Joplin - Ground Zero

I've been to a lot of Walmarts, but this one is special.

 

 

I’ve sneered at Walmart a lot, and lord knows there’s enough to dislike about them.  On the other hand, somehow Walmart has figured largely in my travels in the last few years, and recently has been wrapped up in some of the more important stories of my life.  One thing that becomes apparent if you are trying to travel on the cheap or you are towing a trailer across country or just need a place to crash for the night and can only afford to sleep in your car:  you can usually find a port at Walmart.  In the cases where overnight parking is not allowed, it’s because of city ordinances that Walmart has no control over.  They know that people who are welcomed to their parking lots usually wind up spending money in the store.  And even if they don’t, the overnight policy is a huge goodwill builder.

 

I researched truck stops and Walmarts for this trip, especially for the return leg, when I knew I’d need big lots with lots of pull-through options.  And when I realized I was going to be passing through Joplin, Missouri, I decided I wanted to make a stop there and give them my business.  So, as usual, I looked for the local Walmart for a trailer-friendly stop.  And then I remembered.  Oh.  That Walmart.  A little more than 2 years ago, on May 22, 2011, the Joplin Walmart took a direct hit from the EF5 tornado that stomped the town of Joplin.  People died in that store, but of the people who took shelter there, more lived than died.  The store was a complete loss (as were many other buildings, including the nearby Home Depot).  Asphalt was scoured from the ground in the parking lot, manhole covers were sucked out of the ground.  It was a catastrophic event.

Joplin got busy rebuilding.  A brand new Walmart was completely rebuilt on the site one year later.  I decided that I would make a stop in Joplin to buy gas, ice, get some food.  It wouldn’t be much of a contribution to the recovery, but it would be something.  And it would be interesting to visit the very place where these events had taken place.

 

I had to get gas in Springfield, which is before Joplin, but I pushed on to Joplin and arrived late in the evening.  I drove slowly up Range Line Road, where enormous steel beams from the Home Depot had been dropped.  And there was the Home Depot itself, newly rebuilt and open for business.  Then I was turning into the Walmart property.  The parking lot is enormous, even by Walmart standards.  It is built on a rise of land, like a low hill or mound, and conveying a view over the town.  I cruised around looking for an ideal spot, and wound up behind the garden center not far from another small travel trailer.

 

I had everything I needed for the evening, but I made a list of things to shop for in the morning.  I opened a couple of windows in the trailer for cross ventilation and lay down, trying to get some sleep.  The wind made little moaning noises, like ghosts or memories of another wind, and KD rocked uneasily.  I told myself there was nothing creepy about being parked on the very spot that for a few minutes a couple of years ago had been hell on earth.  I brushed away the thought that if I had been in the exact same spot on that day and hour, all of us (me, Goose, KD, and Baby Bear) would have been wadded up like so much tin foil and hurled into the next life.

 

This morning after I managed to get myself moving, I collected a cart and headed across the lot to the brand new store.  It was hot and humid again, and the air conditioning inside was a relief.  It is a very big store, a Super Center, open 24 hours a day.  I was pleased to see that this store (unlike some I’ve been to in recent memory) had a fantastic selection, was extremely clean, and was very well stocked.  And the employees were all very friendly, cheerful, and well-scrubbed (also not always the case at some Walmarts).  It seemed like everyone was determined to put their best foot forward and stride onward with a smile.

 

I picked up a measuring tape so I could check the height of KD’s windows and see if there was anything that would work for curtains, an I Love Joplin tshirt, and a few more things.  At the register I told the checker that I had made a special stop on my cross-country trip to visit the town and the store that survived.  She reminded me the store hadn’t exactly survived.  It was a total loss, hence the complete rebuild.

 

“But you survived,” I said to her.  She said yes, she had been at her pastor’s house, which had been destroyed.  But everybody who sheltered there lived.  There was something matter of fact about her tone, it was something that you apparently had learned to live with if you lived in Joplin.  So many people had directly experienced that tornado, and if they hadn’t been in its path, they still had had to deal with the aftermath.

 

After I measured the windows in the trailer and saw that some valences I’d found would work well, I went back inside to get them and realized I was bonking.  The in-store restaurant is a Subway, which I’m not a fan of, but I went in anyway and got a sandwich and cold drink.  A Walmart employee came in and sat down to have lunch, chatted with a few customers.  When I got ready to leave I told her how impressed I was with the great new store.

She told me it had opened a year ago, that it had been 2 years since the tornado.  I told her about my trip and that I had planned for months to stop at this Walmart and give my business to the town of Joplin and meet some of the resilient folk who had picked up the pieces and rebuilt.  She told me some of her story.

