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All You Can Do Is Pray
This book is the story of the generational tornado outbreak of April 25-28, 2011. More than 300 people were killed and hundreds more were injured by a total of 362 tornadoes.
The tornado outbreak affected almost a third of the nation over its 4-day span. The system had significant effects on Arkansas, Louisiana, Georgia, Tennessee, Virginia, Mississippi, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Ohio, Texas, and Oklahoma. But, the hardest hit state was Alabama. On April 27, a total of 252 people lost their life in that one state alone.
James Spann, who has worked as a broadcast meteorologist since 1978 (almost all of those years in Alabama), was in the middle of it. He was on the air that day for more than 15 continuous hours on Birmingham's ABC TV affiliate. This day in American history is etched in his soul, and he felt led to write this book.
Learn the science behind the event and the impact it brought. Not only an "inside baseball" look at the day, but stories of real people, some who were tragically killed, and others who survived bullets from hell, as well as stunning photos taken during the outbreak and in the days that followed.
The tornado outbreak affected almost a third of the nation over its 4-day span. The system had significant effects on Arkansas, Louisiana, Georgia, Tennessee, Virginia, Mississippi, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Ohio, Texas, and Oklahoma. But, the hardest hit state was Alabama. On April 27, a total of 252 people lost their life in that one state alone.
James Spann, who has worked as a broadcast meteorologist since 1978 (almost all of those years in Alabama), was in the middle of it. He was on the air that day for more than 15 continuous hours on Birmingham's ABC TV affiliate. This day in American history is etched in his soul, and he felt led to write this book.
Learn the science behind the event and the impact it brought. Not only an "inside baseball" look at the day, but stories of real people, some who were tragically killed, and others who survived bullets from hell, as well as stunning photos taken during the outbreak and in the days that followed.
- GenresNonfiction
218 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2021
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
May 22, 2021
James Spann is as much an Alabama institution as the Tide, Tigers, Dreamland, the USS Alabama, white sauce on smoked chicken, fried green tomatoes, and going to church on Sunday. He is very nearly more Alabama than the Emerald Coast and Redneck Riviera! He repeats, numerous times, that he is a scientist, not a writer, but more than once, this book brought me to tears. I won't attempt to tell these stories. It's not my job. It's his, to an extent. And he'll probably spend the rest of his life doing it, in between keeping all of the rest of safe. As I write this, it's been just three weeks since I was personally in the polygon as an EF-1 plowed down the main road in my little burb, about a mile north of our house. No one was hurt and there were only a few displaced shingles-- not even removed, just lifted a little. And we were all safe, because James Spann was on the air for hour after hour, calling out suburbs, intersections, and which Dollar General or Bojangles was going to get it next. What takes him to the absolute next-level American treasure is that, during that day of storms, he took a call, on air, from his wife, letting him know their home had been hit, but that she was fine. He did not miss a single beat. It's an Alabama cliche that knowing how James Spann is dressed (full suit coat versus no coat versus sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned) can mean the difference between life and death. Like all cliches, it's so very true.
So I'll tell my story of April 27, 2011.
I woke that morning to the small but real cries of my newborn. She was in the bassinet next to me at St. Vincent's Hospital in downtown Birmingham. I was bleary from lack of sleep, but still high on having birthed my first beautiful, healthy daughter. I collected her and had just put her to the breast when the sirens went off. The sky I could see was gray, but it didn't seem to indicate imminent danger. A few minutes later, just as I finally got her latched, a nurse bustled into the room and said, "Sirens, honey. You all need to be in the hallway." I held my baby while she moved the room's rocking chair out into the hallway of the 3rd floor. Other families were there with their babes and bassinets-- moms in thick robes and messy hair. Dads half dressed and half awake. I had sent my husband home the night before so that at least one of us would have gotten some rest. We were, after all, going home.
The morning proceeded normally enough-- nursing, changing, packing, nursing, changing-- except that the shift change that should have happened at 7:00 a.m. didn't happen. And it didn't at 8:00. And it didn't at 9:00. We found out later that many of the nurses expected on shift had been at or near the site of the Cahaba Hills F2 and, like they were trained to do, stopped to render aid. You can still see a path there, right off Highway 280, where the tornado did the most damage.
We were finally discharged at 11:00 a.m. and drove home, first time parents desperately paranoid at the insanity of I20-59, while the sunny weather heated the atmosphere. We didn't know about Cahaba Heights. We had no idea Cullman had been destroyed. And we really didn't stop to consider what the afternoon might have in store.
