The Wizard of Oz was first shown on television on the CBS network November 3, 1956. It was a big deal. Along with millions of other children, I watched the initial broadcast of the picture, secure in the suburban home of my parents. The first time I saw it, I was nearly 10 years old. I was dazzled by the stark images of the Kansas prairie and the frightening, mesmerizing tornado sequence. The Wicked Witch and her menacing, grinning winged-monkeys; the great and mighty Oz—all these things dug deep into my subconscious. And we didn’t even have color back then.
Six months later—on May 20, 1957—I felt like I had been cast into my own version of Oz.
The day is hot and humid. Clouds build up on the horizon. I play a game of catch after school with my friend, James Roberts, then head home for supper. We’re having dinner when something comes on the TV. It says a tornado has been spotted on the ground a few miles away, near Ottowa, KS.
We’re in shorts. I probably don’t have a T-shirt on. We’re eating dinner and the next thing I know, we’re out in the front yard and we’re looking up at the sky. I’m trying to remember what they taught me in school—if there’s a tornado you get to the basement, go to the southwest corner and duck your head.
My mom, Lena, says, “Get your shoes on.”
We look up and I can see a real low cloud, kind of grayish and black, and it’s moving off to the side. And then we hear this sound. It’s the sound of 200 jet engines like we heard at the air force base. It sounds just like jet engines starting up. It’s this unbelievable, almost mechanical sound.