Down at the schoolhouse, visitors organized an intricate system for keeping ash out of the building - a chain of vacuum cleaners people used to clean themselves off leading directly to the showers. Gross finally closed his restaurant at 1 a.m. and drove home. The ashen rain had lightened somewhat, leaving a blanket 4 inches deep, everywhere. Ritzville looked like a town at the bottom of the ocean. 350 tons per acre Monday morning broke bright and clear, the ash cloud having moved on to blanket Spokane, Pullman, Missoula and beyond.
Folks remember an uncommon silence - no birds, no crickets, no wind.
Ritzville farmers peered across fields of young wheat and saw a catastrophe - rows of paintbrush heads jutting from a sea of gray. With the unexpected guests taken care of, Ritzville got down to business. The ash was, after all, pulverized rock. Based on the weight of accumulated ash on a truck scale on the edge of town, officials calculated the stuff weighed 350 tons per acre. Enough to collapse roofs.