The
weather was rotten even before the Blizzard of '78
| While
people
are looking back 30 years to the Big Blizzard, they may not remember
how rotten the weather had been in the days leading up to it. The only
way I remember it is because I made a public fuss with Mother Nature
and called her a "slut," and that, of course, blew her cork. That's
what the blizzard was about. Though I didn't know it at the time this went to press, the worst - by far - was yet to come. Here's the newspaper column I wrote for the January 25, 1978 edition: |
Some folks
will do anything to ham it up for an Advocate camerman, even if it
means jumping into a snow bank. That's what happened last week when
Gary Smith conned these two pretty news staffers into "measuring" the
snow piled on an air conditioner.
I had been watching the snow pile up higher and higher from my view through the newsroom's only window. It looks out over a tar roof where you know the seasons by whether that wretched expanse is white or black and whether there are any dead pigeons on it.
Last week, while Mother Nature was trying to prove she can be a slut, she was dumping even more snow on that air conditioner than she was on West Main Street. I asked Gary to photograph it because I thought it would make a good news picture.
Now Gary knows I'd never use a hokey picture of someone measuring a pile of snow. But, promising Chris Decker the snow below the newsroom window was only about six inches deep, got her to leap out onto the roof and into a huge drift with a yardstick in her hand.
I was out to lunch while all this was going on, but I understand Chris's screech was of about the same volume as the Civil Defense siren when she sank in nearly hip-high.
Not knowing the dastardly deed had been plotted and carried out, I came up with a similar evil thought for Judy. So I asked Gary if he'd like to have Judy jump out the window to "measure" the snow pile.
With a twinkle in his eye, he said he guessed that would be fine. Judy, who has more cool than anyone ought to have, didn't make much of a fuss about it. In fact, she managed to demonstrate the snow's depth while showing the class that always wins her the Beauty Pageant draw in Monopoly.
Anyway, I found out later, she already knew what to expect. After measuring it twice, we learned the snow on the air conditioner was 25 inches deep.
I had been watching the snow pile up higher and higher from my view through the newsroom's only window. It looks out over a tar roof where you know the seasons by whether that wretched expanse is white or black and whether there are any dead pigeons on it.
Last week, while Mother Nature was trying to prove she can be a slut, she was dumping even more snow on that air conditioner than she was on West Main Street. I asked Gary to photograph it because I thought it would make a good news picture.
Now Gary knows I'd never use a hokey picture of someone measuring a pile of snow. But, promising Chris Decker the snow below the newsroom window was only about six inches deep, got her to leap out onto the roof and into a huge drift with a yardstick in her hand.
I was out to lunch while all this was going on, but I understand Chris's screech was of about the same volume as the Civil Defense siren when she sank in nearly hip-high.
Not knowing the dastardly deed had been plotted and carried out, I came up with a similar evil thought for Judy. So I asked Gary if he'd like to have Judy jump out the window to "measure" the snow pile.
With a twinkle in his eye, he said he guessed that would be fine. Judy, who has more cool than anyone ought to have, didn't make much of a fuss about it. In fact, she managed to demonstrate the snow's depth while showing the class that always wins her the Beauty Pageant draw in Monopoly.
Anyway, I found out later, she already knew what to expect. After measuring it twice, we learned the snow on the air conditioner was 25 inches deep.
Out on the streets, it was
considerably less fun. The county wallowed in snow. Everyone had
trouble getting to work and the newsroomers were no exception.
That first morning it was a cause for applause every time someone walked through the door. Almost universally, we suffered problems of getting out of our driveways and into the parking lot.
The city streets and highways were as clear as could be expected. That says something good about local street crews and something bad about parking-lot and driveway cleaners.
There was plenty to do once we got in the building. It was our biggest news week in a long time.
etc.
The day after last week's Encounter is when Mother Nature dumped on Licking County. I know everybody thinks the whole mess is my fault. It's not nice to fool around with her and apparently she got rather upset because I called her a slut last week.
