They’re going fast now – those old-timers who remember the tornado of  September, 1927.  Soon it’ll be the 83rd anniversary, and only a dwindling few will be able to look back over the years to the lunch hour that was shattered by a catastrophe, changing our town forevermore into the City that Was.  Some people were brought to a state of complete destitution.  Nevertheless, those forebears were cocky and there was a sign posted over the ruins reading, “Eat, drink and be merry. Tomorrow you may have to go to Alton.”  As the pall hung over the ruined buildings, people were determined to build a finer city and perhaps they did.  For the columnist, there remains an irresistible and neurotic fascination about that era of a city and the people who lived through the tornado. Everybody seemed to know each other. A rag dealer, Irv Susman, never lived to see his son, Louis Susman, become Ambassador to the United Kingdom.  Under the roof of the old Meadowbrook C.C., a pioneer Ponzi schemer milked investors for a proposed chain of loan shark operations. The vulnerable club members never saw a return on their money. The shylock’s daughter lives, masquerading as a matriarchal do-gooder. (More about this in a later column.) Black-bottom and Charleston dancers prevailed at Trimps and Arcadia.  The finest breads were turned out by Freund.  The best coffee in town was served at Thompson’s cafeterias and Spanish buns were house speciaties at Dorr & Zeller catering company.  Few missed laps around the swimming pools at Lorelai or Down’s.  The best Chinese cuisine was served at the Canton Tea Garden.  Discriminating shoppers bought groceries at Conrad’s, Miller’s or at Moll’s.  Those stores were precursors to today’s Provisions in west St. Louis county – on the brink of closing due to inability to come to grips on a new lease.  With zest, Joe Garavelli served diners at his cafeteria and Cafferata’s was the leading eatery for the midtown lunch crowd. In a few years, the last person who knew details about the tornado will be gone, leaving the rest of us haunted to our dying day with questions no one can answer.