The weather on May 22, 2011, was bright and cloudless in Joplin, Mo., ideal for a high school graduation. C.J. Huff, the superintendent of schools, had gotten to his office at 5:30 in the morning to put the finishing touches on his speech. That afternoon, the ceremony proceeded on a disciplined schedule, the way Huff liked it. He recalls walking out into the sunlight afterward, feeling relieved that graduation had gone smoothly.
In the parking lot, he heard a storm siren wailing. As he drove home, a meteorologist on the radio mentioned severe weather. But the sun was still above him. When he turned into his subdivision, though, he noticed something out of the ordinary, even physics-defying: A tree in the right of his field of view snapped in half, and the top part lifted away from the lower trunk and began to float in the air, like a leaf.
He suddenly realized that a violent wind was rocking his car from the left. Just as he did, he felt the wind shift in the opposite direction. His windshield filled with grass and dirt.
