The atrocious orange color of the work gloves I have crammed my sausage fingers into is the last thing on my mind. A vast sea of devastation lies before me, complete with splintered trees and shredded homes. It looks like a wasteland, and the silence is so loud it’s suffocating.
Welcome to Joplin, Mo., everyone — birthplace of Langston Hughes, population of 50,150 and an honorable mention in “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66.”
Oh, and on May 22, an EF5 tornado ripped through the city killing more than 160 people and flattening numerous structures, putting Joplin on the map for the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, the five minutes that tornado was on the ground is what will forever define the city in the eyes of many people. But for me, having once called Joplin home, I know better.
If you’ve lost faith in humanity, you seriously need to hurl that unhappy attitude in a car and waltz up to Joplin. The citizens have this amazing ability to make newcomers feel as if they are cherished family members. They have this talent of easily restoring laughter to a lost soul. Doubting yourself? You’ll be pelted with encouragement and forced to embrace your flaws and run with them. You’ll become passionate about the quirky things in life. You’ll learn to smile again. Most importantly, you’ll discover faith in people. Corny? Perhaps. True? Absolutely.
It was for these reasons that I needed to return to Joplin after the tornado. Almost immediately, I was scavenging any websites that would provide me with volunteer information. I didn’t think; I simply acted. The desires of my heart ignored the rationality of my mind.
I refused to succumb to the god-awful truth that I couldn’t put my life on hold. I wanted to stuff tools and my brother into my classy ’91 Volvo wagon (aka “The Ferrari”) immediately, praying it would make it down the driveway, let alone the 14-hour drive to Joplin, without exploding. But ultimately, I had no other option. I said goodbye to spending the summer rebuilding in Joplin and hello to working with crotchety old lawyers, nasty pantyhose and the hole-puncher from hell. My life had become all business up front, minus the party in the back.
This realization absolutely crushed me and I fell apart. I cried for Joplin, for what people had lost and for what they had suffered through. I cried for my friends, knowing I couldn’t cease the thrilling tasks of hole-punching and file-organizing to offer some tiny shred of comfort. I cried for what little I can do for a town that hurts so much. I cried for a place that has given me more than I could ever give back.
Yet, the world works in mysterious ways. Over fall break, I had the opportunity to go to Joplin with LUCAP. While nothing could have prepared me mentally for the sheer devastation, Joplin (once again) served as freaking epiphany central. I realized one person can’t fix a town, no matter how much he or she wants to. But doing something is better than doing nothing. You will make a difference in someone’s life. Let’s begin the ripple effect, y’all.
Right now, maybe the birds don’t sing. Maybe the sun doesn’t shine. Maybe it is the heart of a town turned to rubble. But you know what? It still has people; and with people, there are memories; and with memories, we can build a brighter future. That’s why Joplin is still beautiful.
Magin Maier is a psychology pre-med junior. She can be reached at [email protected]
LUCAP members help rebuild Joplin, Mo. in the wake of an EF5 tornado. Rebuilding efforts such as this aid both the community and the individual volunteers (Photo courtesy of Samantha Montano)
