John Edmondson: It sure looked like Kansas, Toto

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July 23, 2008

By John Edmondson

Remember when Dorothy runs home from her meeting with Professor Marvel with a renewed appreciation for dear old Auntie Em, and those dark Kansas storm clouds roll in, the tumble weeds tumble, and the screen door blows off its hinges? Well, last Friday evening in Durham was as scary as anything L. Frank Baum ever dreamed up.

My son Jake, Jake's mom and I were at UNH packing the car to bring my other son, Mac, home from band camp. His drum set and dirty laundry were safe and secure, and we'd just finished dinner in the student union building when the wind picked up and the sky darkened over the picturesque campus. It was 6:30, and Mac needed to be at the performing arts building to set up and warm up for his camp-ending concert at 7, about a 10-minute walk away.

As soon as we stepped out of the student union, the first raindrops fell. Then almost instantly, water blanketed the area, like a legion of unleashed fire hoses on display. We watched the proceedings from the safety of an overhang on a deck, and felt the temperature drop, second by second.

Then jawbreaker-sized hail began to fall. I can't remember ever seeing little balls of ice bouncing off concrete on a day, only hours earlier, that produced enough heat to fry an egg on a sidewalk. It was 6:40, and lots of red-shirted campers were late for their rehearsals, because they were staring, awe-struck, at what looked to be the beginning of the end of the world. Some ventured out, with saxophone and trombone cases over their heads, and made a dash for the concert hall. One wag yelled, as he ran down the stairs, "The show must go on!" A few others returned after tempting fate and announced, "We didn't realize hail hurts a little."

Five minutes later the storm fizzled, so we seized the opportunity. But halfway to the auditorium, the wind kicked up again and the skies grew even darker than before. Jake and his mom made a beeline for the concert hall, but Mac and I had to go back to the car to get some sheet music. We got about 10 yards before lightning suddenly sliced through the sky, coming dangerously close to the pine trees along the path to the car. In a matter of seconds we were drenched, as if we'd fallen into a swimming pool fully clothed. We made it to the car and waited for the deluge to dissipate.

It was close to 7 now, so I decided to drive Mac to the concert hall, maybe two minutes away. The hard rain started again, and my wipers on full tilt had little impact. There were no parking spaces available, so I got as close to the entrance as I could, and Mac ran for it. I managed to inch my way back to the parking lot to wait out the storm yet again.

About 10 minutes later, a patch of blue appeared over the horizon. I grabbled my umbrella in the back seat and headed out into what was now just a trickle. On the way, a passerby informed me that those who'd made it into the auditorium were now huddled in the basement because of a tornado warning posted in the area.

By the time I got to the concert hall, the warning had passed, parents and siblings were in their seats, and we listened to the finest group of middle school musicians on the planet. It was just for a while there, I wasn't sure the planet would survive. I didn't want to wind up like Dorothy, spinning in a vortex, watching the Wicked Witch of the West fly by.

John Edmondson is a teacher in Hampstead. His column appears Wednesdays in the Derry News.