A Saturday jaunt through the old stomping grounds of southwest Missouri carried me for about 40 straight miles down Old Route 66, then shockingly through the heart of Joplin, and finally a nostalgic face-to-face with heart-attack city greasy grub at Nevada, Missouri's world-famous White Grill diner (not to mention the Delway burger joint too). Talk about running the gamut of emotions inside of three short hours..."Won't You Get Hip to This Timely Tip"
Tip being: If you need to travel down Interstate 44 through Missouri, then get the hell off that boring four-lane and get your kicks on Route 66. Almost all of the old alignment of the road (and oftentimes multiple variations of the old alignment) can still be driven across the state from St. Louis to Joplin.
Oftentimes, driving down the old road is a lot like getting in a time machine and heading back to the 1920's and 1930's. That's because it seems like nothing on the old road ever gets torn down like it might be torn down along any other now-obsolete highway.
I suspect that's due to the old road's historical significance and celebrity, and no one wants to tear down anything that might be considered a landmark along its path. In several instances just on Saturday, for example, I saw old relic gas stations along the road that the owners have refurbished and turned into tourist attractions. You'd basically have to be a moron to ever tear anything down along that road, because your property would suddenly lose much of its potential resale value in my opinion.
Thus, a relatively short drive along the road is likely to include myriad vintage first-half-twentieth century motels, cottage and cabin courts, roadhouses, gas stations, through-truss bridges, greasy spoons and diners (some still open), and the ruins of countless ancient brick and stone structures which were previously Lord knows what, Lord knows when.
My drive today started on Missouri Route 266 (old Route 66 alignment) at I-44 Exit 72, with the old road departing from Route 266 west of Halltown and (after passing over two ancient truss bridges and a renovated old gas station tourist site) eventually merging with modern Missouri Route 96.
From there, the old road heads straight west to Carthage, with two old motel courts still standing and open at the intersection of Missouri 96 and Route V at Kellogg Lake on Carthage's eastern outskirts. Then finally (for Missouri), it's through Carthage and (with several slightly different alignments over the years) southwest down to Joplin.
"Now You Go Through Saint Looey, Then Joplin Missouri"
Apocalyptic. That's the best description. If you drive into the tornado-damaged swath of Joplin, it looks a nuclear bomb was set off. Complete destruction as far as the eye can see.
You want to cry; you want to pull over the car to try to do something, anything to try to help some of the locals -- many of whom you'll see milling around their properties or working on initial cleanup efforts just two weeks after the nearly mile-wide F-4 tornado tore through the center of this community of 50,000 people.
All the while, it's surreal, like something from a very bad dream that's not going to end anytime soon. The incredible pictures and video you've seen from this disaster don't even come close to doing it justice or accurately portraying it. That's because you can't get a complete and real feel for the horrific breadth of the destruction from just the images and videos.
I departed old Route 66 at Carthage and drove US 71 and I-44 to the south of Joplin, taking the Missouri 43 exit and heading into Joplin from the south. Perhaps the most striking recollection for me will be how -- as you first enter town -- everything seems so completely normal. No damage. All of the businesses, stores, fast food joints and restaurants are all open. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But then suddenly, you're in it. You've just entered the tornado-damaged swath. It comes out of nowhere. There is no buffer zone. One block, all's normal and well -- then next block, you're in Hell Revisited.
And once you're in it -- as stated above -- nothing but hell and destruction as far as you can see. It seemed to be about a mile wide, but if you were to drive this swath length-wise (which I did not), it would be much, much longer (I'd guess 10-15 miles, although a lot of that would be outside of Joplin).
Then just as suddenly, you're out of it. Right back to normal in northern Joplin just as it had been in southern Joplin. This tornado had little middle ground. It mostly either destroyed you or it spared you. As stated, no buffer zone (or very little at most, which I did not even see). Some further discrete observations:
-Unless I go back to Joplin to engage in relief efforts, I will not go back. That's because the main drags of town (I drove along Missouri 43/Main Street for a little while, then east to Range Line Road, then north) are highly congested and slow moving. I suspect there are a lot of people there who (like me today) are not local residents or relief workers, but instead are there to see the destruction for themselves. The traffic moves at a snail's pace, with long backups behind traffic light intersections.
I felt very bad that I was only contributing to this congestion, and I won't do that again. BTW, while the main drags are all open in town, many or most of the side streets in the damaged swath are either barricaded off or have what I'll call flag-men (since they carry little red flags) stopping any entering cars to ask their business for entering the neighborhood.
-Thank goodness that there appears to be many, many relief workers there. Just in my short drive through the damaged swath, it seemed like I would see a relief station almost every few blocks. Frequently, you'll see a person holding a "Free Meals" sign at roadside to garner the attention of the displaced and relief workers in need of a meal.
