The Blizzard of a Lifetime

 

Forty-seven years ago, a bad snowstorm had gone out to sea and decided to turn around. We were back at work, but the forecast and the storm's change of mind meant businesses and everything were closing down under the new threat.

My housemates worked at Harvard Medical and Simmons College both in walking distance of our Wigglesworth Street home. My daughter's school in Cambridge was closed. Two rows of townhouses Wigglesworth and Worthington could have been put down in London and looked like they belong.

I worked for Polaroid's Credit Union in Cambridge and rode the Green Line E as far Northeastern University. I walked the last three stops. I was lucky. Many people didn't make it home. Others were stuck in their cars for a few days. Over 100 people died. Some 4500 people were injured.

The storm went on and on. We were located near several major hospitals: Peter Bent, Brigham and Women's, Children's, etc. Because of the hospitals electrical wires were underground, so unlike many in the region, we never lost electricity. We'd had a recent fuel delivery so there was no danger of freezing. There was enough food.

For us it was a week of tea, reading, playing games, watching TV. The house we co-owned and had bought at the low price of $15,000 when other houses in the area cost $50,000 and up was a handyman's nightmare. We were doing the renovation ourselves, so this was a gift, time to strip paint, lay tile, redo medallions in the ceilings without cramming it between work and grad school. 

Our poor German Shepherd, Nikki, however, couldn't go into the backyard. The door was totally blocked by snow. 

We assumed that the white lump on the street was our car. At one point we walked on its roof. After shoveling it out, we realized I'd left the car window open a crack. Snow filled the car.

When the snow finally stopped, we helped two elderly neighbors shovel out. It was a special neighborhood where we knew most of the residents: people who'd lived there most of their lives, medical personnel from the hospitals and students. Harvard Medical, Harvard Dental, Simmons, Wheelock, Wentworth, Mass College of Art were some of the colleges within a short walk.

When the stores were able to open, one of my housemates made the several block walk to Stop & Shop with a list of what we needed (not much) and what our elderly neighbors needed.

My other housemate, who worked for Simmons, went to the campus to help with those students in the infirmary because the medical staff could not get into the city.

My dad informed me that his beloved 34-foot cabin cruiser which he'd built himself was destroyed. It had been docked almost a half a mile from Scituate harbor for the winter. The photo is not his boat but resembled the photos that I no longer have.

My boss, who headed the Polaroid Credit Union, had been given permission to go into the office to provide certain procedures to guarantee salaries would be available for people when they dug out. This was still pre-ATM days. Travel except under special conditions was forbidden.

A week later things began to reopen, but my daughter's school would be closed another week. We walked to North Station to put her on the train to her father's. She was still too young to be left alone for long periods of time. Her father, who worked for the police force, was on a call when the train reached his town. He had another cop pick her up.

My housemates were in walking distance of the house so they went back to work. I could walk to where the T went underground. Much of the staff living outside the city still could not get to work.

Nine months later Brigham and Women, which concentrated on maternity care, gave out t-shirts to new-born babies saying "I was a 1978 Blizzard Baby." T-shirts saying "I survived the Blizzard of 1978" can still be purchased on line.

When my husband said to me this morning that the blizzard was 47-years ago, I was shocked. In many ways it seemed recent. With the exception of my dad's boat, we were not negatively impacted. Because we were warm, safe and were given a respite from our overly-charged lives it was fun. We made unexpected progress on the house. I do not negate the suffering of others stuck in their cars or in their homes without heat or food. The deaths are still a tragedy, The $520 million in 1978 dollars for clean up and repairs caused hardship for many.

That the storm has been called one of the three worst ones in U.S. history is not a surprise.