Life moved slowly in the tiny community of Whitehall, MS, population 276. Whitehall ran along a state highway dotted with modest farmhouses and mobile homes, much like the entire state of Mississippi. There are no stoplights in Whitehall. There’s a Baptist Church and a quick mart gas station selling fresh hot pizza until at least 10 pm. There used to be a Methodist church, but it burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances in the early 1970’s. There is no school, no library, not even a volunteer fire department. All of those “big city” amenities can be found a few miles down the road in the town of Allegiance, population 1,300.

The families in Whitehall have lived there for generations. The original settlers purchased large parcels of land in the late 1800s when the community was established. Over the years it became the custom for the founding families to deed off sections of land as gifts to their adult children.

Because of the gifting of the land, each section of Whitehall had little pockets of inhabitants that were almost clan-like. There could be 5 generations of families living on one large plot of land, so it stod to reason that everyone knew everyone in Whitehall, Mississippi.

When I first moved to Whitehall, I was considered an outsider. I was eventually allowed “in” because of my husband Randy. Randy wasn’t technically a Whitehall native, instead, he was from Allegiance. His father had been the head football coach at Allegiance Agricultural High School for over 25 years. Coach Mead single-handedly led the Bengals to state championships at least 10 times. He was a legend and by default that meant everyone knew and loved Randy.

As I mentioned, there was no school in Whitehall, so Whitehall kids were bussed to AAHS every morning, bright and early. All the boys clamored to play for Coach Mead. Football was almost as important as church in most southern towns and Whitehall was no different. 

Randy and I moved to Whitehall right after we married. We rented our first little house from one of the founding families, Mr. Charlie (Chucky) and Mrs. Minnie Baker. The Bakers were Whitehall royalty. They owned 200 acres of land including the rambling ranch home they lived in, along with another parcel directly across the road where the old Baker home place still sat. That old house was built in the early 1900s and belonged to Chucky’s mother, Abilene. Mr. Chucky grew up in that old house. Mrs. Abilene lived there practically her whole life until her husband passed away and she was no longer able to stay by herself. When that day came, even though Mrs. Abilene fought tooth and nail, she reluctantly moved in with Chucky and Minnie and hated every minute of it. She loved her little old house and planned to stay in it until she went home to be with the Lord. 

I couldn’t blame her. I loved it too. It was a sweet little white Cape Cod-style house with a huge porch. The front of the house had two doors that led inside. The outer doors had skeleton key locks and squeaky screen doors; one opened into the living room and the other led to the master bedroom. The house had a surprisingly large separate dining room with French doors and at the back of the house was a sizable kitchen. 

The house had tons of potential but needed work. The living room floor was covered with stained gray commercial carpet. The linoleum in the kitchen may have been original. It had become so brittle, that the floor made popping sounds when you walked across it. The laundry room had originally been the back porch. Whoever closed it in was not a gifted carpenter. There was a slope that met its deepest point in the middle of the room. The breaker box was also in the laundry room. We were surprised to find the remnants of knob and tube wiring in the house; not exactly safe or up to modern building codes. There was an old brick well house in the backyard, still partially standing.

Even with the signs of wear and tear, there was something magical about that place. Randy and I weren’t the only ones who felt it. Our friends loved the place as much as we did. On Friday nights it was never difficult to persuade our friends from Tupelo to come over for dinner. I loved cooking for everyone. We had our fill of fried chicken, fried okra, cornbread, and peas. Sometimes we would have a fish fry with Randy’s fishing buddies. It was hush puppies and french fries on those nights. Even though the old house was 30 minutes from town, nobody ever seemed to mind the drive. The place had a revolving door. Everybody loved to come out to the old Baker house in Whitehall.   

After we got our bellies full, everyone would head out to the porch for an after-dinner smoke and a few beers. We would sit out there drinking and talking until the wee hours of the morning. There was no traffic, it was quiet, and it felt like we were miles away from the whole world. Time seemed to stand still out there. Money woes and marital issues seemed to fade away with the sound of the chirping crickets and hooting owls. 

