May 3, 1999. It’s a fateful date that resonates with every Oklahoman much in the same way September 11, 2001 does for all Americans. Just before 6:30 pm, a tornado touched down just northeast of Chickasha, Oklahoma. It rapidly grew into a monster, buzzsawing through the town of Newcastle as it churned up Interstate 44, putting the Oklahoma City suburb of Moore in its crosshairs.
As it moved into Moore, one of the most densely populated areas in Oklahoma, meteorologists confirmed the strongest tornado ever recorded. It also marked the first time in history that the National Weather Service issued a Tornado Emergency. An F5 tornado, the strongest on the old Fujita scale, doppler radar confirmed wind gusts that reached 318 mph (512 km/h), easily shattering the record for the strongest wind gust ever measured on Earth. That record was challenged in the 2013 El Reno tornado (296 mph/477 km/h), but it still stands to this day.
While I was not living in Oklahoma back then, the May 3rd tornado set the gold standard for the definition of a textbook storm. Indeed, open any meteorology textbook that covers tornadoes and you’ll find a radar image of the May 3rd supercell. Anyone who has studied severe weather can identify the storm just by looking at a radar image of it.
14 Years Later, It Happened Again
Fast-forward to May 19, 2013. I was a meteorology student at the University of Oklahoma. We were nearing the end of the second day of a three-day tornado outbreak across the Southern Plains. A large barrel funnel had just passed right over my house, putting down an EF-4 tornado only half a mile away. You’re in awe of feeling the suction from it standing in the driveway as it passed overhead. Yet at the same time, you realize just how lucky you were to narrowly avoid a direct hit from a large tornado. However, everyone knew that conditions were even more perfect for large, long-track, and violent tornadoes the next day.
When you get up on mornings like May 3, 1999, the air has a certain feel to it. It’s hard to describe, but you know something bad is about to happen. You’re well aware that the heavy air is gasoline for long-track tornadoes and the afternoon dryline is the match. Not surprisingly, the morning of May 20, 2013 had that exact feel to it. That afternoon, everyone’s worst fears were realized.
May 3rd All Over Again
Around 2:45 PM on May 20, 2013, a massive tornado touched down near Newcastle, Oklahoma. It was a textbook grinder as it, too, put Moore in its crosshairs. The second you saw it, you knew it was going to be monster. As another Tornado Emergency broadcast rang out over the airwaves, the tornado sirens went off in Norman. Even though my house was not in the path of the storm, hearing the words “Tornado Emergency” being broadcast over tornado sirens is a heavy reminder just how dire the situation was. You just couldn’t shake that thought: it was May 3rd all over again.
It’s not exactly a secret that storm chasers openly celebrate successful chases when tornadoes are tearing across open prairies in the middle of nowhere. However, whenever there’s a human toll, the mood takes a drastic shift as the dark side of storm chasing reveals itself. Amidst the feelings of helplessness, it all of a sudden becomes personal. That instinct to help just kicks in like second nature, even though there’s not much you can do.
Holy $#@&, That’s the Tornado!
I had originally planned to go out storm chasing on May 20, 2013, but called it off once the Moore tornado touched down. Chasing storms even in small towns is really reckless. In a major city like Moore, it’s sheer idiocy. Sitting at home watching everything unfold on TV, you could faintly hear a low, constant rumble thunder over both the TV broadcast and the tornado sirens.
Once the sirens shut off, that low rumble of thunder kept getting louder and louder. But it kept going…and going…and going…and going…and going. That’s the exact moment you realize it’s not thunder you’re hearing. That’s the tornado, with 210 mph (338 km/h) winds shredding entire neighborhoods down to scoured earth. Holy $#@&!
At this point, you’re back in the storm chasing paradox. You want to experience such a unique event to the fullest. Yet at the same time, you know that roar is people’s houses being torn apart and lives being destroyed. It’s an absolute gut punch and one of the most helpless feelings in the world. On the other hand, you feel an aura of excitement and awe for having experienced something so powerful. At its closest, the Moore tornado passed less than 4 miles (6.4 km) from my house in Norman.
Whenever you’re near any kind of major disaster, you’ll be amazed at how many people come out of the woodwork concerned about your well-being. In addition to the friends and family you constantly surround yourself with, your inboxes will blow up with texts, emails, Facebook messages, and more from people you haven’t talked to in years. It’s a great reminder of all the wonderful people you’ve surrounded yourself with over the years.
The Eeriest of Silences
One of my most vivid memories from that day was not the tornado itself. It was the silence that followed immediately after the tornado lifted. When you stepped outside, it was truly eerie. There was no wind blowing, no birds chirping, no traffic on the roads, no air conditioners humming, and weirdest of all, no emergency sirens responding to the disaster. It was like being in a vacuum of peace and solitude despite the horror that had just happened.