We got home and got settled in and, in between cooking and cleaning, my mother, who was with us to help for a few days, had been watching the news.
Record scratch flash back: in early May, 1977, in Ft. Dodge, Iowa, my mother had a 5-month old daughter: me. At around 6:00 one evening, she was home, feeding me dinner, preparing to get me bathed and put down, so that she could turn her attention to my father, who was downtown with friends. The story, as told to me, is that she heard the sirens, picked me up, and headed downstairs into the basement of their newly built ranch home on the north side of the town. She sat, under the stairs, laid me in the cradle of her lap and pulled a mattress over both of us. Minutes later, a tornado landed on the house. The roof went up and away. The outside walls went out and down. And everything else fell into the basement, except for the staircase. The tornado continued to skip through town, causing serious devastation. The neighbor came over and looked into the pit of the house and began screaming my mother's name. My mom could hear him and was doing her best to call out, but couldn't be heard up through all the debris. I was, helpfully, screaming by baby head off, but again, debris. When my father arrived home, the neighbor delivered the bad news-- we were gone. My father tore down the stairs and found us: alive, well, and unharmed. It wasn't the last tornado we endured, in Iowa or in Tennessee. I eventually moved to Alabama, where I also learned how to endure hurricanes.
Back to April 27, 2011. Mom had been cooking, cleaning, and watching the news. She was a little on the shell-shocked side to see what had become of Cullman, although she had no connection to the little town (home, by the way, of the famous Alabama White Sauce-- let's hear it for Big Bob Gibson). As the afternoon wore on, she split her time between watching me care for her granddaughter and watching James Spann. At mid-afternoon, the EF-5 that would demolish Tuscaloosa spun up. We watched it. We watched James Spann tell Birmingham to get ready. We watched a mile wide EF-5 plow up I-59, aimed right at us, the farthest suburb East of Birmingham, at that time. And as the predictions grew more dire, we took action. James Spann kept broadcasting, right down to telling everybody to get their MeeMaw right now and get underground or into any concrete building. My husband started pulling everything out of our hall close (conveniently built under the stairs) and my mom, all 5'2" of her, stood in front of our TV and prayed, louder than I've ever heard her pray, in English and in tongues, to break the generational curse of tornados. I remember, "End this now, in Jesus's name!" and "You tried to take us and the Lord wouldn't let you! You will not take her or her baby today!" And we lived to tell the tale. The storm finally let up a couple zip codes west.
And, like James Spann writes in All You Can Do Is Pray we were international news for two days. We had the whole world looking at us and much of the deep South affirming that no one would forget about Birmingham they way they'd forgotten flooded Nashville just a year before. But two days later, a royal wedding turned all eyes to England. A few days after that a good friend visited to meet the baby. She'd spent hours in her basement in Tuscaloosa-- her family and her home intact-- but the following days were spent doing anything she could to help out the destruction around her. She cried to let it out. I cried because hormone bomb. We sat and cried and she finally laughed for the first time in a week when I was wringing my hands over baby bowel movements and she pulled back a diaper to reveal one.
I celebrated that baby's 10th birthday the same day I ordered this book. There were no major memorial, except a few long form blog posts and some short news segments. But two days after we celebrate a birthday, we remember what has simply come to be called, "Tornado Day." The closet is ready to go. The NOAA weather radio is plugged in and has battery backup. May we never have another Tornado Day ever, ever again.
So I'll tell my story of April 27, 2011.
I woke that morning to the small but real cries of my newborn. She was in the bassinet next to me at St. Vincent's Hospital in downtown Birmingham. I was bleary from lack of sleep, but still high on having birthed my first beautiful, healthy daughter. I collected her and had just put her to the breast when the sirens went off. The sky I could see was gray, but it didn't seem to indicate imminent danger. A few minutes later, just as I finally got her latched, a nurse bustled into the room and said, "Sirens, honey. You all need to be in the hallway." I held my baby while she moved the room's rocking chair out into the hallway of the 3rd floor. Other families were there with their babes and bassinets-- moms in thick robes and messy hair. Dads half dressed and half awake. I had sent my husband home the night before so that at least one of us would have gotten some rest. We were, after all, going home.
The morning proceeded normally enough-- nursing, changing, packing, nursing, changing-- except that the shift change that should have happened at 7:00 a.m. didn't happen. And it didn't at 8:00. And it didn't at 9:00. We found out later that many of the nurses expected on shift had been at or near the site of the Cahaba Hills F2 and, like they were trained to do, stopped to render aid. You can still see a path there, right off Highway 280, where the tornado did the most damage.
