The Blizzard of '77

   

Souvenir Tote from the Blizzard of '77

 In January of 1977, I began a new job – just after the agar factory. Dad had gotten the position for me – as an admin in a truck repair shop. It was supposed to be just for a few months as I had applied to graduate school, and I thought I would be back in classes by September. Well, I still was not driving, and the truck place was a few miles away, almost to Buffalo. Dad had told me not to worry about transportation – but this was one of those common sense things again – I thought that meant he would take me to and from work every day, and Dad thought that meant I would figure out something – like post a notice or talk up the guys in the shop into giving me a ride every day. When the job began, Dad was dropping me off and picking me up.

     The truck repair shop was owned by a plump couple I have always endearingly referred to as the Dumplings. The Mrs doted on the Mr all day long in the office I was supposed to share with them. The office had a kitchen, complete with stove and sink. The Mrs made eggs for them both every morning. Mr Dumpling would eat while working at his desk, and then Mrs Dumpling would clean up.

     Apparently it was not discussed at the interview whether or not I drove. So you can imagine the Mrs' disappointment when the first thing she asked me to do was take a deposit to the bank, and I told her that I had no car or license. She had been hoping to make me do all the stuff she did not feel like doing in the office. Things were not going well right from the start.

     What I thought I was hired to do was take the job sheets from the crew from the day before and tally up the hours spent on each job and make sure each guy had put in 8 hours for each day. How hard could that be? And I knew I was a great worker with half a brain. Turns out there are some jobs I am totally unsuited for – and admin is totally one of them. The hours never matched up, and I didn't want to be constantly tattling – so I was doing a crappy job. The Mr was glaring at me all day for being an incompetent, and the Mrs was glaring at me all day for breathing.

     After two weeks I knew I would have to leave – it was just too intolerable. But Dad had gotten me the job, and if I left, it would be an embarrassment to him!

     And besides all that, it was snowing.

     The snow had started the month before, in December. The Buffalo Western New York area is well prepared for a lot of snow – and has the equipment for moving it out of the way. The snows of December 1976, however, had proven too much for the area – the plows could not clear out enough snow before another storm would hit and paralyze the land once again. As January came around, trains were coming to town to haul carloads of snow to other parts of the country, no kidding! And we Buffaloons, as we sometimes are referred to – persevere. We can't stay home – if we did, we would be there for six months of the year. So if there is any way possible, we go to work or school or for groceries – that's what we do. We had to keep moving.

    And it kept snowing.

    On the morning of January 29, 1977, a Friday, I got out of bed not thinking about the weather but rather feeling sorry for myself that another two weeks had gone by since I had decided to quit my job and yet I had not had the guts to tell my father. Dad had already left for work. My brother, Clark, was home from college, still on winter break, I think, or maybe school, the University of Buffalo, was closed because of the snow. Clark was going to take me to the shop.

    We got in the car and started down the road, turning onto the old 219 which was iced over, heading toward Hamburg. At one point the car spun around and careened into the snowbank on the side of the road. We got out, brushed away the snow and freed the car from the drift. One would think at this point we would have then driven home – but that did not occur to us – we were Snow Belt Veterans! Clark took me all the way to the truck repair shop and then he returned home – in fact Clark went back to bed, and thus he was unaware of what what happening when I called him later that morning.

     At the shop, hardly any employees showed up. Most had called in claiming the weather was too bad where they lived. Around 11 o'clock, the daughter-in-law of the Dumplings, who worked a few hours every week in the office, pointed out the window and told us all to take a look. The day was dark and the visibility was near zero.

    The Blizzard of 1977 had officially begun!

    Mr Dumpling told me I could call for my ride home. I woke Clark up and asked him if he thought it would be okay to come and get me. He did not know why not. And he said he would be right there to pick me up. That was just after 11AM.

    At 4 o'clock, Clark called back. I was frantic! “Where are you?” He said he was at his girlfriend's house. She lived in South Buffalo! I lit into him so bad. “Why did you go there? Can't you go anywhere without your girlfriend? Don't you know the roads are terrible out there? You need to come and get me!”

    Clark showed an infinite amount of restraint during my tirade, and he patiently waited for me to finish (or else he was yelling back at me and I just couldn't hear it above the din of my own hissy fit). But finally he got the chance to explain.

    He had started out from our house in North Boston and was on the same route we had done that morning. Only he got to a place where the road was closed because of the weather. Clark went down a few more streets trying to get to my general vicinity, and he ended up on the thruway. That would not have been so bad, if he could have gotten off at the first exit he came to, but the first exit was closed, and the next one – the first exit Clark got to that was not closed was the one for South Buffalo – and he got off at that exit and promptly skidded into a drift on the side of the road. Right next to another car – and other cars that were already covered over by the falling snow.

     Clark got out and walked up the ramp and then to his girlfriend's apartment which was another mile or so away. He had been through so much, and I had had the nerve to lash out at him from the cozy warm office with the chilly people!

     My Mom worked a quarter of a mile from our house. She walked home in the midst of the wind and freezing cold snowfall – she thought she was not going to make it, but Mom was the only one in the family who did make it home that night.

