Heber Springs in 1925
The Thanksgiving Day Tornado of 1926
By CHRISTINA DOYLE SPEAR
Thanksgiving Day in 1926 at Pangburn in northern White County was too warm to be November. The wind was blowing in circles and swirling the dry leaves in every direction./p>
Mama commented that she was afraid we might have a storm. Soon after sundown a dark cloud appeared southwest of Pangburn with streaks of lightning and rumbling thunder in the distance. Mama scanned the sky, then had Papa look to see what he thought.
Papa said maybe we ought to go to the storm cellar. We had to walk about three blocks to get to the nearest cellar, at the home of Julius and Evia Albert.
After the storm passed over us, word came that Heber Springs “had been blown away” and “was burning up.”
People had been cooking supper with their wood stoves when the tornado hit and their fires were scattered among the ruins of many homes. A number of people were killed because there were no weather reports or warnings at that time.
The headline in the Arkansas Gazette on November 26, 1926, screamed:
29 KNOWN DEAD AND OVER 50 INJURED IN SERIES OF SCATTERED TORNADOES IN VARIOUS PARTS OF THE STATE.
“Heaviest loss is suffered in Heber Springs. A scene of utter destruction was left by the storm that struck at 5:45. More than half of the town was wiped out. Streets were littered with the wreckage and it was impossible to move the debris without machinery. The electric light system was put out of commission and the town was left in darkness.
At least 15 were killed and the list may mount to 30 when the search is finished. Fire added to the horror, cremating a number of bodies in the ruins.
Volunteers from miles around came to aid in searching the ruins and rendering help to the victims.
Emergency stations were established in buildings that were left and doctors and nurses from surrounding areas treated the injured.”
On Sunday, we were among the many people who went to see the ruins in the Cleburne County community, just 15 miles away, and it made a lasting impression on us.
Soon after, Papa built a storm cellar for the family in the side yard. It was a simple hole dug in the ground with concrete sides and top, a dirt floor and dirt mounded over the concrete. There were three steps down and wooden benches around the sides where people sat. I kept my Sunday shoes and my dolls in that cellar.
Almost every time there was a rainstorm at night we lit the lantern and went to the cellar. Many neighbors frequently joined us. One night, we counted almost 20 of us huddled together. There are times now when I wish for a safe place like the storm cellar of my childhood.
(The author is a member of the White County Historical Society and now lives in Little Rock. The above is an excerpt from her book Something Money Can’t Buy, published in 2001.)