Readers share ’78 blizzard memories

SCOTT TRUXELL/independent editor

If you’re 50 or older, chances are you have at least some memory of the worst winter storm to ever hit Ohio – the Blizzard of 1978.

The two-day storm began without warning on January 26, 1978, and dumped over a foot of snow and packed hurricane force winds, which sent temperatures plummeting to dangerously low levels. The blizzard paralyzed the entire state, including Van Wert County, and it took several days to dig out of the massive amount of snow and blowing snow.

VW independent readers took time to share their memories of the storm and its aftermath, and Bob Schumm provided pictures what it looked like when the storm had passed. Some of the responses have been edited for brevity.

Jim Clay

In 1978 I worked at the front desk of the recently torn down Holiday Inn. When the storm hit I thought “this is great, I won’t have to work for a few days.” Unfortunately, they declared my job an essential position and they came and took me to work on a snowmobile. It was a madhouse with people sleeping in the lobby and on cots in the banquet rooms. The hotel did not have a license to sell alcohol on Sundays but opened the bar just to keep people calm. It was a stressful few days but for the most part people were great and we got through it together.

Audra John

My memory of that winter I was nine years old. I remember having to put on two pairs of pants, socks, shirts along with our snowsuits, coat, mittens, scarf and hat to go out and play in the snow. We lived in a two-story house in Convoy and on one side of our house the drift went clear up to the roof – it was cool looking! We had a neighbor a couple houses down in town that owned a backhoe Mr. Hall of Halls Lumber and he plowed all the snow off our street and put it in the alley between our house and another neighbors house and made a huge hill for all us neighborhood kids to play on. It was so much fun, I remember it being so cold.

We also had another neighbor who plowed the sidewalks with his tractor that had a plow on it Mr. Muntzinger, also Gibson’s Grocery Store uptown would deliver groceries to people on snowmobiles. I remember that my dad got stuck in Van Wert at a coworker’s house from Teleflex until he could make it home safely. We were out of school for about two weeks that year which was so cool for all of us kids. That was the greatest winter of my life. We had so much fun, packing and eating snow, icicles, making snow angels, snowmen etc.

Richard Haas

I opened my garage door from inside that morning and was facing a wall of snow that exceeded the height of the door.

Cheryl Freewalt

I remember well, the Blizzard of ’78. But first, we have to go back one month.

The month before, December 1977, we had a fierce winter storm that blew in several inches of snow. We live on U.S. 127, which is a major highway to be plowed. However, plows had no chance to keep up with the storm. Once enough snow blew into cars from underneath, they just couldn’t go farther. Once the first couple of cars were stopped, the snow piled around them. Cars and semis were stopped for some distance.

One person saw our porch lights and came to the house, hoping we would let him in to get warm. That encouraged others to come to the house. My husband, Larry, held a shovel in front of his face to protect his face from the strong winds and snow. Then he went out into the storm to invite others to come to the house. Larry also used our CB to speak with semi-truckers. The word was passed along.

We were made one of the safe stations by the sheriff. A deputy confiscated a bread truck and told the driver to give us loaves of bread to help us feed people. While they drove snowmobiles in the storm, to check that everyone close enough to us came to our house, another gentleman, knowing that his just-bought groceries would freeze in his car, brought the groceries into the house for us to use. He told us to use it all. Fortunately, we had just stocked our freezer with meat, so altogether we had plenty of food.

There was just one man, who thought we didn’t have the right kind of beverages for him. He was more than a little unhappy about it, so a deputy made sure he didn’t stay at our house.

Everyone played cards or board games. A few of the truckers told us stories about some of their experiences on the road. I am not sure I ever really stopped cooking and baking, but it was enjoyable, especially to serve the first piece of apple pie to the man, who had offered his groceries. Over two days, we fed over 30 people, with 15 people spending the night.

Most of the truckers were happy to sleep, sitting up on the couch or in a recliner. We pushed furniture aside so we could throw sheets on the floor. We had a few sleeping bags.

