May 11, 2015 (Monday)
Today is the 62nd anniversary of the 1953 terrible tornado in Waco. It hold the record for being the deadliest tornado ever to hit Texas. It cut a path across the city and hit downtown at 4:36 p.m., bringing down a seven-story department store. The storm destroyed 600 homes and other buildings that day, killing 114 people and injuring 597. Vehicles–2000 of them–were flattened by falling debris. I was in my Senior year at Baylor. My philosophy professor, Keith James, and his wife were killed when their car crumbled under the weight of falling bricks.
I learned not long ago that Jack Holcomb, famed gospel tenor (almost an idol to many of us aspiring soloists of that era), experienced a personal tragedy because of the tornado. His little daughter had died and was lying in state in a Waco funeral home when the storm blew away his dead daughter and her casket. After searching for her, he finally found her body and the casket. How very sad for that special singer of gospel songs. (Read a pastor’s memories of Holcomb’s testimony at the end of this blog).
We are all familiar with the fact that spring is a season of turbulent weather. Every year there are tornadoes that bring destruction and death to many communities across our land. But when it involves you or your loved ones or friends, its tragic damage becomes very personal. When I was interim pastor at Refugio the organist, Janell Shepherd, got the news that her nephew (like a son to her and her husband, Jim) and his large family had all been killed in Jarrell, Texas, where the homes were swept away, some of them leaving nothing except the foundation. Today, 18 years later, my heart sinks as I relive in my mind the sorrow of that dear family. The governor George W. Bush and his wife, Laura, spent a lot of time comforting the families of those lost to the storm.
Before the Waco storm, there was an old Native American legend that a tornado could not hit Waco. Indeed history seemed to back up the legend. Sadly, it was only a legend.
The following words are from pastor Harold Clayton:
I’ll never forget Brother Jack Holcomb, who lived in Waco, Texas. He is in Heaven now, but he was a great tenor. I don’t think he ever wrote a song, but he could pick up any songbook and start singing. He had a tear in his voice, but you could understand every word he sang. He would sing awhile, preach awhile, then go back to singing.
One time while at my church he told about his little girl. One night after supper, but still sitting at the kitchen table, his little girl somehow fell out of her high chair, hit her head on the floor, and died.
Before the funeral service, a tornado went through downtown Waco, killing many people and destroying many buildings, including the funeral home.
Brother Holcomb said, “When the storm passed by, I went down to the funeral home. In the midst of all that wreckage and debris, I couldn’t find my little girl’s body. I bowed my head and prayed, ‘O Lord God, please, I know my little girl is safe in the arms of Jesus, but I sure would like to bury her body. Would You help me find her?’
“While I was praying, the Lord impressed me to get in the car and drive to Waco Memorial Park. When I got there, hundreds of others were there. Caskets of people killed in the tornado were lined up. I walked down that long row of caskets and found my little girl.”
As soon as he ended this story, he broke out singing:Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
If you trust and never doubt,
He will surely bring you out;
Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there.
As soon as he finished that song, he started singing:
Singing I go along life’s road;
Praising the Lord! Praising the Lord!
Singing I go along life’s road,
For Jesus has lifted my load.
With all Brother Holcomb had been through, he trusted the Lord and kept on singing.