The Tornado of '57
I Was There
by Isabelle Sandager (edited)
We
often read about disasters and say, "It will never happen to me."
But it did happen here in Fargo, N.D., when a tornado struck the
evening of June 20, 1957, cutting a path four blocks wide and
approximately one and one-half miles long. Through its wild, crushing
course, the tornado completely wiped out 16 square blocks of small
frame homes. Hundreds were left homeless, over 150 injured and
12 killed, including six small children from a single family.
We
were fortunate because there had been a warning sent out by the
Weather Bureau. They had spotted the tornado and followed its
path. These warnings had been repeated over and over until the
twister struck.
It
was about 5:30 PM when I received a call from a radio newscaster
who was wondering if we were aware of the approaching tornado.
I was supervisor on duty for the 3-11 PM shift at the time. The
reporter asked me to keep an open line so there would be communications
with us at all times.
I
asked the switchboard operator to keep in contact with me and
to alert all key personnel and doctors available in the house
to take over coordination of the emergency centers. I then ran
for the stairway and took three steps at a time, getting to fourth
floor in but a few seconds.
I
contacted the head nurse and told her about the impending storm
and asked her to relay the message to all the other head nurses
on each unit. First, I suggested they give support to the patients,
leave all windows open one inch and delegate their duties to their
assistants, so they would be available in the emergency centers.
Our
hospital had not completely organized a disaster plan, but some
groundwork had been done. Steps were immediately taken to provide
beds. All single rooms were made into doubles by placing patients
on carts and setting up old beds that had been stored away. The
doctors then discharged patients who were well enough to go home.
The
tornado hit within blocks of the Hospital, and all we could hear
was a constant roar that sounded like 10 jets taking off simultaneously.
Very soon after that, the Hospital was thrown into a temporary
blackout, until our auxiliary generators kicked in. Again, we
were fortunate to have complete power restored, because it would
have been almost impossible to run our disaster operations without
it.
On
the 3-11 shift, we were always staffed with the minimal of help.
But that night, there was no problem finding adequate staffing.
As soon as the real tragedy of the tornado was broadcast, Hospital
employees began reporting for duty voluntarily. Many had had their
own homes destroyed. But personnel, doctors and student nurses
from adjacent to the Hospital weren't the only ones to report
for duty. Volunteer nurses from all over Fargo, Moorhead and nearby
communities were on hand in a matter of minutes. No calls for
volunteers had been made. This was a call for duty each had heard
within their own heart; a call to serve and care for the suffering.
We
had prepared a small emergency room but realized quite soon this
would not be sufficient. Receiving units were set up directly
from the ambulance entrance to the cafeteria, which soon became
an organized, functional area similar to a triage room. Mattresses
were placed on top of tables and on the floors. Each person who
came in received a tag which identified their name (if obtainable),
address, type of injury and treatment administered.
Groups
of doctors, nurses and technicians organized diagnostic, suture,
tetanus and prophylactic teams, and all injured persons were seen.
Some were treated and released, while others were admitted to
the floors or directly to the operating room. The four operating
room suites continued operating throughout the night and into
the next morning.
Patients
with lacerations were given tetanus anti-toxin after a sensitivity
test. Prophylactic penicillin was administered to most of them
as well because their wounds were difficult to cleanse. Many looked
as if someone had crushed mud, leaves, twigs and gravel together
and rubbed it into the open incisions. Laceration teams worked
continuously throughout the night, and yet appeared calm and alert.
As
patients came in, it was unbelievable what they must have endured.
They were crying, wet and dirty, with their clothes torn to shreds.
There was an absence of hysteria because most of the people were
in a state of shock. Many stared, with opaque, lifeless-looking
eyes which seemed to say, "I've seen the end of everything." Others
were searching for their families, while one father and mother
already knew that all six of their children were dead.
I carried the keys for all locked areas of the Hospital, so I
was mostly in charge of the pharmacy, morgue, etc. I also attempted
to answer outside calls. It was humanly impossible to answer all
requests for information, because calls were coming in on all
lines continuously. My heart stopped each time I had to open the
morgue to admit another fatal casualty. One little boy about eight
years old had a 2x4 board completely driven through his chest.
I cried many tears and, after a while, felt drained of all emotions.
The
remainder of the Hospital continued to function as usual, and,
fortunately, no major problems arose. One doctor remained on standby
for all the Hospital patients and left a standing order for mild
sedatives to be given to patients who might become overly nervous
or anxious.
I
stayed on duty the following day and night, attempting to sort
information I had received and dispensed. By the end of that time,
I had become acquainted with many newscasters and television personnel.
Looking
back, I feel proud of the way our staff handled itself in this
crisis. If our volunteer system hadn't functioned as well and
we hadn't had all those expert minds and hands functioning, this
nightmare would have become a new disaster.
I
can still see everyone's caring hands at work: the reassuringly
calm and optimistic volunteers supporting these sad victims, giving
them the hope they needed to be able to rise up and continue on.