-There are also small "tent cities" where the displaced residents (and I assume many relief workers) are currently staying. I can't even imagine how bad it must be to have to stay in a tent at night in the sort of heat that Joplin (like the rest of the middle America) is currently feeling and will be until the end of the summer. The tent cities I saw consisted of dozens and dozens of tents grouped together in close proximity.
-In the residential neighborhoods that I drove through, I noted that the ruins of most of the houses would have the phrase "We're OK" spray-painted on whatever front wall of the house that might still be left -- obviously to let rescue workers know over the past two weeks that there was no need to go through the rubble of that home. I also saw a few destroyed homes that had "Missing" sprayed on them, but with "We're OK" sprayed in a different color below -- obviously signifying an initial unknown status followed by turning out to be OK.
-Truly inspirational for me was to see some of these completely destroyed homes with an American flag flying atop them. Obviously, the homeowners went in after the tornado and placed those flags on top of the ruins of what had been their houses. I read that gesture and symbol as an expression of the sentiment that they're Americans, and therefore they will get through this, somehow, and they will overcome.
-I saw what I think was probably Joplin High School (or else it was some very large public school in the middle of town). I say Joplin High School because one of the torn-out exterior walls revealed a big Eagle painting on an interior wall, and the Eagle (as I recall) is the Joplin High School mascot. Regardless, this school was mostly wiped out. It will have to be leveled and built anew.
-I saw what was probably a Burger King. You couldn't tell for sure, because there was no building; rather, the only thing left was the kiddie playland, which looked to be untouched. Those playlands must be bolted in like nothing else. I say Burger King because about 2 blocks later, I suddenly drove out of the damaged swath, and there was an open and non-damaged McDonald's right there. No way there's two McDonald's in two blocks' proximity.
-I wanted to recite some of the observations that I can recall from today for posterity's sake, but I would prefer not to do so again. I'd rather not remember very often many of the things I saw today. I cried (something I pride myself in never doing, at least in front of anyone) driving through Joplin today and in writing this blog post tonight. Please give something -- whether it be just a bit of money or supplies or just a bit of volunteer time to this completely devastated small town in southwest Missouri.
Nevada Never Really Changes; It Only Ages & Shrinks a Bit (And No, I'm Not Trying to Describe a Particular Body Part)
The way home north from Joplin to Kansas City brought me through the little hamlet of 9,000 people known as Nevada, Missouri. This is my original hometown, you see. Fourth grade through high school. And what do many people do after a depressing day or episode, including me? Eat, that's what.
Just like I pert-near (sp.) polished off an entire White Castle Crave Case on November 7, 2009 as the U.S. House was poised to pass the democrat party's health care monstrosity (ultimately ram-rodded through into law thereafter by virtue of Black Christmas and Sunday Bloody Sunday), I had to hit tonight the legendary and notorious greasy spoons of the "Nevamo" both for some dinner and for some taking-home-to-freezer eats.
First, it was the longtime locally loved burger joint on the west edge of town along US 54 (I drove up from Joplin along the for-me nostalgic Missouri 43) -- the Delway Drive In (back in the day, called Bains' Delway).
At the ol' Delway, I phoned in a carryout order, as follows: Double bacon cheeseburger basket with suzies and (in order to watch my diet) a Diet Coke. Also: A Coney footlong, an order of fried mushrooms with dipping sauce, and an order of onion rings.
Then it was east across town to the famous White Grill, located in the center of town for over 70 years at a location that was once a crossroads and temporary merging point of US 71 and US 54 (long before either road followed its current alignment).
So I phone in my carryout order, and I says to the young man, I says, I says: Yoos offer up the breakfast grub in the evening? (Not thinking that they did)! Sure enough, yes, he said!
Then I'm rolling. I get a large order of what they call the THE MESS -- one of those classic diner Dagwood Bumstead-type creatures that tosses in everything but the kitchen sink: Scrambled eggs, hash browns, a bunch of onions, cheddar cheese, fried meat, etc.
The only things distinguishing THE MESS from the classic Columbia Missouri dish at Broadway Diner known as THE STRETCH are (to the best of my hazy late night recollections) mashed potatoes, chili and hot sauce. THE STRETCH is Number One, but THE MESS works all too well in its absence!
Just for good measure (since White Grill is best known as a burger joint), I also ordered a Whistleburger with (again) an order of Suzy Q's. BTW, I've always heard that Suzy Q's were invented and inspired by a cutie gal with whom I went to high school in Nevada -- Suzy Edmiston -- although that account has never been officially confirmed on Wikipedia (meaning it's probably true).
So those are the rollercoaster ride of emotions for me on a god awfully hot day in early June 2011. Having now just polished off a plate full of several varieties of the eats that I just described, I must now politely excuse myself to the Shithouse. But as I take my leave, please do think of Joplin.
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