It was May 27, 2004. I was living on the back two of a 50-acre thoroughbred farm in Versailles, Kentucky. It was on US-60 about a mile west of the Bluegrass Parkway and 10 miles west of Lexington. It’s now a subdivision, much to my everlasting chagrin.
I lived in a Cape Cod cottage, not too unlike the house I live in now, that looked out over a large, unused pasture and an aged barn. The weather that evening was looking to get rambunctious. I didn’t have cable, but had a local station on. Just in case.
About a half hour before sunset, I didn’t like the way things looked outside. Though not absolute indicators of a tornado, dead calm air and a green-tinted sky are signs that a hellacious storm is coming, one that COULD produce a tornado, emphasis on COULD.
By 9:30 that night, things were getting interesting. I was watching the maple trees in my front yard (no, I wasn’t close to the window). The leaves blew left, then right, then straight up. My television reception had gone to static. Then my metal lawn chairs flew straight up into the sky. Uh oh.
My phone rings, and a friend is yelling at me, there’s a tornado warning and the rotation is right on top of me. Before I can respond, roar, crack, pop, scream, disconnect and I’m taking cover in the bathroom. Everything is very noisy for about five minutes. I call my friend back to let him know I’m fine, but half my power has been knocked out.
I grab a spotlight and jump in my truck to go check on horses. It’s rainy and pitch black. If nothing else I need to make sure no fences are down and horses roaming the highway. I make it 50 yards and am blocked by a giant tree down over the driveway. It’s a half mile walk to the farm entrance, so I climb over, and off I go. Another friend calls to check on me and stays on the phone with me as I go paddock to paddock counting horses. All safe.
Officially, what wreaked havoc around me wasn’t a tornado. It did become one, however, about six miles away as the crow flies, an F-3 that made a mess of the Masterson Station neighborhood in Lexington. But there was damage all over the area where no tornado touched down.
Last Thursday’s storm that killed two and injured several came trucking through Knox County a little after 9 p.m. I saw the usual complaints from people whose television shows were interrupted by storm coverage. There was a dangerous storm passing from county to county, plus two other possible tornados (confirmed) in the region. Our local television stations reach well beyond Knox County. Their licenses from the Federal Communications Commission require them to act in the public interest, and continuing coverage of a potentially life-threatening storm would fall under that. Whatever you are watching, it’s going to be interrupted and remain interrupted until the danger is passed. Even if it’s left Knox County.
Some will recall a tornado that hit Fountain City in May 1995. I lived in Windsor Court apartments at the time, and some folks were in high dungeon because an episode of Friends was interrupted. That tornado passed very near me, and, yes, it sounded like a freight train was in my living room. Though a lot of damage was done, no one was badly injured. And a good part of that was due to warnings from our local meteorologists.
Tornados are not common here in Knox County. But we were not spared in the super outbreak of April 3-4, 1974, where an F2 hit in East Knox County, killing twin infants and injuring 21 others. Though we’ve come a long way in meteorology since then, one thing that cannot be done is a guarantee of a tornado landing in a specific place at a specific time at a specific size. A tornado watch means conditions are favorable to produce them, a tornado warning means there’s a rotation signature on the radar so take cover, and an actual tornado is usually confirmed after the fact.
You can hang out in your basement or your bathroom or sturdiest closet for five minutes until it passes. I promise. And don’t gripe about missing your shows. Just because a tornado doesn’t touch down doesn’t mean there isn’t any danger. To borrow from comedian Ron White, it’s not just that the wind’s blowing, it’s what the wind’s blowing. And never be disappointed when a warning doesn’t produce a twister. You don’t want that smoke.
Oh, I found those lawn chairs in my back yard the next day.
Beth Kinnane writes a history feature for KnoxTNToday.com. It’s published each Tuesday and is one of our best-read features.
Sources: McClung digital collection-Knox County Library, Knoxville Journal digital archives, National Weather Service, Federal Communications Commission