The porch itself wasn’t very ornate. It had two columns and the floor was made of painted gunmetal gray concrete that was peeling in spots. It was fairly wide and had room for several chairs that you could maneuver into configurations that made it easy to carry on conversations.  

The best part about the porch was it was situated under the canopy of a massive sprawling 100-year-old oak tree. The tree was so large, it would take at least three people, maybe four to get their arms all the way around it. That big old tree kept the porch cool and breezy in the summer and shielded from the cold in winter.

It was one such Friday night that our good friends Jimmy and his wife Beatrice, (pronounced B-Tris), came over for burgers and beer. It wasn’t a planned event, it just sort of happened. Those were the best get-togethers. We cooked, talked, laughed, listened to music, and drank beer, just like always. 

As the music played, we noticed a breeze that began to stir the leaves of the big oak tree. Of course we paid no attention and the party and chatter continued. Suddenly and without warning the gentle breeze picked up and violently ushered in a torrential downpour. 

Jimmy and Beatrice decided it was probably best for them to head home. Then thought better of it and decided to ride out the rain for a few minutes and have a cigarette for the road. While we waited, the faint music we had been listening to, was interrupted by a notification from the National Weather Service. They interrupted the regularly scheduled program to say the local listening area was under a tornado warning until 3 am.

Southerners know, tornado warnings and tornado watches are two very different things. A tornado watch means the conditions are favorable to possibly produce a tornado. A tornado warning means, there is an active tornado that has been spotted and if you are in the warning area, it’s on its way. 

As the weather alert continued, the announcer rattled off the specific areas most affected by the warning. Itawamba, Lee, Lowndes, Pontotoc, Prentiss…and finally,Whitehall.

The tornado is expected to pass through the Whitehall community at approximately 2:30 am. If you are in the path of the tornado seek shelter immediately.  

Our eyes collectively widened, as we all checked the clock. It was 2:15! I threw the cigarette down and took off at a sprint into the house headed for the small hall closet. I frantically tossed out coats, purses, and shoes in an effort to make room. It was the only interior closet we had and I was determined to get it cleaned out before the tornado touched down. I quickly realized I would fit in the closet, but there was no way anyone else would be able to cram into the small space. There was only one other closet in the master bedroom and it was even smaller. It was clear, there was nowhere safe for us to go. We had no other choice. 

We quickly loaded into Jimmy’s truck, all of us about half drunk and I made the frantic phone call from the road. 

“Mrs. Minnie, we are on our way to your house. You need to wake up Mr. Chunky and Mrs Abilene. There is a tornado coming. The weatherman said it would hit Whitehall at 2:30! It is 2:20 now!  We got to get in the storm house”

As I was finishing the call, Jimmy tore into the driveway and slammed the Ford into park.We all jumped out and headed for the door. Before I made it up the steps, Mr. Chunky was outside and headed down the slight incline to the storm house. Mrs. Minnie and Mrs.Abilene were nowhere to be found. Randy and Jimmy went with Mr. Chunky and I bolted in the house with Beatrice in tow yelling.

“Mrs. Minnie, we’ve got to go! This thing could touch down at any minute”,

I made my way to the dimly lit hallway to the first bedroom on the right to find Mrs. Minnie hovering over Mrs. Abilene who was attempting to put on her shoes. Now Mrs. Abilene was in her 90’s and she and Minnie didn’t have what I would call the best relationship.  

“You are not wearing those damn shoes. Those are your old ones and they are nasty, they have a hole in the bottom. We are not going anywhere with you wearing hole-y shoes. Where are the ones that we just got you?” Mrs Minnie scolded.

“Where are we going? What time is it? Abilene said, staring at the alarm clock on her bedside table. She looked over at me and Beatrice standing in the doorway with utter confusion. 

