A Sulphur man reconsiders his saying of 'if a tornado gets me, it's how I was meant to go'

OK, so I wasn’t in the "eye" of the tornado. From the aerial photos and the proof of a walk through the neighborhood, I was at the edge of the tornado. But that doesn’t make for a catchy title. Wherever I was, for the first time in my life, I heard the dreaded “calm” of the storm.

This was my 42nd tornado season, discounting a few years I worked out of state, so I felt pretty invincible tornado-wise. I don’t even get out of bed for tornado sirens. I cuss the city manager for interrupting my sleep for another heavy thunderstorm. I curse the weathermen, whom I have referred to as divas, finally getting their time to bask in the glow of the silver screen ― local though it may be. Like most rednecks, I watch from the front porch and stay behind with the men while the women take the kids to the shelter, saying that if a tornado gets me, it’s how I was meant to go.

I tested that theory on Saturday night in my hometown of Sulphur.

More: Oklahomans rebuild after tornado outbreak: 'It'll never be the same, but it will be OK.'

I had just lain down in bed. I was watching the beloved 2007 cult classic “Reaper” when the sirens went off. I turned the TV up. It was a good episode. The one where the devil made Sam fight a whole army of escaped souls.

The sirens went off again.

“Drama queens,” I told the dogs confidently. But, just in case, on the off chance that it was my time, I got up and put on some clothes and a pair of sandals. No one deserves to find the corpse of an obese white man in his tighty-whities under a pile of rubble. They would be scarred for life.

So I walked outside with my flashlight to take a look. I saw my neighbor on his porch with his flashlight taking a look, as well. It wasn’t the worst I had seen, but the storm did seem to be intensifying.

I had just resubscribed to Fubo to watch Cody Dennison’s NASCAR races, so I had access to the local stations. I turned on the news. The "drama queens" were warning to get to shelter. That’s always their line. I’ve heard it 42 times over, but I watched for some time anyway and moved into the living room to watch it on that TV.

“Get to shelter.”

No.

“Get to shelter.”

N…

The power flickered and went out. I opened the app on my phone.

“Get to shelter.”

Maybe. My English bulldogs don’t get out of bed for anything.

“Get to shelter.”

That’s when things got quiet. And you know what that means. It’s a literary trope. Everyone knows the calm of the storm. But every Oklahoman knows what it means because it’s drilled into your head every spring as a child. It means it’s time to "get to shelter."

I ran back into the bedroom and finally got my bulldog Nymeria out of bed while the other dogs ran behind me, bound for the staircase closet that I had cleared out after the 15th or so "Get to Shelter." I turned the corner, turned around, yelling for the dogs to follow me into the closet, when I heard the whine. I think it was a whine.

And then it was like a bomb exploded from behind us. Wind was blowing through the house so hard it felt like a hurricane. Felt like minutes. Maybe it was, but I’ve been told that it's usually closer to 10 seconds. I couldn’t tell yet, but my bedroom window on the south side had blown completely out, glass sprayed across the house.

I finally got the dogs in the staircase closet, and we all panted along for several minutes until I thought I could stick my head out. It wasn’t quiet. It was still storming horribly, in fact, but I thought I should check. I looked around and saw the bedroom destroyed. I closed the bedroom door behind me, hoping that would end the thing. But then the storm felt like it intensified again, and we were back in the closet.

My house is old, 75 years at least. It’s basically raining in the house because there are holes in the roof, but I can’t leave. I looked outside and saw trees blocking the driveway and road. I ran back into the closet, dogs following close behind.

I called my cousin and told him if he doesn’t hear from me by morning, I’m in the staircase closet and come dig me out. I tell the dogs that this might be it for us, but hopefully at least some of them would make it out if I didn’t. They didn’t seem to believe me. I don’t know how anything was more freaked out than me.

But then, after another 10 minutes or so, the storm lessened a bit. It was still storming, but I got out of the closet. I looked at the bedroom again and there’s no way. I found a dry blanket in the closet. I lay down on the rug with the dogs and we tried to sleep, but there were sporadic knocks on the door for several hours. The fire department was doing a house-to-house check within an hour or so. Volunteers were doing a house-to-house check about an hour after that. The fire department came back for another check.

Photo gallery: Tornadoes in Oklahoma Saturday night strike downtown Sulphur

Within a couple of hours, the city had dozers out, pushing debris out of the street. It was all very loud. The storm was still loud, but we finally fell asleep sometime about 5 a.m. Amazingly, we slept until about 7.

I walked around a bit and saw that two houses across the street from me were gone. Another about three doors down from them was gone. My neighbor’s house just to the west of me had no roof. All of the giant trees in his yard were uprooted. The giant pecan tree in the neighbor’s yard to my south was uprooted and lay across my fence.

I had a few holes in my roof. And a busted window and a broken fence. Their houses were gone. I had had no idea how lucky I was when I was in that closet.

My cousins came over and helped me clean up, but as we did, people stopped by — lots of people. People we knew from town were driving up and down the street with their chainsaws, clearing driveways and the street. People we didn’t know from out of town were walking by, asking everyone if they needed help. I didn’t need it. I had my family and my house was standing. "Go help them down the road. They got hit worse."

And that continued. It has continued for days now.

It was a weird thing. I’m an introvert by nature. Get me tipsy and I’ll spin a yarn, but I don’t go out of my way to engage with strangers. It was the kind of stuff you see on TV. The helping hand, the community spirit, the American way.

Like I said, my damage was minimal. Everyone I know was OK. My house was standing and I had a generator. I was fine. But I couldn’t get over being asked so many times if I needed help. I can’t imagine how the people who actually needed help felt.

It opened my eyes a bit going through it. Kind of raised my estimation of humanity. Restored my faith in us, so to speak.

And those drama queens? They saved my life.

The city workers whom my libertarian views always feel should be private employees? They cleaned my streets up in two days. Worked tirelessly. Probably got less sleep than I did. I felt a bit like the Grinch when Whoville started caroling the next morning.

My heart grew four times its normal size. And not just because it was an enlarged heart from my being overweight. It was a true uplifting of spirits. I was a man who had been awakened by the power of "us."

And then they had to initiate an 8 p.m. curfew because we had reports of looters. So the dogs and I are sleeping on a mattress on the floor with a pistol next to us, falling asleep as we watch "Reaper," contemplating whether Sam or Satan is right.

But I think the former feeling is going to stick with me. For the few who would take advantage of the situation to find something to pawn, there were hundreds of people who came into this town and offered us a piece of themselves.

Although I turned down all offers of help because I was the last person who needed it, I did accept the gift of a tiny crucifix from an older American Red Cross worker asking if I needed any food. I’m not one of the faithful, but I do believe that I’ll hold onto that cross for the rest of my days so I don’t forget that with days like these, I could be.

Waylon Wyche was born and raised in Sulphur and lives in the house where he grew up, which his grandparents bought in 1973. He is a self-published author of two novels and has been a landman in the oil and gas industry for 13 years.

This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: Oklahoma man, dogs ride out Sulphur tornado in staircase closet