My earliest memory is from six days after my third birthday.
I am with other people in a dark cellar, lit only by a small window high on one wall. Someone is holding me up to the window, where I see nothing but dim grey light outside with shadowy objects blowing by.
It is just a brief image. For years I didn’t know if it was a real memory, or a dream.
I know now it is a real memory.
It was April 9, 1947, in Woodward, Oklahoma. I was with my mother, father, and older sister in the cellar of our house, and we were in the middle of an F5 tornado. My sister has told me it happened like this:
If you have lived in Oklahoma, you know that the wind blows all the time there. All the time. It’s a plains state. On this April evening my…
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