The day broke with a clear, clean sun over the Great Plains, a blue-skied morning the likes of which hadn't been seen in months. Farm families in northwestern Kansas shook off their dust blues and looked forward to a day of life the way it used to be, back when people weren't afraid to visit neighbors or go to 4-H meetings for fear of getting caught in a dust storm. Many people packed into the white clapboard churches scattered along the countryside. Others decided to celebrate Palm Sunday by going for rides in their automobiles; still others saw the break in the weather as a chance to catch up on chores they didn't dare attempt when the dust was flying. On a farm 17 miles northeast of Dodge City, Kan., Harley "Doc" Holladay's mother worked away on the rugs and upholstered chairs that had been moved onto the lawn. She had already hung laundry on the line, for once confident that it wouldn't come back into the house dirtier than when it left. Inside homes the dust was almost as bad. Women like Mrs. Holladay had learned to knead bread dough inside drawers opened just wide enough for two hands, to stir pots quickly and above all, to keep all water you didn't want turning into red mud inside sealed Mason jars. But on this day hope was in the air. Thirteen-year-old Harley went down to the horse pond to skip stones. In Dodge City Art Leonard returned from church with his family. Neighbors and friends congregated in the Leonards' living room making small talk, a luxury these days. Art could stay only a little while before he had to leave for work in his father's tire store. During the Depression most families could not afford a day of rest. By noon the mercury had climbed to 90 degrees, the hottest day of the year so far. Suddenly the temperature began to fall, as much as 50 degrees in a few hours. Chattering birds gathered in yards and along roadways, hundreds of them fluttering nervously. No one knew what was making the birds so anxious. Soon they would.