Even before that column was printed, people were raising their eyebrows. First was John Mechtly when he dummied my column on the Opinion Page. "Do you know what 'slut' means?" he asked in disbelief.
Then John Brooks, production manager, nearly went into shock when he saw what I had said. Several printers mumbled and muttered about this atrocity. Dave Lehman, advertising director, called me about it with a note of real fear in his voice. And his assistant, Pat Dinan, nearly panicked.
I would not be intimidated. After all, I wasn't trying to fool Mother Nature, I was only calling 'em as I saw 'em. She had slopped us up with too much snow. Twentv-five inches on the air conditioner, remember?
Anyway, I was thinking of Mother Nature in the sense of the first definition given in my dictionary: "A slovenly woman."
Well, the next day is when the snow and blow hit the fan. Mother started putting Licking County to its knees.
She also pulled another trick which seemed to be held in reserve for the editor who would not show her proper respect. With one hand, she was making so much news outside that it was impossible to record adequately. But with the other, she delivered a roundhouse punch to me that no other editor at The Advocate ever had been given: For the first time in our history, we didn't even go to press - that was Friday because there was no hope of getting the finished product to readers.
Well, if Mother Nature thinks she can scare me, she better take note of what journalism is all about. You try to deal in truth. In a column like this one, you try to tell it like it is: I say Mother Nature can be an old bag when she tries.
If she wants to argue about that, she ought to take a look at the mess she made of things last week. On Monday we were still digging out from her previous snow storm. We were also fretting about the possibility of a flood from the runoff.
Meanwhile the city treasure chest was suffering from lack of parking-meter money because nobody could get through the snow to put coins in the holes. Even by Tuesday, side streets had not been cleared enough to prevent a fire truck, trying to reach a house fire, from getting stuck in the snow.
Wednesday, the great gobs of ice came crashing through roofs, most notably that of White-Westinghouse, and icy streets sent motorists skidding into one another faster than police could write up accident reports.
Still, all that was tame compared to what was in store for us. Nobody suspected what the old trollop was planning, least of all those idiots who predict the weather. Remember the local forecast Wednesday?
"Periods of rain today and early tonight ... Temperatures nearly steady early tonight then turning colder towards morning. Windy and cold with some snow flurries Thursday. Temperatures in the upper 20s to low 30s in early morning, dropping to the teens or low 20s by evening ..." I hope the person who came up with that one doesn't have any trouble finding another job.
Few of us will soon forget the sound of the wind roaring about our houses that night or the crashes of things blowing about outside or the green bolts of lightning glowing strangely through the swirling blasts of snow.
By Thursday morning Mother Nature had paralyzed the Midwest, panicked the governor and was still trying to blow Licking County into Canada. But she couldn't stop this unflappable news staff. For many of them, coming to work that morning was nothing short of heroism. But one by one, late though most of them were, they drifted in with triumph written on their faces. They had fought through that mess outside and they had won.
Not everybody made it of course. But once I had a few of them in the newsroom with me, I knew we could put out a paper and make it a pretty decent one at that. The question was, should we put out a paper? Could we deliver it if we did publish? That was a question only the publisher could decide. In the meantime, we swung into high gear as though it was a normal day. There was so much news to report, so little time to get it together, and so few to do it that we didn't have time to worry about what would happen later.
We had only two pressmen and five printers that day. They were good men and women and Wayne Browning knew it. That's why our publisher decided to go ahead and publish, but not to deliver the papers until the following day. Our trucks couldn't even get the papers out within the city. Mother Nature was still pounding on us when we left for home Thursday. Still, we were optimistic. She had to let up soon. By morning we'd have started cleaning up after her again and life - and The Advocate - would go on.
But by Friday morning she had grown still more vicious. Licking County was all but cancelled. With little hope of getting through in a car, I walked to work. Mother was busting me in the face with an unbelievable wind and I was cussing her every step I took.