Her name is Tamara, and she had been off work that day and so wasn’t at the store, but she had survived the tornado huddled in her basement in a little space between a dryer and the cement basement steps.  She said her ears popped a lot as the tornado went right overhead, and for a space of time she couldn’t breathe, it felt like all the air was being sucked out of her lungs.  A couple of beams from the house, which had been converted from an old church, fell on top of her and bruised her badly.  She had no external bleeding, but a lot of bleeding under the skin from the heavy beams striking her.  It took 45 minutes before she and her family could dig their way out of the rubble.  The house was completely gone.

 

They had bought it for sixty thousand dollars, and it had been an adorable little house.  They lost everything.  I asked if she had gotten any help from FEMA, and she said no, because they had insurance.  But they were under-insured, and after the mortgage was paid off, there wasn’t enough left from the insurance check to rebuild.  The day after the tornado, Tamara took the $2000 emergency funds the insurance company had disbursed to her pending the final settlement, and paid the mortgage payment on her non-existent house.  She didn’t want to forget that responsibility in the chaos of the tornado aftermath.  When the final check came, she paid off the mortgage.  At least they own the land free and clear.  She and her family were fortunate enough to be able to live in another house that is owned by members of her family.  It is in trust and eventually will be sold and split between she and her siblings.  When that happens, she hopes to buy another home somewhere.

 

She says she has her life, and that’s enough.  She tells me that she already survived one apocalypse in her life when she left an abusive relationship years ago.  I tell her that at least I have that in common with her, even if I haven’t lived through a tornado.  She tells me that material things can always be replaced.  Maybe not family mementoes and pictures, but the rest of it can always be rebuilt.  “It’s hard,” she says.  “But life is hard.  You just have to go on.”

 

I tell her that in the wake of my own losses, I sometimes think of the people of Joplin, and Moore, and other places where people have experienced disaster, and it helps me put things in perspective.  She nods and says that thinking of Moore, hit by tornadoes three times, makes her think the people of Joplin don’t have it so bad.  And she always thinks, “There’s lots of people that have it worse than me.”

 

I shake her hand and thank her for telling me her story.  For some reason I don’t ask for her picture.  I’m not sure why.  I just don’t want her to think I’m exploiting her losses . . . .she probably wouldn’t think that.  But it is sobering to realize that I’m talking to a person who looked at death swirling above her, lost her home and most of her possessions, and still counts herself lucky that she has her life.  I feel funny asking her in a perky voice if I can have her picture for my blog.  So I don’t ask.  But I’m glad to have her story.

 

I head back to the trailer and put new batteries in the GMRS/NOAA radio and turn it on.  I’ve known that scattered thunderstorms are forecast for the area.  It would be really embarrassing to be caught unaware in a severe weather event after visiting the site of just about the severest event you can have.

 

While I’m fussing around in KD, hanging curtains, sweeping up the floor and trying to wipe up the counters, I hear a rumble of thunder.  Shortly after, a terrific thunderstorm gets going full tilt.  Huge crashes of thunder, nearly constant lightning flashes.  I start to hear the ping of hail, and think, oh shit.  KD rocks in the wind, and the rain blows sideways.  It makes a running pattern on the pavement, and watching out the window I get the weirdest sensation that KD is moving.  I know this is crazy, it’s just an optical illusion, but I finally have to look away, it’s too creepy.

 

During a lull, I get the trailer buttoned up and climb into the truck.  I am preparing to leave when a second wave hits, even more impressive than the first. 

 

 I think, oh well, this is just an ordinary thunderstorm for these parts.  It’s not like it’s being warned as a severe one. 

Then the alert tone goes off, and I find myself reaching for my brown corduroy trousers.  It turns out it is only a flash flood warning, which I should be ok with since I’m up on high ground.  But then a severe thunderstorm warning comes through.  After checking it appears the cell that’s being warned as severe is in the northeast part of the county, and I’m in the southeast part, out of the danger area. But what is over me right at the moment is a rip-snorter of a storm compared to what I’m used to.  I watch until it lets up, then head out to the local Pilot for a much needed shower.  I’m drenched in sweat from the hot, humid day, and I really want to just jump out and stand in the rain.  But I suppose it is more civilized to get a proper shower at the truck stop.

Looking across the way to brand new construction that replaces the buildings completely destroyed by the 2011 storm:

 

Here’s to the people of Joplin, who showed me that you can rebuild and move on, and that your life is worth so much more than the material possessions that can be taken away in seconds.  And here’s to the town that gave me a place to rest when I needed it, and showed me a spectacular thunderstorm.  Every time I look at the curtains hanging in KD, I’ll think of Joplin.