On April 27, 2011, my hometown was destroyed by two tornadoes during a generational superstorm outbreak that left a path of destruction across the southeastern United States. For many of us, it was a day that will be etched in our minds for the remainder of our lives. For others, that day was their last.
My town is called Cordova. We are a tiny town of less than 2,500 people, one of those places where everyone knows everyone, or is related to everyone. We're located on the Black Warrior River about an hour from the state's college football epicenter, Tuscaloosa. we don't have a lot going on, but everyone has a great sense of pride for the town. Our pride and joy is what we affectionately call The Devil's Den, Hudson-Kirby Field, home of the multi-time state champion Blue Devils. These boys play with enough heart that occasionally the heavy hitters in college football take notice, most recently Tim Simon, who played at Ole Miss until an injury forced him to hang up his cleats, and Ryan Smith, currently playing safety at Auburn. Both played on Cordova's last championship team.
But then everything changed. Around 5 o'clock on the morning of April 27, 2011, a small tornado passed through the town, only causing minor damage. Before that morning, it was believed a tornado had never touched down inside the city limits. The town was fortunate. If only we had known what was coming that evening.
I watched the weather all day, and began to realize there was still a very real danger. I've always been fascinated by storms; but for the first time I wasn't fascinated, I was afraid. Afraid of what I could hear and see.
First, the storm rolled through Tuscaloosa, destroying homes and families. For an hour, my brother and I stood outside, listening to what sounded like cheap audio in a bad movie. Many say a tornado sounds like a train, but on this day, I could actually hear the wind between the rolls of thunder. It actually sounded like someone waving a piece of sheet metal, quite an eerie sound.
Then, just before 5 o'clock that evening, the atmosphere changed in a way I'd never experienced. I live a few miles outside of town, so we weren't in any real danger, but at the time we really didn't know what to expect. The wind began to pick up and the noise seemed louder. We had moved to the entrance of our storm shelter in the basement when we lost power. From the door, we watched the clouds in our backyard just over the tree line. I could see the wall cloud drop, then the funnel appeared. The air was being pulled toward the funnel and all the stray clouds were literally being sucked into the shelf. If you've never seen this in person, you couldn't possibly understand how terrifying it is to hear your town being torn apart. Then, in less than a minute, the world that so many generations had known was wiped off the face of the earth.
We rushed to town to survey the damage, not knowing what we would see. It was like a war zone, like someone had dropped a bomb and wiped my little town off the map. Our little diner, the Rebel Queen, was gone. The owners were inside at the time but by some act of divine intervention, they survived. Our only grocery store was gone. One of the two banks was gone. Main Street was reduced to rubble.
First responders set up triage in an old building that managed to remain standing, treating injuries until those people could be taken to a hospital. There were many that were lucky to be alive. But, as with any tragedy, not everyone was so lucky. We lost people that day. Friends, fathers, sons, children; like I mentioned earlier, we all knew one another, and the sense of loss everyone felt was immeasurable. All anyone knew to was stick together and look to the future.
Then Bo came to town. On the one year anniversary of the storms, Bo Jackson, recently recognized by ESPN as the greatest athlete of all time, decided it was time to help his home state by organizing a charity bike ride. Joined by Lance Armstrong, Picabo Street, Scottie Pippen, Ken Griffey Jr. and many others, Jackson cycled through all the areas affected by the storms. He finished the route in downtown Tuscaloosa. But he wasn't finished.
Jackson took a special interest in my town and decided this year to devote his time and efforts on Cordova. Many of his famous friends and more than a hundred other cyclists donated money to ride with him once again.
On each visit, he made a point to visit with those who lost loved ones and homes to let them know the small towns would not be forgotten during the healing process.
In the last two years, Jackson has raised over six hundred thousand dollars for the state's disaster relief fund, and says he won't stop until he reaches his goal of one million dollars.
At this point, many homes have been rebuilt, much of which was done by people from all over the country who came here and gave their time and labor unconditionally. The remaining buildings have been torn down. The place where our town had stood for nearly two hundred years is a clean slate now. But with the help of people like Bo Jackson and many more generous and compassionate people, we will rebuild, and we'll be even better than before.
For anyone interested in donating to Jackson's cause, go to www.bobikesbama.com
- Kevin Hicks
@kevinhicks77
kevin.projectcfb@gmail.com
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