My friend Charlotte was scheduled to fly south to the Caribbean this morning. Her morning flight was cancelled by Jet Blue. A massive blizzard was predicted to hit the Northeast with up to 18 inches of snow. By nightfall the accumulation amounted to less than 6 inches. More is to come, but this snowstorm will not come close to the Blizzard of 1978.
Early in February 1978 an Arctic cold front and a cold air mass met off the coast of North Carolina. Weathermen misjudged the severity of the approaching storm and people went to work, expecting nothing out of the ordinary.
They were wrong.
By the afternoon officials realized the seriousness o the approaching winter cyclone and people were sent home
Late.
Snowplows ought to clear the roads
It was a futile effort.
Cars on the highways were buried in snowdrifts.
Supermarkets were emptied of everything.
Some Bostonians brave the savage weather.
Most stayed home.
128 was a parking lot.
Fourteen stranded motorists died of carbon monoxide poisoning on I-95.
Logan Airport was only open for emergency flights.
I called my father and asked, “You want me to come back?”
“There is no way to get here. No planes. No trains. No cas.”
“That bad?”
“Yes, but we all right. How’s New York?”
“Closed too.”
“You take care.”
“I will.”
The Northeast recovered slowly. Roades were cleared.
The sun came out and sliers enjoyed thhemselves.
People climbed mountains.
Life went on.
