the father was over them, as if he had tried to shield them with
his own body.
When C. Saber discovered the crushed and almost unrecognizable body of
his wife he fled down the street shrieking at the top of his voice.
E. H. Smith, a private of the Signal Corps from Fort Omaha, became
insane after helping carry several bodies, and collapsed. When he had
regained consciousness it was necessary to take him to the post
hospital, where he was placed under restraint.
A. L. Green was on his back porch watching the storm when it broke. He
said:
"It came like a rushing and roaring torrent of water and passed right by
us to the east. I went to my attic window immediately afterward and saw
fires bursting forth from houses along the path of the storm. I could
see five fires burning at once. The flames made a ghastly sight as they
illuminated acres of razed buildings nearby."
FREAK TRAGEDIES
Among the freak tragedies of the tornado none is more remarkable than
that at the Idlewild pool hall, Twenty-fourth and Lake Streets.
Twenty-five negroes were killed. The story is told by the single
survivor, John Brown, who was dug from the wreckage twelve hours after
the demolition of the building.
"Eight men were playing pool at one table," Brown says. "The rest of us
were standing about watching. Without a moment's warning a terrific roar
swept down through the room. The roof suddenly was lifted from above.
The pool table shot straight upward, many feet into the air.
"All of us still were unhurt."
Insane with fear, but wondering, the negroes rushed beneath the open
roof and gazed upward. Then the heavy pool table and pieces of the roof
shot down. All were caught. Brown was dug from the wreckage twelve hours
later, uninjured.
HOUSE SPLIT ASUNDER
Huddled with his family in the basement of his home at 3229 Cuming
Street, Prof. E. W. Hunt saw the house split asunder. When he recovered
consciousness beneath the wreckage he discovered that a last summer
straw hat was cocked on the back of his head. It had been hanging in a
bedroom closet three stories above before the tornado struck the house.
The body of a girl about four was dropped into the arms of a pedestrian,
Charles Allen, at Forty-fifth and Center Streets. Efforts to identify
the child failed.
In a field half a mile from their home were found the bodies of Mrs.
Mary Rathkey and her two grown sons, Frank and James. All three were
dead but no bruises were found. The wind had cut their clothing
completely away.
Mrs. F. Bryant, ninety-two, lived with her son, Dr. D. C. Bryant, at
3006 Sherman Avenue. She was in bed on the third floor of the house when
the tornado struck. The three floors beneath her were shifted out and
her bed fell to the basement. Except for the shock she was uninjured.
Dr. Bryant and his wife were dropped to the basement from the ground
floor. They, too, miraculously escaped injury.
VIVID TALES OF THE STORM
Perhaps the most vivid single description of the tornado's havoc was
given by John Porter:
"I stood on the rear porch of my home when the great cloud of the storm
began its race across the city," he said. "Before it rushed the
traditional 'ball of fire,' which was in reality a yellow cloud,
spherical in shape.
"My wife was visiting at the moment in the home of her father. I saw the
house caught in the vortex of the cloud. It rose straight up into the
air, its walls shattered and broken, but holding partially together. I
am sure that I could not have moved an eyelash, if my life had depended
upon the exertion.
"From the risen house I saw a myriad of black specks falling to the
earth. Then I watched that home soar upward. It hurtled five blocks
through the murky twilight, sustained at a height of one hundred and
fifty feet.
"The Sacred Heart Convent was the target at which it was hurled. It
struck the fifth story. The convent was demolished. The home of my
father-in-law became splinters.
"Then I recovered my senses partially, and ran to the site of the
structure. God himself must have directed that storm, for my wife, her
father and her mother had been dropped behind, only bruised."