Blog Extra: A Tribute to Small Town Spirit

February 6, 2009

This tribute is not an eyewitness report--it springs from conversations with local residents and from many news reports. It is about a community of ordinary heroes. CTC

A couple of weeks ago the sky fell on North Arkansas--one freezing raindrop at a time--until every county across the top one-third of the state from Fayetteville to Blytheville and beyond into Missouri and Kentucky was covered with a thick icy glaze. Everything was literally frozen in place for over a week, as if some capricious Ice God had cast a spell over the land.

Ambient temperature dropped into the teens. Power poles snapped off by the thousands, plunging whole counties into darkness. Phones went dead. Ancient trees gave up their ice-coated limbs with cracking pops louder than gunshots and hurtled into whatever was below with a velvet thud. Water and gasoline pumps stopped. Dry firewood was suddenly at a premium. Food supplies dwindled. Schools and businesses were paralyzed. Driving was out of the question except for the most urgent needs, further isolating people in their homes. An elderly woman refused to leave her home and died after being found in her bathtub, skin covered in ice crystals.

Mobilizing help took time. When Governor Mike Beebe learned of the extent of the ice storm, he promised help was forthcoming, but said that until help reached them, folks would just have to take care of each other. That was exactly what happened in my hometown of Rector, Arkansas--a farming community of 2,000 souls nestled on Crowley's Ridge in Northeast Arkansas just across the line from the Missouri Bootheel--which was among the hardest hit. Up to four inches of ice coated every structure and tree and vehicle in a deadly crystal glaze.

Rector is one of those Mayberry-like places, friendly to a fault, where everyone knows you, your parents, your kids, your illnesses (and your private business). Gossip is common, but there is always a risk of offending someone's cousin. Not much has changed in this Clay County town since I graduated from Rector High School fifty years ago, except now there are more empty store fronts on Main Street and they have a Subway sandwich shop and a Sonic drive in. The biggest event of the year is an annual all-day homecoming picnic each Labor Day on the grounds of a wonderfully kept park. In a unique nod to the cycle of life, Rector's Labor Day Picnic proceeds go to upkeep of the community cemetery.

In a town like Rector, one's first instinct in time of calamity is to reach out to your neighbors and see if they are all right. Even before the storm abated, people risked breaking something as they slid from house to house, checking on the elderly, removing fallen limbs from roofs and cars, opening their own heated homes to neighbors without heat, sharing food and supplies.

In a prescient act a few years back, Mayor Ron Kemp had seen that emergency electric generators were installed to provide emergency power to the Community Center and the city water supply, and the water service was never interrupted. The Community Center became the source of food and shelter for anyone who needed it, with volunteers serving up to 1000 meals at a time, according to reports.

Harp's Grocery opened its shelves to the Community Center and shared the food that would have otherwise spoiled. Crews from Entergy came from as far away as Louisiana to help restore power service. Rectorites saw to it that the power crews were taken care of with hot meals and a chance to shower in a home that had gas heat and hot water.

Many people stepped up to help in whatever way they could. That's just the way they do it--no big deal--just the Golden Rule in action. Baptists helping Methodists and Republicans helping Democrats, and teenagers being cool by taking care of adults.

After a few days, the ice receded and revealed a muddy and scarred landscape resembling a war zone, with cruelly broken trees, crushed cars and crumpled roofs everywhere. Folks began to haul away the debris and cut the trees and repair the roofs and restock their refrigerators. Kids returned to school. Normal life resumed with the thaw. The damage will take years to heal, but the spontaneous collective response of this one little Clay County town is proof of the spirit that holds it together.

I am proud to call Rector my home town, and even more proud of this place full of ordinary heroes who were already prepared for the Governor's advice to take care of each other when the time came.

Charlie Crow © February 6, 2009