I arrived in St. Louis early yesterday morning on a deployment with the American Red Cross Advanced Public Affairs Team. I’ve been assigned to work with the St. Louis Chapter. Yesterday afternoon, I took a tour of the city’s storm-damaged areas.

 

You can follow the twenty-four-mile-long track of the tornado that hit St. Louis on Good Friday by the seemingly endless swath of blue tarps covering the roofs of the shattered houses. And you realize that under every tarp lived a family affected by the storm—maybe a little—maybe a lot.

 

Almost everyone has seen the video of the storm sweeping across the airport. That was disturbing—the casual smashing of such a symbol of modernity. But this is different—the inexorable gnawing of the winds through the simple environment of everyday life. The storm seems to have danced across fields, down roads, through neighborhoods—skipping from one side of the street to the other—smashing one house to kindling, ripping the roof off the next and completely sparing a third. A church on one side of the street lost its roof, while a church on the other lost not a pane of glass. Everywhere were huge trees, some frizzled like celery, others ripped up by the roots, still others untouched. The ruined trees are gradually being cut up and piled along the streets. There is much yet to do—and the houses will take much longer. When you see such stunning evidence of the vast power of natural forces, you are reminded how frail we really are—and how much we need each other.

 

We ended our tour in the little community of Moline Acres (a neighborhood really). Moline Acres is made up of curving tree-shaded streets of very modest ranch houses. The tornado had marched through, dropping the trees on the houses. The residents were standing among the piles of cut-up trees. Many of these people had had very little. Now they have less. They need help. FEMA and SEMA assessors were working the streets with clipboards, trying to determine the level of damage. We stopped to talk to a resiliently cheerful alderwoman who was escorting the FEMA folks. Everywhere we went, our Red Cross vehicle drew smiles and thumbs up.

 

At the Dellwood Recreation Center, volunteers from the American Red Cross St. Louis Area Chapter were handing out cleanup supplies. A long line of cars filed slowly by to pick up shovels and buckets and coolers and tarpaulins and things that would help them get a grip on the mess.

 

The Red Cross disaster relief effort growing out of the St. Louis Good Friday tornado is winding down now. The Maryland Heights shelter has been closed. But the challenge has shifted. From the Deep South to the Northeast, the American Red Cross is at work in 11 states to help people devastated by the recent deadly tornadoes and floods. And we’ll continue to be there as long as we’re needed…

 

Craig