The next day, a deputy was talking to a new man outside our house. The deputy was holding his hands over the man’s ears. The deputy explained to us that the man had spent the night in his semi. He wouldn’t leave his cargo. I don’t know what was worth so much that he couldn’t leave the semi, but finally, he knew he had to come in. He was so cold and he had to be hungry.

I had just made big pots of mashed potatoes and beef and noodles. I sat across from this man as he looked at his plate of food. He was afraid he was going to be ill. Larry and I encouraged him to drink some water and wait a little bit before trying to eat again. He ended up eating three bowls of potatoes with beef and noodles. He didn’t care about the other food I had made.

Mark Hartman

I was News Director for WERT at the time of the Blizzard of ’78. I lived right across Mendon Road from the station, at the Tourotel Motel apartments, about 100 steps away. My first blizzard memory was of Eric Hansen, the morning announcer and disc jockey, calling me early that first morning and saying, “Be careful and don’t get lost on your way to the radio station. When you come out, you’ll see what I mean.” I thought that was a very odd thing for him to say until I opened my door and was greeted by a wall of snow, top to bottom, and a drift up to the roof. After digging through the wall of snow and crawling on top of the drift, I couldn’t see the station because of the blowing snow. But I started out walking in the direction of the station, and eventually saw a little light, and arrived at the station in time to deliver the 7:00 news.

In those days, WERT’s FCC broadcast license allowed us to be on the air only from 6 a.m. to sundown. But we stayed on the air live for 24 hours a day for several days during the blizzard and its aftermath. The local law enforcement agencies would call us with current information they wanted passed along to the community and region. We took many calls from businesses giving us updated info, openings and closings, etc., and from residents giving observations and asking questions, etc. This was long before the days of internet, email, and social media, of course, and WERT served as the hub of information for Van Wert and the region, especially since many were without power, and the transistor radio was their only way of getting information. The WERT staff took shifts manning the station and phones around the clock.

Speaking of law enforcement, Sheriff Don Thomas contracted for loaders to take snow out to 4-lane U.S. 30 and construct piles/walls of snow to block traffic from traveling on it. This was in order to allow ODOT snow plows to clear off the highway without needing to navigate traffic, abandoned vehicles and trucks, etc.

WERT was associated with UPI (United Press International) at the time, and when I called their New York office to report on the blizzard conditions and the construction of snow walls/piles on a U.S. highway to block traffic, I was rudely told that was a local story, not a national one. Three days later, though, UPI national broadcast news reported on the crippling blizzard which had grounded things to a halt in the Midwest for several days.

One other memory I have is going with Dick Wyandt, the station engineer, in his 4-wheel drive vehicle to the Van Wert Airport after the wind had died down, probably the second or third day. We hand shoveled through several feet of snow an area near the fuel pumps that was big enough for the National Guard helicopters to land and fuel up.

Jeff Perry

I remember the Blizzard of ‘78, I was 15 at the time, The memories I have are we had a four foot fence in our backyard and the snow drifted 7-8 feet and we had to shovel the snow all around the fence to keep our dogs from getting out of the yard, I remember walking to my Grandma’s on Blaine Street to see her. I lived on Woodstock Drive and there was a drift up to her kitchen window. I also remember I was a paper boy for the Times-Bulletin and they delivered my papers on snowmobile, I remember a lot of neighbors helping each other get through it.

June Turner

It was on the blizzardly day in ’78 that a helicopter with medication for the citizens of the Wren area landed in front of the Charles Turner home on Route 49 north of Wren. It was almost a prerequisite to belong to the fire department and/or EMS living in our household. Thus, we immediately took snowmobiles into town to deliver the medicine which our citizens needed.

Then the call of desperation came from a house in the country where a young lady was in labor for her first child. Randy Turner and his cousin, in a four-wheel drive Jeep, through all kinds of conditions including going through a creek, arrived to find the need was imminent. Hearing the doctor on the phone was a challenge, but with broken communication they were able to communicate.