We were finally discharged at 11:00 a.m. and drove home, first time parents desperately paranoid at the insanity of I20-59, while the sunny weather heated the atmosphere. We didn't know about Cahaba Heights. We had no idea Cullman had been destroyed. And we really didn't stop to consider what the afternoon might have in store.
We got home and got settled in and, in between cooking and cleaning, my mother, who was with us to help for a few days, had been watching the news.
Record scratch flash back: in early May, 1977, in Ft. Dodge, Iowa, my mother had a 5-month old daughter: me. At around 6:00 one evening, she was home, feeding me dinner, preparing to get me bathed and put down, so that she could turn her attention to my father, who was downtown with friends. The story, as told to me, is that she heard the sirens, picked me up, and headed downstairs into the basement of their newly built ranch home on the north side of the town. She sat, under the stairs, laid me in the cradle of her lap and pulled a mattress over both of us. Minutes later, a tornado landed on the house. The roof went up and away. The outside walls went out and down. And everything else fell into the basement, except for the staircase. The tornado continued to skip through town, causing serious devastation. The neighbor came over and looked into the pit of the house and began screaming my mother's name. My mom could hear him and was doing her best to call out, but couldn't be heard up through all the debris. I was, helpfully, screaming by baby head off, but again, debris. When my father arrived home, the neighbor delivered the bad news-- we were gone. My father tore down the stairs and found us: alive, well, and unharmed. It wasn't the last tornado we endured, in Iowa or in Tennessee. I eventually moved to Alabama, where I also learned how to endure hurricanes.
Back to April 27, 2011. Mom had been cooking, cleaning, and watching the news. She was a little on the shell-shocked side to see what had become of Cullman, although she had no connection to the little town (home, by the way, of the famous Alabama White Sauce-- let's hear it for Big Bob Gibson). As the afternoon wore on, she split her time between watching me care for her granddaughter and watching James Spann. At mid-afternoon, the EF-5 that would demolish Tuscaloosa spun up. We watched it. We watched James Spann tell Birmingham to get ready. We watched a mile wide EF-5 plow up I-59, aimed right at us, the farthest suburb East of Birmingham, at that time. And as the predictions grew more dire, we took action. James Spann kept broadcasting, right down to telling everybody to get their MeeMaw right now and get underground or into any concrete building. My husband started pulling everything out of our hall close (conveniently built under the stairs) and my mom, all 5'2" of her, stood in front of our TV and prayed, louder than I've ever heard her pray, in English and in tongues, to break the generational curse of tornados. I remember, "End this now, in Jesus's name!" and "You tried to take us and the Lord wouldn't let you! You will not take her or her baby today!" And we lived to tell the tale. The storm finally let up a couple zip codes west.
And, like James Spann writes in All You Can Do Is Pray we were international news for two days. We had the whole world looking at us and much of the deep South affirming that no one would forget about Birmingham they way they'd forgotten flooded Nashville just a year before. But two days later, a royal wedding turned all eyes to England. A few days after that a good friend visited to meet the baby. She'd spent hours in her basement in Tuscaloosa-- her family and her home intact-- but the following days were spent doing anything she could to help out the destruction around her. She cried to let it out. I cried because hormone bomb. We sat and cried and she finally laughed for the first time in a week when I was wringing my hands over baby bowel movements and she pulled back a diaper to reveal one.
I celebrated that baby's 10th birthday the same day I ordered this book. There were no major memorial, except a few long form blog posts and some short news segments. But two days after we celebrate a birthday, we remember what has simply come to be called, "Tornado Day." The closet is ready to go. The NOAA weather radio is plugged in and has battery backup. May we never have another Tornado Day ever, ever again.
September 8, 2022
I cannot even put into words how amazing this book is. If you live in Alabama, you remember the April 27, 2011 storms. You need to read this. Even if you have no idea what I’m talking about but enjoy reading about natural disasters and the destruction it causes to communities and families. Read this. This is an amazing book! I will probably read this book once a year, especially as it becomes time for “tornado season.”
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January 2, 2023Emotional read ...
September 14, 2021
Had to put down several times, but had to finish.
October 25, 2024
So, I just finished reading “All You Can Do Is Pray” by James Spann. I still remember April 27, 2011, like it was yesterday. However, in reading this book, I’m reminded of just how proud I was, and am, to be an Alabamian. The people of this state came together in the hours, days, weeks, and months following this outbreak. People helping one another, regardless of race, religion, politics, choice of football team. It truly brings to light how God can work through a tragedy.
