|
 I
was working at the ice and fuel oil company
with my father at the time and going to
night school, working on getting an A.A.
degree in accounting. I was just 18 and I
enjoyed the check more than college, so I
was a full-time employee and a part-time
student.
The day before the great snow was a
perfect day, hitting 60 degrees. The
warnings that day, however, told of a cold
front with a decent 4-inch snow headed our
way the next day.
Boy, did the weather forecasters call
that one wrong.
I worked the 7-3:30 shift with my dad,
and when the snow started, it was obvious
that it was going to be a big one. Thick and
fast, it took no time at all for the snow to
defeat the warmer surfaces and start piling
up. In just a few hours we had already
surpassed the amount in the forecast, and if
anything, it was coming down heavier. By end
of shift it was obvious tomorrow was going
to be a rough day to get to work. I also
knew dad always got to work, which meant I
would as well -- no matter how much snow was
dropped on us.
The drive home that afternoon was a
little chewy, but we were able to make it
with just a few harrowing experiences as
cars started getting stuck right in the
middle of the streets. There was about a
foot of snow by then, and it was coming down
in a blindingly heavy amount that later
would be reported at 3 or 4 inches an hour.
I remember dad pulling the car into a
drift in front of the house and telling me
we would have to take public transportation
tomorrow.
The reason for the storm being so much
more than the forecast was that winds had
changed and started to swirl off Lake
Michigan, causing the storm to stop dead in
its tracks right over the city, and it just
snowed and snowed well into the night.
The next morning dad woke me about 5,
telling me we had to get going as he wasn't
sure there would be any buses running. Since
the nightly news had shown even downtown
streets filled with abandoned cars and
buses, I knew he was right. I also knew it
was five miles to work.
It was truly preposterous walking in this
snow, which officially came in at 24 inches
but, as always, was well short of a real
total. Even in the streets we were up to our
knees and there were drifts as tall as I.
The plows could do little, as everywhere
there were vehicles abandoned that prevented
pushing the snow off the streets. I noticed
hundreds of cars just plowed in as snowplows
tried to open at least the center of the
streets.
We did catch one break, as out of nowhere
a bus jammed with people came by and we were
able to ride about halfway to work before we
needed to go in another direction. The bus
was filled beyond capacity, and as my dad
struggled to get up to the bus driver to
pay, the driver just waved dad off and said
to forget about paying the 25 cents.
When we got off we still had about three
miles to go and walking was a chore. It took
about another two hours to get to work, and
it was a strange journey to say the least.
Due to the winds, nature played many tricks
on the inhabitants of Chicago. In one spot
maybe only 4 or 5 inches were on the ground.
Another spot, where something acted as a
windbreak, there was snow as high as my
head.
All along the streets were cars. There
were cars in the middle of the street. There
were cars half off to the side, and others
were buried at the curb to the point that
the make and model was impossible to tell.
My dad continued to say how dumb those
people were to try to drive in these
conditions, and they deserved having their
cars stuck. I remember a few times thinking
of saying they were as dumb as we were going
to work when the whole city had in fact
stopped and bowed to nature. But I didn't.
Dad was my teacher. He taught me through his
actions rather than words how to handle
obligations, and I sensed that this lesson
was going to be one of the most important
and memorable in my life.
When we arrived at the plant, a part of
the yard was only about a foot deep in snow.
The other side, the side that would need to
be opened for the fuel oil trucks, was a
wall of snow taller than I by several feet.
The two factories within 30 feet of each
other had created a trough that allowed snow
to blow in but not blow back out, and as we
looked, dad showed me a horizontal piece of
wood about 30 feet down the alley. "That's
the top of the door," he remarked.
We went into the factory through the
office area, with almost no snow around it,
and walked through the ice plant. I laughed
as I told my dad we could warm up in the
plant since it was only 28 degrees with no
wind.
When we got to the door in the alley and
I opened it up, it was just like in one of
those comedy movies. Snow actually filled
the entire doorway, and dad and I had to
laugh at our predicament.
