Every year,
the freshman class made a bus trip to Chicago. When Robert’s class went, the
group first toured the Chicago Natural History Museum, or Field Museum. Each
new diorama in the Hall of Prehistoric Man captivated Robert all the more—especially
the Neanderthals. He tried to imagine what it could have been like to have
lived in the time of the cavemen.
The
exhibits of stuffed animals were so extensive as to stretch seemingly forever
down halls and around corners. The white-tailed deer appeared to be living.
From the tiny antelope to the zebra of southern and eastern Africa, the animal
displays kept Robert in a state of amazement. The elephants and the jungle cats
were favorites. There were many animals he had never heard of and that he could
scarcely imagine, even though the displays were so lifelike! There were wild
donkeys, hippopotami, gorillas, and hyenas: all examples of the taxidermists’
finest hour and art.
Yet his
eyes really opened all the way when he encountered the Egyptian artifacts. The
ushabti figures, the canopic jars, the sarcophagi, and the statues intrigued
him. As a freshman, he could hardly fail to be mesmerized by the mummies! He felt
a deep sense of astonishment that such rich cultures had thrived in the Nile
River Valley for thousands of years. He vowed he would check out books on
Egyptian history when he returned home, and he kept his promise.
The class
also visited the Museum of Science and Industry. Built in 1893 as part of the World’s
Columbian Exposition (which failed to be finished in time for 1892, the four
hundredth anniversary of 1492, the year made famous by Christopher Columbus),
the vast edifice, which had been refaced in limestone, housed more displays
than could be seen in weeks, let alone in a few hours! Many of the exhibits
were to be operated by pushing buttons or working levers. It was great fun to
discover scientific facts and mechanical principles by observation of displays
that moved in response to the viewer’s hand. There were airplanes, boats, cars,
a stage coach, steam engines including locomotives, and streetcars. There were
a gigantic Foucault pendulum and electromagnets and lightning from a surge
generator. There were all manner of machines from newspaper presses to milking
machines. A spectacular monument to the periodic table of the elements boasted
a massive globe of the Planet Earth. Amid the museum’s modernity was a nod to
the Middle Ages in a medieval scriptorium, where European monks copied and
illuminated holy manuscripts in brilliantly colored inks.
But the
trip into the coal mine was even more exciting! It began with a safety
demonstration that simulated an explosion of methane gas from a lighted Davy
lamp. The drop down the mine shaft in a black cage gave the illusion of a
descent of hundreds of feet. The tram ride through the cool gloom of the mine
was worthy of Disney!
Robert’s
favorite activity was walking through the U-505
submarine, which was docked outside the museum. The narrow passages within the
German ship made Robert feel almost claustrophobic, but he was so fascinated
with everything that he successfully fought against the dread of enclosure in a
tight space. Even though the halls were barely wide enough for one person, the
submarine was huge. “How could it have remained hidden?” Robert wondered. Of
course, as a person from a landlocked farming community, he had almost no
concept of the size of the ocean. After the tour, Robert knew that he could
never have lived on board a submarine without going stark raving mad! It was
quite a learning experience, to say the least!
The trip to
the Windy City was one of the best that Robert would ever take, and he was
grateful to his school for having given his class the opportunity to see such a
splendid panoply at both institutions and to the museums for making available
to the public such an incredible array of the best that the world has to offer.
Ever since
the threat of a tornado had interrupted the performance at Columbian Park when
Robert was a youngster, he had wanted to spot a funnel cloud. With the help of
her father, his classmate Susan had once built a large glass box that
demonstrated a tornado by using dry ice and a fan to form a vortex that was
well lighted from above. Robert never grew tired of watching the ghostly rope
undulating from the bottom to the top of the tall box.
On a sunny
April Saturday in between his freshman and sophomore years, Robert had been
disking for his father. The International 560 tractor had needed gasoline, so Robert
had driven from the fields back to the house.
He pulled
alongside the elevated gas barrel, switched off the engine, spun off the gas
cap, and began filling the tank from the heavy nozzle. The day was hot and
still. The day seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was as if it
alone knew what was approaching. The birds had abandoned their hectic
springtime schedule as if in anticipation. Only the occasional shrieks of the
guineas disturbed the silence. With the tank full, Robert hung the hose on the
horseshoe that served as a cradle nailed to one of the barrel’s support posts.
Robert thought about returning to his disking right away, but the idea of a
quick nap intervened.
Joe and Charles
were working with tractors in adjacent fields about as far from the house as
they could be. Would they miss Robert for fifteen minutes? Robert decided they
would not, so he strode to the house and stretched out on the sofa to catch a
few winks. Such an action was extremely rare for Robert—so rare, in fact, that
he could almost be described as never having taken a sleepy moment away from
work. For years thereafter, he would wonder why he chose that time to sneak a
brief nap.
Naturally, Robert
lost track of the time. Suddenly, Joe and Charles burst into the room! They
were talking excitedly. In Robert’s half-asleep state, he worried that they
might be angry with him for briefly shirking his responsibility. Robert’s sense
of guilt helped him awaken fully. Then he realized they were not conversing
about his indolence; rather, they were discussing the funnel cloud that had
just crossed near the north end of the farm.
“That’s as
close as I ever want to get to a tornado,” Joe said.
“That was
impressive!” Charles agreed.
Robert sat
up and listened to their description of the funnel, which had begun to touch
down but had lifted immediately. Robert glanced at the clock. He had slept for
less than an hour. In just that length of time, an oddly greenish wall cloud
had formed in the southwest. On its path from southwest to northeast, the cloud
mass had passed on an angle a little over a mile north of the house.
Acknowledging the dangers of lightning, Joe had signaled Charles to bring his
tractor and plow up to the house while Joe drove his tractor and corn planter
up to the barn. When they had entered the barnyard, they had witnessed the
funnel’s descent.
Robert had
slept through the excitement and was disappointed. He would never have a better
opportunity to watch a tornado. Years later, a tornado that would prove quite
destructive in Rainsville would pass along much the same diagonal line over the
north end of the Williams place. Winds to the side of the twister would blow
Joe and Ida’s pink and blue 1950s metal armchairs off the front porch and
deliver them to Agnes Moore a quarter of a mile down the gravel road. Worse,
the tornado would level all but one wall and the bathroom of Robert’s cousin Pam’s
house. Pam’s mother would ride out the storm in that bathroom and live to tell
the tale. Pam, her father, and her siblings would not be at home, although her
father and her sister would be in a car approaching the house down the mile-long
driveway to the north and would witness the calamity. Viewing the wreckage
afterward, Robert would change his mind about wanting to see a twister. He
would decide that he never wanted to observe—with scientific detachment—a
tornado in progress. He would rather learn about such violent storms in the
context of a museum or laboratory.
