Disaster Strikes Lathemtown
by Bruce Baker
As many of you know already, I am not by training an historian. My Ph.D. and career has been in Chemistry. Our county has its share of “real” historians here (Dr. Ken Wheeler at Reinhart University comes to mind), but my B.A. in Classical Studies hardly qualifies me to make such a claim. I’m fascinated by history, but my only truly in-depth historical research has been Family History research. That’s where I discovered that I am a direct descendant of a German Shepherd (Hans Jacob Spengler, b. 22 October 1683 in Nohfelden, Germany; census lists his occupation as “shepherd”). I remember well the day in County Kent when I found the christening records for the children of James and Judith Baker in the church records of St. Werburgh’s Church, in the mid-1700s.Their handwritten “X”’s beside their names made it clear there would be no noble Baker Family Crest; both were illiterate.
The point I’m trying to make here is that while not professionally trained, family historians (or genealogists, as most know them) actually do some of the finest local-level historical research. Their quest to learn anything and everything about their progenitors and the world they existed in often results in them uncovering a lot of history that has been overlooked or forgotten. They may not have a doctorate, but they have something better: determination. One such person here in Cherokee County is Jennifer Dunn, and I am indebted to her for this story. It was her work that first pointed me to the news clippings and other sources for the story I’m about to tell, a story that first grabbed my attention because it happened on my birthdate.
One of the worst natural disasters to ever strike Cherokee County arrived unannounced on March 26, 1928, taking several lives as it passed through the area between Macedonia and Free Home. The March 28th issue of the local paper, the Cherokee Advance, included coverage of the disaster; it reads in part as follows: “The tornado which struck Cherokee County last Monday night about ten o’clock near Lathemtown and Orange was probably the most appalling disaster that has ever visited our county. Five persons were hurled to their death and a score of others injured, houses and barns blown away, cattle, hogs, and chickens disappeared and vehicles demolished… Coming on this little community while they slept and striking with such viciousness and without warning, the windstorm carved a path a quarter of a mile wide and four miles long on the countryside, leaving uprooted trees, demolished homes, and death and destruction in its wake. The tornado struck first at the home of William J. Millwood in the Orange community. After killing four members of this family and injuring five others, and scattering the Millwood home over a lot of land, it traveled east to Lathemtown and destroyed four more houses.”
Even nearly 100 years later, the carnage is difficult to read.25-year-old Osie Heath of Lathemtown was crushed beneath his fallen home. At the time Mr. and Mrs. Grady Fowler were visiting his home; the day the article was written Grady had a broken arm, eight ribs fractured near the spine, and was not expected to survive. His wife narrowly escaped injury and told them there was no time to escape the house before it disintegrated around them. Howard McCuen of Lathemtown was also severely injured. By far the saddest fate was that of the Millwood family, where the mother and father (William and Ida), 17 year old son Allen, and 13 year old daughter Estelle all died. Those Millwood children that survived were seriously injured: Alfred (age 20) with a head wound, Leo (age 11) with a broken left forearm, Edith (age 9) with both arms broken, and William Jr. (age 7) with a serious head laceration.
From his hospital bed, Alfred related what had taken place. Everyone was in bed when they heard a terrible rushing noise coming in their direction. He ran to the door to see what was happening, only to be struck on the head by a window frame. He traveled some 25 yards in the air before landing in the road, facedown in mud. In time he steadied himself. He could hear some of his siblings crying; though dizzy, he managed to locate three of them.
Nearby, an abandoned house was still standing; he brought them there and started a fire to keep the children warm. When dawn finally came, he walked to a neighbor’s house for help. The neighbors, named Edwards, had escaped uninjured despite serious damage to the home and the total loss of their barn. They called for help when they became aware of the tragic events at the Millwood farm, and the Millwood children were all brought into Canton to receive medical attention.
The two deceased children were found near the ruins of the home. Their mother’s body was located a quarter of a mile away, and the father’s a full half mile away along with a section of the house’s floor.
Nine days later a follow up article updated the condition of the now orphaned children, but also chronicled the outpouring of support for the family. The three younger children were still under the care of Dr. Coker, who refused to be compensated for their treatment. It says they were surrounded by toys, dolls, and picture books, and had tasted ice cream for the first time in their lives. Alfred, the oldest, was out of the hospital.
The Millwoods had a “storm pit” to take shelter only 100 yards from the home, but there had been no warning and therefore no time to get to it .The Millwood Family was of humble means, but generous contributions paid for burial expenses for the deceased and food, clothing, and medicine for the survivors .As the plight of the family became known, contributions came in through the Red Cross, and not just from locals, but from all over the state, out of state, and even from overseas.
Image: Tornado Detection Radar
It can be hard for us to fully appreciate the time we live in. Today forecasters routinely provide us with several days’ warning of an impending hurricane, and real-time information via internet or television on tornado formation and location, or the potential for flash flooding in any given area. It’s easy to take all this for granted, when in fact only significant advances in meteorological technology in the 95 years since the Lathemtown Tornado make such warnings even possible. In 1928, it was considered a miracle that the tornado went through such a lightly populated portion of the county; a storm of its size passing through one of the cities in the county could have caused staggeringly higher casualties.
Historians—professional and amateur alike—have a natural tendency to romanticize the past.Events like this remind us all, poignantly, to be thankful for all the progress we’ve made after learning from the painful lessons of the past.As Billy Joel observes in his song, “Keeping the Faith”: “cause the good old days weren’t always good, and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems.”