I had fewer doubts about my news people getting here that Friday morning than I did Thursday. Because they had laid a message on me that first morning. They had demonstrated to me and the rest of the world that they are turned on with news - the gathering of it, the writing of it, the editing of it. They love it. And whenever they come up to what may be the biggest story of the year - or the decade - they aren't about to stay home. Is that some kind of unreal dedication to a job?
It's the same kind of feeling that kept Joy Ream pushing her way through the blizzard for an entire day and much of the night as she captured on film some of the most dramatic and story-telling photographs that have ever been made here - photographs far better than I've seen by AP or anybody else. And, after all this, she came back to the office and wrote a 12-take story about the things she'd seen.
Joy was still here Friday morning when I puffed through the door. She had had only three hours' sleep that night. But she had a satisfied look on her face. She had done well and she knew it.
The strange part to this story is that instead of going home, she went back out, searching still more pictures from the story that was still breaking. It was Friday afternoon before she got any more sleep. How's that for dedication?
There are lots of other stories of dedication: the one where Jim Underwood practically pushed his wife-driven pickup truck into work Friday morning; the one where Gloria Hoover, marooned in Granville, ran through the streets for two days, gathering what she could and calling it into the office; the one where Judy Trout camped in Newark with friends, rather than risk getting snowed into her Columbus home; the one where Mollie Foley finished her Good News column at her snowbound home and called it in by phone; the one where Bob Worth left his unheated home and his snowbound car and got his work done before taking care of these vital personal matters; and a separate story of trial and triumph for everyone who got through the newsroom door on either Thursday or Friday, plus others I may not have heard about.
That's the kind of people who work for Advocate readers. But Friday, it was all in vain. For no matter what kind of will a newsroom has for getting the news it's wasted if it never gets to you. That was the bind. Getting papers delivered Friday appeared to be even more hopeless than Thursday.
News stories had been plotted, typewriters were clacking and reporters were out gathering information when the decision was made not to publish a Friday paper. As I understand it, this was the first time in the history of The Advocate that we had not gone to press - even days when the press would break down.
Getting a paper out, no matter what kind of problems you have, is a tradition built on pride. It must have been a tough decision for the publisher, who was by now snowbound himself. It was a wise decision because it was a business decision.
But it was a shock to the news staff when I brought in the word. Even these people, practically all new to The Advocate, felt a fierce need to report the news and to get it to readers, never mind a tradition that went back to the founder.
Jaws dropped. Oaths were muttered. Bob Worth, who has spent his life here, could hardly believe it. But none of us could argue with it. After all, there was still a mailroom full of Thursday papers which now would have to wait for Saturday delivery - if they could get out then.
Reporters, however, kept right on gathering the news. They never lost sight of the fact they were in the middle of a breaking story that would be breaking for days. The rest of us puttered around and caught up on backlog and prepared for the Saturday paper, even though we weren't sure it would ever get off the ground.
By now the food machines in the lunchroom were all but empty. Downtown restaurants were closed. Just as the pangs of hunger were getting severe, Al Thomlinson, circulation manager, came through the door with a stationwagon load of MacDonald's cheesburgers, courtesy of our snowbound publisher. Al seemed to be the only one whose vehicle could make it and he took care of the rest of us in many ways.
Saturday, things started getting back to normal. At least we went to press. The Thursday papers went out with the Saturday edition but it would be Monday before the post office would aceept Advocates from Thursday, Saturday and Monday. Delivery on all three editions should have been made Tuesday.
Now it's just a matter of picking up Mother Nature's slop and getting back to work. The old hussy gave us her worst and all she proved was that she can't put down The Advocate news staff.
That first morning it was a cause for applause every time someone walked through the door. Almost universally, we suffered problems of getting out of our driveways and into the parking lot.
The city streets and highways were as clear as could be expected. That says something good about local street crews and something bad about parking-lot and driveway cleaners.