Only we two and four men from the night
shift who couldn't get home were on hand to
try to clear the 300-foot alley of snow so
that the heating oil trucks could get out
and deliver their much-needed fuel. But
there was nowhere to put the snow. Besides,
the big end loader was buried in a drift at
the other end of the alley.
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My dad was always the thinker, and he
came up with an idea that went straight into
company legend.
Ice back then came in 400-pound blocks
that were cut into chunks and then into
slabs and then into cubes, using hot water
running through beryllium rods. That meant
that we had several huge water boilers to
make sure the tubes never went cold and
stopped the cutting process.
Dad had us find all the hose we could in
the factory, and there was a lot, as we used
hoses to wash the trucks. It was quicker to
walk the truck line than drive each truck up
to a spot for a scrubbing down, so we had
tons of rubber hose.
My dad put a piece of conduit into the
ends of two separate hoses and then
flattened the ends with a hammer to make
them like a power sprayer.
That was the plan. There were two sewer
grates in the alley and we were going to
melt the snow down the middle till we found
the grates. Then we would branch out and
start working on melting all the snow in the
alley, letting the water run into the sewer.
It was a surreal job as the very hot
water really did cut through the snow, but
before long we were like coal miners, as we
actually were walking along digging tunnels
in the snow.
When we hit the sewers, we were sure the
idea would work, but we were also sure it
would take a very long time.
As three of us took turns manning the two
hoses, two others with my dad clawed through
the back entrance and freed the end loader
to begin scooping up a shovelful of snow at
a time and clearing the back dock for
loading the oil trucks. It was obvious it
would be a long time before they would be
able to help us clear the alley.
It was one of those times when you go
somewhere else in your mind. The solid white
always in front of you made your mind go
numb. By midday, the night shift guys had to
sleep, and they just curled up in their
clothes in the locker room. Dad and I were
fresher and we walked along slowly most of
the night, spraying down the snow and
telling stories to each other. By then the
old end loader had broken down after a
half-day of constant use.
I never did get to ask my dad before he
died, but I think I learned more about him
that very strange night than I did all the
years I knew him. I wonder if he would say
the same thing about me.
In the middle of the night we were
relieved, but I don't think either of us
slept much. I do recall being up and having
coffee with the guys before dawn.
As all of this was going on, the city was
trying to get back to normalcy. Streets were
starting to open and thousands of cars had
been towed to city parks, waiting for an
owner to claim them.
I remember being sent to a nearby grocery
store to get some food for everyone, and it
was like a scene in an apocalyptic,
Armageddon-type movie. The shelves were
almost completely bare and there were items
strewn on the floors. It seems everyone had
panicked and decided food might become
scarce since there weren't going to be any
deliveries for a while. And on that first
day, the feeling was it might be days before
city life would return to normal.
Meat counters were empty, canned goods
were few, and the area where milk and juices
would have been didn't have a pint of
half-and-half left.
I did find a few cans of beans and some
jarred sausages, but that was about it. I do
remember the store owner at the checkout
looking worn and tired. He was telling
another regular customer that he had stayed
open all night since he couldn't get home
anyway. He shook his head as he said that
people on foot had streamed in all night and
bought anything they could carry home.
Late that afternoon of the second day
after the storm, the owner of the company
finally made it in to work, and with perfect
timing a fuel oil truck drove down the alley
on its way to deliver oil as he drove in.
It was 40 years ago, but I will never
forget the look on his face. From the front
gate all the way back to the oil depot, a
full 600 feet, the ground was perfectly
clear of snow. A great deal of it bone dry.
He came up to all of us, now into either
a 32- or 40-hour shift, and said it was the
most remarkable thing he had ever seen. To
this day I still agree with him on that.
There might be other snowstorms in my
life. But there will only be one great snow,
and it was in January 1967.
All these other snowstorms are just
flurries.
[By
MIKE FAK]
Logan County residents: Do
you have a great snow story to tell? Send it
to
ldneditor@lincolndailynews.com or call
737-3979.
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