First, the prelude:
On June 7, 1953, an area of high pressure formed over most of the United States. This high-pressure air mass collided with a low-pressure mass that was centered over Nebraska, which created favorable conditions for severe thunderstorm development.
That from a historical meteorological account for that day found on-line.
No one in New England, not even meterologists, necessarily saw this far-off weather development as a threat to their region. But soon, the same historical account tells us knowledgeable people saw those meterological developments favorable to formation of a tornado. In Nebraska, that would not be unusual, especially in the summer.
But weather-watchers in Michigan might not have seen much to immediately fear in the forecast. The risk of tornadoes in Michigan is seen as minimal — not nearlyi so vulnerable as the prarie and the plains. But out of that weather system came a catergorized F5 tornado, the most severe, that slammed into Flint, Michigan the following day, June 8. It killed 116 and injured 844. It was the last tornado to date to end in more than 100 fatalities. It w as the worst natural disaster in 20th Century Michigan history. A total of eight tornadoes were reported in Michigan that day, the one in Flint being only the most deadlyi and devastating. There were other scattered tornadoes that day throughout Ohio as well.
I don’t know how much people in Massachusetts were paying attention to that disastrous weather news.
There was 90 degree weather in Worcester on June 7, 1953, then on June 8, the temperature dropped to 74 degrees. A warm air mass from the south moved up….The Flint, Michigan weather system was limping, apparently far from exhausted.
This whole combined weather system had severe characteristics known even to forecaster in 1953 to be dangerous. They lacked the kind of warning system we have today. But we now know that state meteorologists and other climate experts had put their heads together and considered issuing a a tornado warning. Apparently the decision was made not to overly alarm the public. After all, tornadoes in New England were extremely rare — sort of on the order of earthquakes.
It is 4:37 p.m., June 9, 2023. It’s estimated that at 4:25 p.m., seventy years ago from this very hour, winds began to swirl violently in an open field in Petersham, Mass out west of Worcester. They dug and left behind a visible trench. Those winds quickly comined into a giant roaring twister and began a deadly, destructive march through the towns of Barre and Holden, into Worcester, Shrewsbury, Southboro, Westboro. The cloud may have split apart at that point, one portion dipping south, but the remnant that continued east made it to the Fayville section of Framingham where air raid sirens were sounding and two people were killed in a post office along Route 9.
Then it was over. There had been light-bulb-sized hail, powerful winds, and now there was a trail of ruins.
In all 94 people were killed in the whole terrifying 84 minute episode.
I just recall, at age 6, being at the front door of my house many miles away in Boston’s Dorchester neighorhood as my brother Bill got out of a car, arriving home from his high school graduation outing. He was just feet away, the skies overhead were overcast and unstable and there was an ominous silence. The split second Bill briefly disappeared from view behind the thick trunk of a catalpa tree by our five-foot walkway, I was startled by something I was experiencing for the first time in my life — a crash of thunder unpreceded by any rumbling warning. Just –Bang!! Terrifyingly loud and close. Bill emerged from behind the tree having ducked slightly. My mother had reacted to the thunder with a little scream…
Then came the radio reports… Worcester, the city where my mother had lived and attended high school, had been struck by, of all things, tornado.
There are still people alive who remember. They’d have been children, like me, or teenagers, and be very old. I’ve spoken with many of them in many states, including North Carolina and Florida. They remember the destrucition. Like my memory of the mere turbulance at the far edge of the system, they could never forget the terror or the sudden altaration of their lives and the long aftermath. It swamped their memories as no violent weather event, thank God, has ever engulfed me.
It happened today. I’m remembering the dead. I’m always watching the skies.
19 Cent Notebook 