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wife and I were living in a house just behind my dad on the
corner of 67th and Grant St. We had built the family home
there in 1958, and my wife and I lived in a small house that
had belonged to my grandparents. In 1975, I was 30 years old
and had grown up and lived in that neighborhood for almost
17 years. At the time I was working in downtown Omaha on the
6th floor of the old Salvation Army Building.
I could see the storm brewing to the west, and was listening
to the weather reports on the radio and TV. They then broadcast
that a tornado was heading northeast from Center Street along
72nd Street. I called my dad to see what was happening at
home. My dad was a "mans man" and there wasn't much
that bothered or scared him. I can remember my dad's words
to this day, "Jesus Christ, I’m going to the basement,”
then the phone went dead. I called my wife at her office and
told her I was leaving work and would pick her up. I told
her about my conversation with my dad and we may not have
a home any longer.
When we arrived home, we were some of the lucky ones. The
tornado had cut a path between 70th and 68th Street from Blondo
to Maple Street. Everything between those Streets was destroyed.
My wife and I walked around that evening, and I can remember
getting lost in the neighborhood I had grown up in, nothing
was the same. The homes that were not totally destroyed had
been ripped from their foundations. The only fatality, that
I can remember, was a man who got on top of the gas station
on the corner of 68th and Maple Street to watch the tornado.
Our yard was littered with debris and personal papers from
homes and stores that were miles from our home. That storm
gave me a whole new prospective and respect for the power
and destructive nature of a tornado.
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