The whole State of Oklahoma was in complete shock. Without any power, you knew the damage would be bad. You just didn’t know exactly how bad. When we got power back a few hours later, the helicopter footage on TV was shocking. But it was nothing compared to setting foot in Moore for the first time after the tornado.
No Amount of TV Coverage Can Prepare You for Seeing the Devastation First Hand
When you see tornado damage on TV, you’re restricted to the limitations of the camera lens. It’s not until you remove that restriction and see it with your own eyes that you realize the true scope of the devastation.
I first drove into Moore on May 29th, nine days after the tornado. The sight was absolutely gut wrenching, but it paled in comparison to what the other senses were taking everything in. It’s what the TV cameras can’t show you that hits the hardest.
The first thing you notice is the heavy smell of freshly cut wood that still hung in the air. There are not enough trees in central Oklahoma to make that strong a smell, so you instantly know you’re smelling the snapped frames of so many destroyed homes and upended lives. With no power in the damage path, it was still eerily quiet other than the occasional chain saw running in the distance. It was the sound of the beginning of a monumental clean-up effort, the first glimmer of hope in a long recovery process.
A Powerful Emotional Connection That Pulls You in Every Direction
The most powerful experience of seeing Moore lying in ruins was the emotional connection to the city and the people the second you enter the damage path. I had never experienced anything like it before, and have never experienced anything like it since.
These were not just real people, but our neighbors, who had their lives turned upside down at the snap of a finger. The City of Moore had 13 minutes of lead time between when the Tornado Warning was issued and when the tornado hit. You want so desperately to help them, but the scope of the destruction is so overwhelming, you don’t even know where to start. And like so many people after 9/11, you also felt the guilt of why them and not me.
But amidst all the heartbreak and destruction was an overpowering sense of hope, resiliency, and determination. You could see it in people’s faces. The residents of Moore are some of the toughest people you’ll ever meet. They know how to bounce back. After all, they are well battle-tested. Between May 3, 1999 and May 20, 2013, Moore remains the only town in the world that has been hit by an EF-5 tornado twice. There’s even a 1 square mile section of Moore that was unlucky enough to be taken out by both tornadoes.
Turning to Photography to Help Process the Emotions
As you just saw, you go through an incredibly diverse range of emotions after a tragedy like the Moore tornado. You try to talk to friends and family, but with them all living out of state, they just don’t grasp the full extent of what not just Moore, but the entire state had just gone through.
With nowhere else to turn, I leaned on photography to help process everything. It went far beyond just taking pictures of Moore as the disaster turned into recovery and rebuilding. I looked back through all my storm chasing pictures, all of my travel pictures, and even my old sailing pictures. But it wasn’t to question everything that had gotten me to this point. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It made me realize exactly why I was doing photography and what my photography mission would be going forward.
You’re Doing More than Taking Pictures. You’re Telling a Story.
While you could easily make the argument that my pre-2013 photos told plenty of stories, the aftermath of the Moore tornado marked the first time I took photos explicitly to tell a story. Being a storyteller gives you an incredible sense of purpose and meaning. It connects you to the community and gives you a voice to not just process your own emotions, but to raise awareness and help get people around both the country and the world involved in recovery and rebuilding efforts.
To This Day, Every Piece of Content We Produce Tells a Story
Regardless of whether we’re publishing blog posts, videos, photo essays, or anything else, every piece of content Dani and I publish tells a story. Because without a story there is no purpose. And what good is purposeful travel without purpose?
Final Thoughts
As heartbreaking a tragedy as the Moore tornado was, there was so much good that came out of it, too. The strength, resiliency, and determination was second to none. The people of Oklahoma gave the world a master class in disaster response that day. In all my life, I have never seen anything close to the amount of love and support that poured into the community from around the country.
It took Moore less than a year to fully rebuild after the tornado. The city even updated its building codes to make houses, schools, and businesses more likely to stand up to strong tornadoes. But the scars still run deep. Even today, if you drive through the tornado’s path one thing really stands out: the lack of trees. It’s a subtle, but constant reminder of the city’s dark history with violent weather.
These days, I don’t return to Norman anywhere near as much as I should. But every time, even if it’s just passing through on I-35, I make sure to drive through Moore and say a quiet thank you to an incredible community that has both shaped my life’s mission and made me a much stronger, determined, and resilient citizen. And to pay respect to the 24 souls who were taken from us that fateful day. They may be gone, but they’re never forgotten.