     Eric was away at school in New York City, so we did not have to worry about him.

     Dad had just started a new business at the beginning of the year – in Buffalo – the weather had wreaked havoc on them that first month, and the night of the Blizzard of '77, he and his partner were stuck at the office. Someone in a car in front of their business had died – presumably of a heart attack – and no one was attending to him because there were so many living people who needed help! 

     After all that Clark had been through that day, and with an abandoned car on the ramp of the thruway – he was staying safe and warm at his girlfriend's.

     And it became clear after talking to Clark, that I was not going home either.

     I hung up the phone and looked at the Dumplings.

     Oh dear.

     Mr called the nearest motel, and surprisingly, there were enough rooms for us if we doubled up. The daughter-in-law called her husband, the Dumplings' son, and he said he would come and get her. I almost choked on my jealousy when he actually showed up in his pickup truck and with a big grin on his face – he is the only person I heard of from all the Blizzard of '77 stories who actually got to where he was going to, and back again! With the daughter-in-law gone, that meant Mrs Dumpling and I would have to share a room together when we got to the motel.

    There were two carloads of us – it was quite dark, and the visibility was still near zero. I was in the car with Mr Dumpling driving. It was obvious that he could not see much – and we drove very slowly down the street, and not having to go too far, we managed to get to the motel safe and sound.

     We were ushered into the dining room where the Dumplings bought us dinner. All of their gestures were sincere and generous – but I was so uncomfortable. I did not know the guys at all, and I felt like they probably hated me because the boss was always yelling at them about the hours that I could never seem to match up. I did not talk at the dinner table – fear and social awkwardness – was I ever going to get out of this mess? And what was I going to do after dinner? The evening was young – it would be too early to go to bed, too weird to watch TV with Mrs Dumpling; I couldn't hang around with the guys, and oh my gosh – is the Mr going to be in our room too? From what I had observed of their relationship, I doubted he would be separated from the Mrs even for one night!

    Well, just as we were finishing dinner, the Mrs took ill, and Mr Dumpling put his arm around her and walked her out of the dining room. I got up from the table, fished around in my purse for some change, and called my Mom from a phone booth in the lobby. I gave her the number of the phone, and she called back so the call would not be under any time restrictions. We talked for quite a while – Mom mostly laughed at me. She did not know about my need to quit – but all the other circumstances of the evening had her amused and kept her from thinking about the rest of her stranded family or the car that was buried by the side of the Thruway. I couldn't talk to Mom all night, however, so eventually we hung up, and I braced myself for what I might find in the room I was supposedly sharing with Mrs Dumpling.

    Would she be there ill?

    Would she and the Mr be there giving me dirty looks for even thinking I was really supposed to spend the night with them?

    Would she be in one bed and Mr be in the other? What would I do then?

    What if they locked me out?

    What if they are having relations?

    I don't know when I have ever dreaded anything more as I approached that motel room door.

    Inside the room, Mrs Dumpling was sound asleep on one bed.

    And Mr Dumpling was sound asleep on top of her.

    So. Was it okay for me to stay in the other bed?

    Should I stay dressed? It seemed like it would be awkward to undress.

    But then in the morning, they might feel insulted that I felt I needed to stay clothed while in the room with them.

    Why did this have to be so weird?

    Morning was not going to come soon enough.

    I opted to stay dressed, but I got under the covers – I guess that was so it would look like I had undressed if that was better for them to think so. I don't know – what is proper etiquette in situations like these?

   In the morning, a dove flew by with an olive branch. Or at least the Blizzard of '77 was over. The snowstorm had ceased, and the sun was out.

    We got in the two cars and went back to the truck repair shop. Mr Dumpling told the guys that if any of them felt they could get home safely, they were welcome to try.

    There were three brothers who worked there and lived in a town south of Boston. They were going to head for home. Somehow I worked up the courage to ask for a ride. A fourth person inside a front-seat-only pickup truck was quite the imposition – I thought they were going to say no. They seemed more concerned about getting me all the way to my house – and I assured them they could just drop me off on 219, I could get home all right from there.     I was never so happy to get in a pickup truck with three strange men before! (yeah, I don't think I had ever gotten into a truck with three strange men before then – the weather, you know, makes us do surprising things!) They took me almost all the way home, dropped me off, and I never saw them again.

     Mom was, of course, happy to see me.

     Dad finally made it home when a cousin with a truck (thank you again and again, Paul Des Soye!) found out where he was and was wonderful enough to give him a lift. I think that's how Clark got home too. The car was eventually taken to an impound place and retrieved – none the worse for wear.

     Two days later, on Monday morning, I called Mrs Dumpling and told her I would not be in – ever. She sounded relieved. Dad was upset when he found out, but I think Mr Dumpling smoothed things over and said it was for the best for all of us.

    My Uncle Jim used to call Mom every year on January 29^th and ask her if she remembers what day it is? That's how I remember the date.
   Everyone who lived through the Blizzard of '77 in Buffalo/Western New York has a story to tell.
    And this is mine.

29 20150129 Blizzard of 77