“There is a storm coming and you are not about to go out in a storm with a hole in your shoe,” Mrs. Minnie turned to me. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“Mrs. Minnie, the storm is headed our way. We need to get everybody in the storm house now. I don’t think it matters what shoes she’s got on…We need to go!”

I was doing my best to be respectful as well as keep my distance. I didn’t want Mrs. Minnie to catch a whiff of the alcohol on my breath. She would not approve. 

Mrs Minnie went to the closet and pulled out Mrs. Abilene’s rain coat and plastic rain bonnet. She put it on her head and tried to tie the string under her chin.

“Mrs. Minnie, we gotta go NOW!” 

Mrs. Minnie, Beatrice and I all surrounded Mrs. Abilene and forced her down the hallway toward the back door.

As we finally made our way to the door leading outside, the wind picked up and debris flew across the yard. Frantically, Randy and Jimmy helped Mr. Chunky move the pots and plants stored in the storm shelter.

As I threw the door open, I screamed, “Hey y’all come help us get Mrs.Abilene out.”

The men ran to the carport and grabbed Mrs. Abilene under her armpits. 

“Hurry up! It’s 2:30!” I screamed.

Mrs. Abilene relented and the two strapping young men lifted her up off the ground, her hole-y keds, dragging the ground behind her.

They carried her out to the storm house with the rest of us bringing up the rear. The wind got stronger, the sirens wailed. 

We all crammed in the shelter still filled with containers, dead plants and old tires. The rain came down sporadically in drops then in sheets. We finally made enough room for all of us.

“Ya’ll get in here and shut that door. That thing’s right over our heads” I screamed above the roar but the sound came out muffled and far away. 

Rain pounded the roof of the storm shelter and quickly puddled all across the yard. Tree limbs became airborne and sailed down the road. The sirens wailed louder and louder and the terror in my heart reached a fevered pitch. I grabed Randy and braced myself for impact, praying.

Then in an instant, all the noise, all the wind went silent. An earie calm filled the air.  

We checked ourselves and each other and realized the tornado passed overhead but never touched down in Whitehall that night. We were very fortunate.

As we walked back to the house, none of us spoke a word. I am sure more than a few silent prayers were offered up in thanks.

Mrs. Minnie was the first to break the silence.

“Are y’all hungry? It’s only about an hour until I would be getting up anyway. I could make us some pancakes?”

“I could eat.” said Mrs. Abilene

“You can always eat. “ Mrs. Minnie said with an eye roll.

We looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Pancakes sounded good.

Once inside, we sprang into action. I set the table, Beatrice found the napkins and Mrs. Minnie started the coffee and then cooked our little feast.

The now sober beer drinkers and the Baker’s sat down in the wee hours of the morning and ate pancakes, eggs and bacon. It was one of the best nights I remember living in Whitehall. 

Life changed drastically in the years following. Randy and I parted ways and I moved out of state. Mrs. Abilene passed away a few years later. At some point I heard Mr. Chucky and Mrs Minnie did too.

Not too long ago, I drove out to the old house. Its still standing, a little worse for the wear but pretty much the same as I remembered.

Unfortunately, I found the old oak was laying on its side in the front yard. Its massive root ball uprooted, branches filled with dead, decaying leaves. It seemed vulgar to see it exposed that way.

I was surprised to feel a profound sadness welled up in my chest at the discovery. It took a bit to identify the feeling but it was a sense of loss. There was the loss over the life Randy and I shared. Loss over the friends we no longer kept in touch with. Loss of the Bakers and what they meant to a young couple just getting started in life. Loss for Mrs. Abilene and the life she lived long before us. And finally, I felt loss for the oak. As I sat in my car on the side of the road, I was reminded of a poem by Elwood Roberts:

I pause within thy shade,
A brief hour here rest and refreshment find,
Beneath thy ample boughs, and call to mind
How often thus I’ve stayed.

Those days in Whitehall were long ago. And we only lived there for a short time. But being a member of the Whitehall Community, living in that house and sitting under the branches of that old oak are filled with fond memories that I will carry in my heart forever.