May 16 began sunlit, the breeze soft, the sky tranquil and clear. Dallas Holland-Mims moved her lunch meeting to BrickTop’s patio. John Pitts got ready to plant more of the roses he babies—Apricot Swirl this time, and a florist-quality red. Rev. Dr. Dietra Wise Baker was running around Webster Groves in flip-flops, doing errands before she donned her faculty gown for Eden Theological Seminary’s commencement.
Then the sky went black, and the heavens let loose. The hail was the size of quarters in Weldon Spring. “Oh, it’s going to get bigger than that,” said Steve Templeton, chief meteorologist at KMOV. A report came in: egg-size hail in Harvester. “Just wait,” he told Kent Ehrhardt, who’d come in to help stay on top of the new data that was flashing in every two minutes. The energy the storm was bouncing back on radar was intense, coded purple. People were about to get pummeled.
Templeton had entered the hyperfocused storm-watch state in which his body ceases to need food, drink, or the loo. This was one of those times when all his training came together, so he could be most useful to the community. He’d issued a First Alert Weather Day warning, knowing that what was coming Friday would be no ordinary storm. But what no one could know was whether a tornado would form. Hurricanes, you can see coming for days. Tornados form so fast, you’re lucky to get 10 minutes’ warning of a possible touchdown…