My first-person account of March 1, 2007

On March 1, 2007 I was doing what I normally did on any given Thursday, teaching at a small private school in Dothan. Severe weather was predicted for the day, but as of lunch, there had been none. However, the school’s headmistress advised that I go ahead and head home to Enterprise because the weather was expected to deteriorate quickly. So, I got my son, an eighth grader at the time, loaded up and headed west to Enterprise. My daughter, who was a fourth grader at the time, was home sick and my husband was with her, as he worked third shift at Fort Rucker.

Anyway, as we were traveling on U.S. Highway 84, the sky was, indeed, looking a bit ominous, but really nothing more than a normal south Alabama thunderstorm day. My son and I listened to the radio, talked about school and then we heard the radio announcer say that there was a tornado sighting near Enterprise that appeared to be heading toward the city.

At that time, we lived two or three streets over from the high school, near downtown. So we called home via a very rudimentary cell phone and told them what we’d heard. I remember my husband saying the weather wasn’t terrible there, but okay, he’d get my daughter and himself into the center bathroom.

I was becoming frantic at that point, and then the radio announcer said the tornado was on the ground in downtown Enterprise. I called our house again and my daughter answered, crying, because she couldn’t get our cat to go into the bathroom and they could hear the wind howling by then. Then, the phone went dead.

My blood ran cold at that moment and my son and I were somewhat yelling at each other about what might be going on. We were nearing Level Plains by this time, the skies were so very dark, then greenish and my son shouted, “Mom! What’s that?” I allowed myself to focus on something other than the roadway and I could not believe my eyes.

What we were looking at was the tornado the radio announcer was talking about. But, it wasn’t a simple spin-up tornado. That thing was a monster, one nightmares are made of, one like we’d seen in the movies and on The Weather Channel, the kind only mid-westerners would know about.

It was a massive wall of churning black surrounded by greenish/black atmosphere.

I told my son, “That’s the tornado” and he quickly said, “Turn around, Mom! Don’t go toward it!”

I refused to turn around and screamed that we had to get home and see about his Dad and sister as we could no longer reach them by phone.

I was scared out of my wits, but I drove faster and watched that monster move to our right. It was no longer in front of us, but my little car was lifting and vibrating some from the suction of the tornado winds. It was very scary, but all I could think about was getting to my house and seeing my beloved and my daughter. I knew the tornado was moving away from where we were headed, so I simply sped up.

When we reached the bypass and started heading in the direction of the YMCA intersection, we began seeing the destruction. I think we were both breathless as we saw upside down cars, empty spaces where there had been trees and splinters where there had been houses. I am not even sure how we made it to Martin Street, where we lived, because so many roads were blocked, but we did.

We were both so happy to turn onto our street and see Bill and Kimberlin standing in the front yard and the house was intact too. I stopped the car on the side of the street and my son and I exited quickly and ran to hug our loved ones.

Then, everything changed. Our neighbor came out of her home and said her police radio (her husband was an officer) said there were students trapped up at the high school. Well, Bill was trained in first aide and CPR and so was I so we took the kids and ran the two or so blocks up to the school. What we saw on the way there was awful, what we saw when we reached E. Watts Street was even worse.

The school parking lot looked like an H-bomb had gone off. Cars tossed everywhere, some upside down, some rammed inside another, really it was indescribable. There were people running everywhere, students scattered, wet, some bloody, some limping. My husband ran up the hill to the front of the school and I didn’t see him again for several minutes, but then there he was helping carry a young man on a piece of plywood to the hood of a car and eventually to the bed of a pickup truck. My last image of him until late that night was when our eyes met as that truck sped off to try and get that young man, who I believe had a broken back, to a medical facility. Bill was helping stabilize him and was also holding an umbrella over him as the rain was falling again and sirens were going off.

Soon, a young student was limping and crying near us. My kids and I went over to her and tried to comfort her. I went to try and find someone to help her and my kids stayed right with her. When I got up the hill near the entrance of the high school, there was another student lying on a board with a baseball-sized lump on her head and she was bleeding. I ran over to her, took her hand, asked her what her name was and then told her mine. I did my best to hold her head still as she cried for her family and said a wall or a locker had fallen on her. I told her I wouldn’t leave her until her family was with her.

At some point, we eventually got her loaded onto the bed of a pickup truck and began to try to find a way to a hospital. I never let go of her hand and used my other hand to help a man hold her head still.

Whoever was driving that truck had a very difficult time finding a way out, as were all vehicles. Roads were blocked everywhere by power lines and trees. When we made it to Main Street, I glanced up and couldn’t believe my eyes as Main Street looked like a horror movie. I noted one of my favorite restaurants that was located in a historical old house was no longer there, then looked across from there and saw the doggie day care was gone, which meant so were a lot of people’s furry friends. My heart hurt so badly at that point. I knew by then that there were known fatalities in the high school, but I did not know how many and now I couldn’t see how there wouldn’t be many more fatalities throughout the city. We refrained from telling the young student we were assisting how bad it all looked.

At some point, we made it to a staging area at the old Morgan Square Mall. The girl asked me not to leave her. I did not. I got into the ambulance with her and ended up at the Geneva hospital. Someone in her family arrived there at some point and I hopped an ambulance back to Enterprise. It was dark by now and the last time I saw my two children they were helping students along the curbside in front of Hillcrest Baptist Church.

It was dark, very dark when I walked home. My husband arrived soon thereafter and my kids were at a nearby neighbor’s house, safe.

As a family, we huddled together in darkness that night and remembered the important things in life.

It was the next day that we learned of the eight students and one other citizen that had died. One of the students was a member of the youth group at our church. We did not know her personally, but gladly helped put together a scrapbook for her family.

It is a day we will never forget. There were many heroes that day. It was one of those tragedies that you hope to never witness again, but we also realize that as awful as that tornado was, it could have been so much worse. We are thankful it was not. Remember those who departed this life on that day, but be thankful for each breath taken since.

Jan Murray is a staff writer for The Southeast Sun and Daleville Sun-Courier. The opinions of this writer are her own and not the opinion of the paper. She can be reached at (334) 393-2969 or by email at [email protected].