On March 21, 1932, a tornado hit the central part of Alabama, causing death and destruction. This one was designated as the deadliest to have hit Alabama in history. There were two that hit that week, the second being March 27. The death toll from the first one was reported as being 214. The second one brought the total deaths to over 400. The first one that hit about 6:30 PM took my Father, Mother, and five siblings, leaving the four youngest of ten children orphaned. Witnesses who saw our house when it hit said the house was taken up in the air about fifty feet, then exploded. The family was gathered in the room used as a family gathering place, and my Father uttered the last words anyone heard him speak before he was killed: “My God!! It’s a cyclone”. At that time tornadoes were called cyclones. When the house exploded, the family was scattered and the youngest girl, Velma, was blown back in the direction from which the tornado came. She was found about two lengths of a football field, and across a creek. The only garment she had on was the cuff of a sleeve from the dress she had been wearing. My Father was found some distance from where the house had stood, and the rest closer together. Only three boys and one girl, the youngest, survived. The four of us were placed in an ambulance at one time and taken to the hospital. After leaving the Vaughn Memorial Hospital, we were supposed to have been adopted by a family in Selma, Alabama. They had only wanted the youngest boy and girl, but were told they had to take all four or none. It was agreed, but later, the oldest boy was sent away, and about a year later I was sent away as well.