Riders on the Storm

What always blew me away about the midwest was the sky. There’s just so damned MUCH of it there or so it seemed. Maybe it’s the lack of leggy, supermodel-ish trees, the dearth of mountains, the endless rolling fields of wheat?

When I was 11 and 12 we lived in Bloomington, Indiana on the seventh floor of a huge 11 story apartment complex -- Tulip Tree House on the campus of Indiana University. At that time, 1969, it was one of the tallest buildings around. Windows ran waist height to the ceiling and the full length of each apartment. I would stand goggling at the sky for hours especially when storms approached. I’d never before seen a bank of storm clouds coming at me like a express Red Line Train barreling through South Station.

I was used to the hilly landscapes of where we’d lived up until then -- the Berkshires of New England, the Alleghenies of Western Pennsylvania. Storms creep in softly, slowly here -- they don’t come running at you like some steroidally raging body builder.

I believe, while we lived in Bloomington, there was just one big tornado alert. We all knew the drill -- open all the windows and hallway doors, get away from the windows and wait. Not sure this was the official drill but that’s what we did -- that is, after watching the black clouds rolling towards us and  Daddy commanded us to get to the bathrooms for tub cowering time.

After this we moved back to Western Pennsylvania where storms were all polite, passive and even friendly.


It wasn't until years later -- my first year with the show -- that another baby tornado made my acquaintance. We were playing Ellsworth, Kansas, a town whose topography made anthills look alpine ski worthy. I was in my joint, the Nickel Slide -- slide a nickel to land in a prize diamond -- when the storm made its presence known with authority. Now, you must recall that in the mid to late ‘70s, most of the midway games were made of wood and canvas -- stick joints. In a big, fat windstorm we were larger marks than the tin can ‘mobile’ homes.

It was the start of the evening, still light out though dimming fast due to the speeding storm motorcade. The coming storm had us all out of our joints --  watching, gazing at our approaching madam of misfortune, who was suggesting worse. Mesmerized and afraid, at first, I quickly began affecting a bullshit teen ‘bored now, seen it all before’ attitude and hopped back in the joint only to be clocked on the noggin by a flying bit of timber.

I was knocked out, put into someone’s trailer (oh good -- SO much safer in a tin can on wheels!) until I came to and the storm passed. And it did. The tornado veered off, we were saved and I actually had a customer or 3 that night. Luck -- we had cubic tons of it.

I learned to respect weather though I’ve not become one of those severe weather fanatics. You know, the kind who follow all the severe weather sites and channels with an intensity, usually reserved for frat boys at their very first visit to The Lumberyard in Des Moines. We all know someone who salivates at the thought of a confrontation with 'real life' of the weather variety.

Riders on the Storm -- The Doors