July 4th, 1969, started out like many other Fourth of July holidays on our stretch of the North Coast. Parents, children, and volunteer groups prepared to march in parades, made last-minute picnic preparations and coordinated with their friends as to where to meet that evening: down at Lakewood Park -- for the lakeside fireworks display.

As well, protesters across the country were preparing to express their displeasure at America's involvement in Vietnam. What had begun as a fairly non-violent exercise in peaceful protest in the mid-sixties had degenerated into an ugly, no-holds-barred confrontational situation all over the nation. Lakewood had avoided much of the ugliness that had marred these protests in other cities, but officials were understandably wary of potential civil disobedience or violence, particularly on public patriotic holidays.

Unfortunately, the entire city was certainly not expecting the type of violence that would arrive at 7:00 pm that evening. Ask anyone who lived in Lakewood on that day and you will hear tales of utter terror, mixed with many tales of sorrow and heroism.

I was with my band on Virginia Avenue. Ordinarily, my band might have been at the Lakewood Park bandshell, but we were playing the Virginia Avenue block party instead. Another band was going to play at the Lakewood Park bandshell that day. I forget why we weren't down at the bandshell; perhaps we had booked the Virginia engagement first. I do remember our playing on a front porch and stopping for a break.

It was then that the soft July breeze, cutting through the Lakewood sunshine, stopped being a breeze. In fact, it stopped altogether. In all of my life, I have never experienced such a quiet moment.

Then it started. First, a roar began that sounded like a horrible freight train coming. From my vantage point, it looked as if a solid gigantic, gray wall of water was rapidly approaching from the northwest. The band quickly started to put their equipment into the house.

And then, the "derecho" hit like a sledgehammer. The word "derecho" was coined by Dr. Gustavus Hinrichs, a physics professor at the University of Iowa, in 1888. "Derecho" is a Spanish word which can be defined as "direct" or "straight ahead" while the word "tornado" is thought by some to have been derived from the Spanish word "tornar" which means "to turn". The National Weather Service said that this North Coast disaster was the result of a line of severe thunderstorms with storm winds clocked in at 80 mph. Some said 100 mph. It was bad enough either way.

Whatever it was, Lakewood (and most of the Ohio-Erie coastline) went into an abyss of destruction that evening. Forty-two fatalites were registered in Ohio, with seven in the greater Cleveland area and several in Lakewood, including a friend of mine from high school.

In the days after the storm, trees were cut up, electricity was restored, and debris was swept away. Those of us devastated by the loss of our friends had no counselors to turn to back then. School was, after all, out for the summer. For those of us recently graduated in the class of '69, we had to grow up fast. In a few weeks, we would experience the moon landing and new stories from Vietnam would again dominate the headlines. Many of our classmates would soon be in the '"Nam" in person. Others, like yours truly, would move on to college. Still others would go on to jobs or building families.

In those weeks following the storm, I spent a lot of time with my guitar, in the basement; wondering about the meaning of life -- how could friends our age possibly be cut down? -- at the very point that their lives were beginning to blossom?

I was into Bob Dylan songs back then. One of these was "A Hard Rain's A Gonna' Fall", as sung by Joan Baez. While the song does mention tough times ahead, the last part of it is a call for action...the blue-eyed son who goes out before the rain comes, to help a weary world at the brink of the abyss. Who was supposed to be giving this help to others? In the case of my friend who had died, it was felt that she might one day have become a teacher. She was always helping others. Who was left to do the helping work in this world that needed to be done?

Well... I was a blue-eyed son...wasn't I?

That's one of the big reasons I went into teaching. Over the years, hundreds of children with special needs received help from a blue-eyed son; inspired partly by Bob, partly by Joan, and yeah, partly by my friend, and the terrible circumstances surrounding the events of July 4th, 1969.

I had the opportunity to thank Joan Baez personally (many years later) for her part in my personal spiritual epiphany. It was too late to thank my Lakewood friend. Besides, there are some things that need to be done privately -- in the depth of one's heart. I elected not to publish her name today because I did not want to intrude upon her family, wherever they may be. The old-timers here in Lakewood know who died . . . we lost several of the best and the brightest of our youth that day. We survivors had a lot to measure up to. Hopefully, most of us at least tried to do so.

So many people never know how much they have inspired others to action. Perhaps it is enough that the action takes place. That day, July 4th, 1969, changed many lives forever, here in Lakewood. The change is not only etched into the minds of those who experienced it, but also in the lives of those who were influenced by the infinite spirit of Goodness . . . the positive inspiration that grew out of a tragic event.