There was plenty to do once we got in the building. It was our biggest news week in a long time.
etc.
| The
week after I called Mother Nature a slut, I had the pleasure of tagging
the following week's "Encounter" column with this headline: "IT'S NOT NICE TO FOOL WITH MOTHER NATURE" - and here it is: |
The day after last week's Encounter is when Mother Nature dumped on Licking County. I know everybody thinks the whole mess is my fault. It's not nice to fool around with her and apparently she got rather upset because I called her a slut last week.
Even before that column was printed, people were raising their eyebrows. First was John Mechtly when he dummied my column on the Opinion Page. "Do you know what 'slut' means?" he asked in disbelief.
Then John Brooks, production manager, nearly went into shock when he saw what I had said. Several printers mumbled and muttered about this atrocity. Dave Lehman, advertising director, called me about it with a note of real fear in his voice. And his assistant, Pat Dinan, nearly panicked.
I would not be intimidated. After all, I wasn't trying to fool Mother Nature, I was only calling 'em as I saw 'em. She had slopped us up with too much snow. Twentv-five inches on the air conditioner, remember?
Anyway, I was thinking of Mother Nature in the sense of the first definition given in my dictionary: "A slovenly woman."
Well, the next day is when the snow and blow hit the fan. Mother started putting Licking County to its knees.
She also pulled another trick which seemed to be held in reserve for the editor who would not show her proper respect. With one hand, she was making so much news outside that it was impossible to record adequately. But with the other, she delivered a roundhouse punch to me that no other editor at The Advocate ever had been given: For the first time in our history, we didn't even go to press - that was Friday because there was no hope of getting the finished product to readers.
Well, if Mother Nature thinks she can scare me, she better take note of what journalism is all about. You try to deal in truth. In a column like this one, you try to tell it like it is: I say Mother Nature can be an old bag when she tries.
If she wants to argue about that, she ought to take a look at the mess she made of things last week. On Monday we were still digging out from her previous snow storm. We were also fretting about the possibility of a flood from the runoff.
Meanwhile the city treasure chest was suffering from lack of parking-meter money because nobody could get through the snow to put coins in the holes. Even by Tuesday, side streets had not been cleared enough to prevent a fire truck, trying to reach a house fire, from getting stuck in the snow.
Wednesday, the great gobs of ice came crashing through roofs, most notably that of White-Westinghouse, and icy streets sent motorists skidding into one another faster than police could write up accident reports.
Still, all that was tame compared to what was in store for us. Nobody suspected what the old trollop was planning, least of all those idiots who predict the weather. Remember the local forecast Wednesday?
"Periods of rain today and early tonight ... Temperatures nearly steady early tonight then turning colder towards morning. Windy and cold with some snow flurries Thursday. Temperatures in the upper 20s to low 30s in early morning, dropping to the teens or low 20s by evening ..." I hope the person who came up with that one doesn't have any trouble finding another job.
Few of us will soon forget the sound of the wind roaring about our houses that night or the crashes of things blowing about outside or the green bolts of lightning glowing strangely through the swirling blasts of snow.
By Thursday morning Mother Nature had paralyzed the Midwest, panicked the governor and was still trying to blow Licking County into Canada. But she couldn't stop this unflappable news staff. For many of them, coming to work that morning was nothing short of heroism. But one by one, late though most of them were, they drifted in with triumph written on their faces. They had fought through that mess outside and they had won.
Not everybody made it of course. But once I had a few of them in the newsroom with me, I knew we could put out a paper and make it a pretty decent one at that. The question was, should we put out a paper? Could we deliver it if we did publish? That was a question only the publisher could decide. In the meantime, we swung into high gear as though it was a normal day. There was so much news to report, so little time to get it together, and so few to do it that we didn't have time to worry about what would happen later.
We had only two pressmen and five printers that day. They were good men and women and Wayne Browning knew it. That's why our publisher decided to go ahead and publish, but not to deliver the papers until the following day. Our trucks couldn't even get the papers out within the city. Mother Nature was still pounding on us when we left for home Thursday. Still, we were optimistic. She had to let up soon. By morning we'd have started cleaning up after her again and life - and The Advocate - would go on.
