The Tornados of 74’. I was about 8 years old maybe in the 4th grade. I remember being pulled out of bed at about 2 am in the morning. Tossed in the bathtub, and I was scared as Hell, but so was everybody else. The tornado went just north and south of us. I Remember going back to Mars Hill elementary school and seeing all the uprooted trees and debris that was left out the back of our school. It was amazing. So, now when the clouds get just right and the humidity is too much to bare, I can see the tornados coming and there brewing in the air. And It did sound just like a damn train!!! ALLEN ! }

The rest of this is by Pat Hood. Good read and every damn word is true!!!!
This first paragraph is about the two cities Gwinn, Alabama.
Somewhere in Alabama, there are two towns with the same name. The neighboring communities were at war with each other and each bitterly claimed the right to the name. It was not a particularly fancy or memorable name, but maybe it was a matter of pride. At any rate, they sued each other and counter sued and each issued official proclamations condemning the other. It seemed like they were about to fight it out in the streets when someone suggested they both keep the name but one add a dash to the middle of the word to differentiate. Finally there was peace, but it was short-lived. In the spring of 1974, a tornado went through both towns leaving death and destruction in its path. The April Twister virtually wiped both towns off the map. Survivors from both communities set up shelters and opened up their homes to each other. The same tornadoes hit my hometown that night. One of the tornadoes blew the roof off of my elementary school and a bunch of houses in my Grandmother’s neighborhood. Out at my Great Uncle’s farm, dozens of trees were uprooted, leaving a tangled jungle of oaks and elms. In the imaginations of my cousin and me, it became a war zone for our make-believe armies. I was about nine and Walking Tall was playing at one of the only movie theatres in town. Sometimes we’d play a game based on that movie, too. Tommy was bigger than me, so he always got to be Buford Pusser, the mythical redneck sheriff who carried a big hickory stick and busted up the stills in nearby McNairy County. We both drove go-carts through the hills and fields and through paths my Great Uncle cut for us in the wooded lot. Even then, I kind of liked the idea of playing the outlaw. My family’s farm is located in the McGee Towncommunity, less than a mile from the farm where Sam Phillips grew up. In the fifties, Sam Phillips discovered young Carl Perkins and produced his landmark hit “Blue Suede Shoes.” Sam had told all of his acts that the first one to hit number one would get a brand new Cadillac. Everyone probably expected Elvis to win that Cadillac, but Perkins got there first. The Cadillac was then charged back to him against his royalties. Welcome to the Music Industry. At least Perkins actually got to own the Cadillac he paid for. Around the same time as the tornado, Cooley’s father took him to see Carl Perkins play at the Hayloft Opry in downtown Tuscumbia. Young Cooley had his mind blown by the show he saw. This was the show that first turned him on to the power of Rock and Roll. A few years later, Brad’s parents were in Memphis on business when they saw the ambulance pull out of Graceland. They were just there by chance. Out of curiosity they walked up the drive and saw one of Rock and Roll’s saddest chapters play out. Their home movies have footage of the flowers of mourning at the Graceland gate. A few years later, Jason and Shonna were each born into proud, hard-working families with rich musical backgrounds. They both grew up (10 or so miles apart) listening to Johnny Cash and bluegrass. Jason used to raid his Daddy’s record collection, listening to the ‘70s arena rock that had been such a part of his fleeting youth. Later, Jason moved to Memphis (as had Cooley and I a few years earlier). Shonna, who grew up in Killen, stayed in the Shoals area, where she became a very respected member of that area’s long musical tradition. She and Jason played in various bands together until we “borrowed” him a couple of years back….. Such is how things are down here. Welcome to The Mythological South. Some of the stories we’re telling here happened some time ago. Many are set in the mid-seventies and early-eighties. Don’t really matter when or even if it happened. A couple of stories come from folklore of nearly a century ago. Some of it happened last night. Perhaps you heard the commotion. The newspaper might have told part of the story. Some of it we totally made up. It’s only true if you believe it. It’s only a lie if you don’t. You might have seen it happen, or perhaps you weren’t really looking. Maybe it’s someone you once knew, wherever you’re from. The South is a geographically beautiful region. Big rivers cut through red clay hills, green grass and shady trees. At least it was that way before they strip-mined and strip-malled us into bland suburbia and conformist complacency. Our factories are all shutting down and our farms are being replaced with poultry plants. Hell, even our small towns have sprawl. In some cases, the sprawl predates the town. Many of the hard times being sung about in these songs have been replaced by even harder times. Sam’s Club has got baloney in them big ol’ sticks and we got free samples out the ass but our small downtowns and court house squares are being boarded up and torn down. Welcome to The Dirty South. It’s a tough place to make a living, but we ain’t complainin’, just doing what we got to do. Trying to raise our kids and love our women. Do right by the ones we love. But don’t fuck with us or we’ll cut off your head and throw your body over a spillway at the Wilson Dam. We’ll burn your house down. We mean business and it ain’t personal. Hell, I always liked ya. I might not want to get my hands dirty, but I got this buddy… In the end, I’ll continue loving my family. I’ll try not to fuck up too bad. Maybe I’ll live to tell the tale.
Turn it up to 10 and rip off the knob. – Patterson Hood