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Doing "What Needed to be Done." One Man's Actions Following the Joplin Tornado

In 2012, Robert Wilson received the American Red Cross Everyday Hero Award. Wilson keeps the book 32 Minutes in May: The Joplin

http://ozarkspub.vo.llnwd.net/o37/KSMU/audio/mp3/one-man-s-actions-following-joplin-tornado-i-did-what-needed-be-done_80381.mp3

Scanning the pages of a hardcover book, Robert (Bob) Wilson is recalling the memories of a late spring day, when he stops. Pointing to a man’s photo, Wilson; his eyes starting to water, quietly states, “He doesn’t know me but I know him.”

The book which Wilson is holding, 32 Minutes in May, recounts the events of the May 22, 2011 Joplin tornado. And the photo, a head shot of a smiling elderly resident of Greenbriar Nursing Home, is one of the 161 victims of the storm. But the image in Wilson’s mind is that of a man who had been impaled by debris; whom he was with in the man’s final moments.

“He was conscious, he was awake, and crying out for help. I just knelt beside him and tried to comfort him, and I stayed with him until he passed away,” Wilson said.

It’s a vivid memory for Robert Wilson, who was a crisis counselor at the Ozark Center’s Access Crisis Intervention office at 2808 South Picher the Sunday night that an EF-5 tornado ripped through the city. And while he was unable to save some, there were countless others that are alive today because of his actions in the immediate aftermath of the storm. Many would call it heroics, but Wilson says it was just “what needed to be done.”

He had what seemed like just seconds to take cover between the time the sirens sounded and the twister struck his office building. Wilson managed to avoid any major physical injuries, and was able to get through on his cellphone to his wife Julie, who was at their home in Mt. Vernon, to inform her and their three children that he was safe.

At that point, Wilson said, he went into what he called “autopilot,” and began helping anyone he could. One of the first people he noticed near his crumbled office building was a woman lying on the pavement who had been pulled from her fifth floor room at nearby St. Johns Hospital.

“She was hurt, really badly. I could tell visually that her shoulder and one arm were obviously broken. And I knelt down kind of shielding her – I didn’t want something to fall on her – and tried to scoop her up,” Wilson said.

Wilson was able to flag down a passing truck, in which he loaded the woman and some other St. Johns’ patients, directing them to Freeman Hospital.

His quest to assist others took him down 26th Street and to what remained of Greenbriar Nursing Home. “I just kinda waded in to the debris, and would stop and listen, and I would hear muffled cries and start digging,” Wilson recalled.

The people he found he carried toward the street, thinking that’s where emergency crews would best find them.

“And I did that over and over, and my family has asked, ‘How long?’” Wilson paused. “I don’t know. It seemed like time stood still.”

By one account, Wilson pulled 19 people out of the destruction at Greenbriar, five of those fatalities.

As help began to arrive on scene, Wilson loaded several into the back of an ambulance, holding one person in his arms as the vehicle made its way to Freeman Hospital.

It was at this point that Wilson started to think more about his family, and knowing that that there were now crews in the field that had the right tools to help those in need, he returned to his crumbled office building, where the EF-5 had struck at roughly 5:45 p.m.

An undetermined amount of time had now passed, but it was well after dark, and Wilson was cold and wet. Then amid the wreckage emerged his wife, Julie, and what Wilson called his autopilot mode that had guided him the past several hours was turned off.

“That was the moment when it kind of all came flooding in, that I’m gonna live, I’m gonna be OK.”

I’m standing near 2808 South Picher Avenue, the site of the former Crisis Intervention Center office where Wilson worked. It’s a place where the now 45-year-old husband and father of three has returned from time to time, to retrace his steps, and trigger visual cues from that day. Wilson says it helps him understand how real those moments were, and appreciate the things he has to live for today.

Having undergone counseling in the months following the storm, Wilson admits that he doesn’t do well in cases of severe weather. He grew up in Tornado Alley, and used to be the person who went out on the front porch as the sirens were sounding to get a peek. But not these days.

“I’ve heard the horns 100 times. And 99 times, it was nowhere near where I was. But that one time, it was right where I was. And I did not have time to do anything.”

As so many experts advise, Wilson encourages people to make a plan now, before the next storm hits, so you know where to go when the sirens sound.

“You can always see it on TV tomorrow. If it’s where you are, you don’t have time to do anything else but find a safe place.”

As we approach the 3-year anniversary of the May 22, 2011 tornado, Wilson says his bad dreams about that day are not nearly as vivid, and he’s become more open to discussing his memories, so long as it helps others in the future. The storm, Wilson says, has changed him fundamentally as a person, and he no longer takes things for granted.

“Today, I take the two seconds that it takes to say ‘Thank you. I appreciate that. I love you.’ Those simple things in life. Because you never know what the day holds.”

Wilson says in the weeks and months following the storm he tried to follow up to learn more about the victims he came across. But privacy laws, he said, stood in his way from learning if these people lived, and who their families are.

“That was really hard there. I craved a sense of closure. It would have been nice to meet their families and say, ‘They didn’t die alone and afraid.’”

Today, he’s found his closure. It comes from the support of his family, and a book: 32 minutes in May: The Joplin Tornado, which he’ll consult now and again to reconnect with the faces he encountered that day. It also serves as a reminder to live life to its fullest.

“Not every single day is a standout day – one of those that you mark on the calendar or one of those that you will remember for the rest of your life – but every day you have the potential to impact someone in a positive way. And that’s always worth it.”