But by Friday morning she had grown still more vicious. Licking County was all but cancelled. With little hope of getting through in a car, I walked to work. Mother was busting me in the face with an unbelievable wind and I was cussing her every step I took.
I had fewer doubts about my news people getting here that Friday morning than I did Thursday. Because they had laid a message on me that first morning. They had demonstrated to me and the rest of the world that they are turned on with news - the gathering of it, the writing of it, the editing of it. They love it. And whenever they come up to what may be the biggest story of the year - or the decade - they aren't about to stay home. Is that some kind of unreal dedication to a job?
It's the same kind of feeling that kept Joy Ream pushing her way through the blizzard for an entire day and much of the night as she captured on film some of the most dramatic and story-telling photographs that have ever been made here - photographs far better than I've seen by AP or anybody else. And, after all this, she came back to the office and wrote a 12-take story about the things she'd seen.
Joy was still here Friday morning when I puffed through the door. She had had only three hours' sleep that night. But she had a satisfied look on her face. She had done well and she knew it.
The strange part to this story is that instead of going home, she went back out, searching still more pictures from the story that was still breaking. It was Friday afternoon before she got any more sleep. How's that for dedication?
There are lots of other stories of dedication: the one where Jim Underwood practically pushed his wife-driven pickup truck into work Friday morning; the one where Gloria Hoover, marooned in Granville, ran through the streets for two days, gathering what she could and calling it into the office; the one where Judy Trout camped in Newark with friends, rather than risk getting snowed into her Columbus home; the one where Mollie Foley finished her Good News column at her snowbound home and called it in by phone; the one where Bob Worth left his unheated home and his snowbound car and got his work done before taking care of these vital personal matters; and a separate story of trial and triumph for everyone who got through the newsroom door on either Thursday or Friday, plus others I may not have heard about.
That's the kind of people who work for Advocate readers. But Friday, it was all in vain. For no matter what kind of will a newsroom has for getting the news it's wasted if it never gets to you. That was the bind. Getting papers delivered Friday appeared to be even more hopeless than Thursday.
News stories had been plotted, typewriters were clacking and reporters were out gathering information when the decision was made not to publish a Friday paper. As I understand it, this was the first time in the history of The Advocate that we had not gone to press - even days when the press would break down.
Getting a paper out, no matter what kind of problems you have, is a tradition built on pride. It must have been a tough decision for the publisher, who was by now snowbound himself. It was a wise decision because it was a business decision.
But it was a shock to the news staff when I brought in the word. Even these people, practically all new to The Advocate, felt a fierce need to report the news and to get it to readers, never mind a tradition that went back to the founder.
Jaws dropped. Oaths were muttered. Bob Worth, who has spent his life here, could hardly believe it. But none of us could argue with it. After all, there was still a mailroom full of Thursday papers which now would have to wait for Saturday delivery - if they could get out then.
Reporters, however, kept right on gathering the news. They never lost sight of the fact they were in the middle of a breaking story that would be breaking for days. The rest of us puttered around and caught up on backlog and prepared for the Saturday paper, even though we weren't sure it would ever get off the ground.
By now the food machines in the lunchroom were all but empty. Downtown restaurants were closed. Just as the pangs of hunger were getting severe, Al Thomlinson, circulation manager, came through the door with a stationwagon load of MacDonald's cheesburgers, courtesy of our snowbound publisher. Al seemed to be the only one whose vehicle could make it and he took care of the rest of us in many ways.
Saturday, things started getting back to normal. At least we went to press. The Thursday papers went out with the Saturday edition but it would be Monday before the post office would aceept Advocates from Thursday, Saturday and Monday. Delivery on all three editions should have been made Tuesday.
Now it's just a matter of picking up Mother Nature's slop and getting back to work. The old hussy gave us her worst and all she proved was that she can't put down The Advocate news staff.