I also remember how it felt to go through a storm of similar magnitude. Our family was home on December 16, 2000, when an EF-4 ripped through southern Tuscaloosa county, destroying the home we lived in. My sister and I, along with our parents took shelter in the shower in my parents bathroom. Their shower was a separate walk-in shower. My sister and I had bruises on our arms where our parents were holding onto us so tightly.
I remember James Spann’s knowledge of the geography of the state that allows him to do accurately describe the storms location and direction of travel is what got our attention in the first place. He called out the ”new Winn Dixie” on 69 South and my mom knew. My dad was asleep because he had worked out of a midnight shift at BF Goodrich that morning. I remember my parents had a towel hanging over the semi-circular window above their vanity to block out the light so my dad could sleep during the day. I remember when dad came into the shower after looking out the window and seeing the tornado.
Now, in reading this book, I’m also reminded of just how lucky we are to have a meteorologist like James Spann. One who cares so deeply for every person who lives in our state. One who God uses to save countless lives each year. One who goes under appreciated because of some haters and trolls who sit behind keyboards and actually know nothing about what James does.
If you live in Alabama, I would highly recommend reading this book. It will give you insight into just how blessed we are to have people like James Spann.
I also remember how it felt to go through a storm of similar magnitude. Our family was home on December 16, 2000, when an EF-4 ripped through southern Tuscaloosa county, destroying the home we lived in. My sister and I, along with our parents took shelter in the shower in my parents bathroom. Their shower was a separate walk-in shower. My sister and I had bruises on our arms where our parents were holding onto us so tightly.
I remember James Spann’s knowledge of the geography of the state that allows him to do accurately describe the storms location and direction of travel is what got our attention in the first place. He called out the ”new Winn Dixie” on 69 South and my mom knew. My dad was asleep because he had worked out of a midnight shift at BF Goodrich that morning. I remember my parents had a towel hanging over the semi-circular window above their vanity to block out the light so my dad could sleep during the day. I remember when dad came into the shower after looking out the window and seeing the tornado.
Now, in reading this book, I’m also reminded of just how lucky we are to have a meteorologist like James Spann. One who cares so deeply for every person who lives in our state. One who God uses to save countless lives each year. One who goes under appreciated because of some haters and trolls who sit behind keyboards and actually know nothing about what James does.
If you live in Alabama, I would highly recommend reading this book. It will give you insight into just how blessed we are to have people like James Spann.
February 12, 2023
Having lived though the events detailed in this book, vividly recalling the events unfolding around me and watching the live TV coverage, driving through areas I had know for most of my life and being unable to recognize them due to the damage -- this book had me in tears at times.
The events of this extraordinary day and some of the stories of those who were directly impacted were told. There was also reflection on what we can learn and improve as we move forward with storm warnings and preparation / response in the future. Having listened to James Spann for years, there wasn't really "new" information for me but this book was more a respectful remembrance of the events, those who were lost, those injured, and the heroes that emerged. This day changed much of west central Alabama.
There are still scars and areas that you can visit and see are not fully recovered today. James Spann may question if he "did enough" or "did things the best way" but there is no doubt that over the years he has helped save countless lives. We feel blessed to have his knowledge and experience during our severe weather!
The events of this extraordinary day and some of the stories of those who were directly impacted were told. There was also reflection on what we can learn and improve as we move forward with storm warnings and preparation / response in the future. Having listened to James Spann for years, there wasn't really "new" information for me but this book was more a respectful remembrance of the events, those who were lost, those injured, and the heroes that emerged. This day changed much of west central Alabama.
There are still scars and areas that you can visit and see are not fully recovered today. James Spann may question if he "did enough" or "did things the best way" but there is no doubt that over the years he has helped save countless lives. We feel blessed to have his knowledge and experience during our severe weather!
June 7, 2025
This is a hauntingly beautiful book regarding the 2011 Super Outbreak, specifically April 27, through the eyes of James Spann, who was right in the thick of the storms while Alabama was being hammered by tornadoes. I recommend this book to anyone who wants to read his side of the story of that fateful day.
December 24, 2025
As someone who has only ever heard about the April 27, 2011 storms through word of mouth almost 15 years later, this is an incredibly powerful and tragic book that teaches a very important message: take storms seriously. It might not happen to you, but you don't want to be caught exposed the one time it does.
June 5, 2023
What a great book about the tornadoes that happened on April 27, 2011. I do not think I will ever forget that day. James does a great job explaining the days leading up to that day. The personal stories that are shared in the book will make you shed a tear. So thankful such a Christian weather man.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews