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The weather was perfect. However, looking north I could see churning clouds with brilliant lightning. When the game was finished, I drove to my girlfriend (now wife) Luann’s house in the Kearsley area. Local radio stations devoted considerable time to a bad storm in the Beecher area but “tornado” wasn’t mentioned. As gawkers will do, we drove to the area and actually got within a couple blocks of Beecher High School before the roads became impassible. Storm damage was everywhere, mostly downed trees and debris. When we got back to her house, I called our sports department. Instead of a direct connection, the Journal’s switchboard operator took the call. I realized something special was happening because the switchboard was open at night only for significant events such as elections. The switchboard connected me to then-City Editor Ralph Curry. When told that I was coming from the east side, he suggested that I stop briefly at the National Guard armory on Lewis Street (now Chavez Drive) because it had been designated as a temporary morgue. That stop turned into a 16-hour assignment. The armory was quiet when I arrived. I greeted the Rev. John Blasko of Sacred Heart, whom I knew well from reporting sports in the City Parochial League. He was wringing his hands at the sight of four or five bodies in a corner of the main floor. “Len, this is terrible,” he said. I couldn’t help thinking he was being overdramatic. As a veteran of two World War II battles in Europe with the combat engineers, I had seen considerably worse. But the scene changed dramatically within a few minutes. Doors on the south side of the armory flew open and volunteers carried in body after body. I recognized one of the volunteers as Jack Galarno, a former Northern High athlete who helped coach football at Sacred Heart, and asked what was happening. “We have truckloads of bodies,” he said. “If we find this many in the dark, Lord knows how many more we’ll find when day breaks.” As it turned out, most of the victims were found in the dark. Bodies were arranged neatly in rows and a team of Guardsmen, headed by Dr. Ray Johnson, a National Guard captain, began the task of identification. Security was loose at this point and a gray-haired man walked up to the group and asked, “Are you trying to identify these people? If you are, my daughter and her children are over there.” I was stunned by his matter-of-fact attitude. Perhaps he was in shock. A group of Red Cross volunteers cleaned up the corpses. The bodies were placed on Army cots and covered with sheets. A crowd already was milling outside as word spread about the morgue. Jim Berardo, a state police officer, was in charge of the situation. Groups of perhaps 12-15 people were escorted into a small room where they were briefed about the identification procedure. As these groups slowly walked down the rows, Red Cross volunteers drew back the sheets, then replaced them when there was no response. Many of those in the identification group were in a state of semi-shock and there was a minimum of consternation when relatives or friends were found. Most of the victims were identified by noon and area funeral directors began the task of removing those who were identified. By mid-afternoon it was all over. But not forgotten.
Sports writer Len Hoyes started at The Journal in 1950. He can be reached at (810) 766-6184 or lhoyes@flintjournal.com. 
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