The husband being upset, to put it mildly, was told to go to the kitchen and boil water to sterile shoe strings to tie off the cord, which helped calm him and ease the situation.

In the meantime, our Wren snowplow with a V-blade was able to plow through 49 North of Wren to 224 and onto Burgner Road with the Wren Squad behind them. Here they met the jeep with the pregnant lady, (her husband in the back of the jeep and transferred the lady to the squad and take her to the Van Wert Hospital where the baby was born shortly thereafter.

I would like to commend the Wren Restaurant for staying open, as they had a gas grill, so that we could have food for the duration of our stay.

Also, an interesting sideline was that many of the women of the community, as a necessity, had to make beer bread.

Darle Baker

The day the blizzard hit I lived on McCleery Road in Ridge Township. A neighbor, Florence McCleery, was having a women’s meeting at her house. As I came back from Van Wert the roads were getting bad so I told the ladies that they had better get for home and so I followed the one that lived the furthest with a 4-wheel drive truck to make sure she made it home.

After the storm settled the Army Corp of Engineers hired anyone who had equipment to work on road clearing. I worked with Dean Tomlinson, who operated my canvas-covered John Deere 3020 tractor which could pick up a little 5-foot cube of snow with the front loader for the deep drifts and I ran a bladed D4 Caterpillar with canvas wind screens for the push-backs and the more open areas.

Around midnight of the first day’s work the phone rang. The county had a road grader stuck on Wren Landeck Road about where Gordon Rogers lived. A D4 cold start takes about 30 minutes and top travel speed is about five miles per hour. With wide track pads I could generally stay on top of the snow but sometimes I would break through, but nevertheless I found a way to get back on top and keep going. I got there around 2 a.m., got the grader out, and went for home arriving around 4 a.m.

I was assigned to open Slack Road by the big fertilizer tanks maybe on the third day. It was deep along the north side of railroad tracks and I was doing cutaways from the track. As I backed for the next push, a fast freight train came through startling me as I was within about 10 feet away from the track. No one lived on that road section and I decided it was not worth the risk and effort and went home.

Driving the rural roads was eerie as sometimes you could not see over the snow banks until you arrived at an intersection as some drifts were over 10 feet tall. I won’t say I will never forget but I will long remember the Blizzard of 78.

Eric Miglin

I was 10 years old in Hicksville at the time of the blizzard. My two favorite memories of the blizzard were watching the snowfall in the streetlights all night long, happily-knowing that school was already canceled, and my dad sent my 13-year-old brother Dave uptown with a sled and a note which read, “Please Sell my Son 1 case of “Red-White and Blue.” What a different and innocent time in which we still lived just 40-some years ago.

Janice Keltner Jones

When the Blizzard of 1978 hit, my husband Doug and I were expecting our first child due at any time. We lived in the village of Venedocia at the time on Bebb Street. We had wonderful neighbors who were watching out for us closely. My parents Margaret and Gayle Keltner lived on State Road and were ready to come to us when the baby was coming. My Aunt and Uncle Bob and Becky Zirkle lived around the corner from us and when the power was lost we went to stay with them as they had a wood fireplace and we could stay warm. Uncle Bob was very nervous about me possibly going into labor there. The main road through town was completely snowed in with no way in or out at the time.

The drifts were so high you could walk on them and look into people’s second-story windows! We had another neighbor Granny Audrey Burnett who lived close by. Granny had birthed several children of her own and I was told that she had helped several other women too. Uncle Bob ran a rope from his house to Granny’s and said if I went into labor he was going to bring Granny to me! That never happened but I felt safe knowing that they had a plan.

Once the wind died down and the snow stopped, it was decided to move me to Spencerville to stay with Doug’s Aunt Clara. Since no vehicles could get into Venedocia other than snowmobiles, that was my mode of transportation. It was quite the feat to get a very pregnant belly into a pair of farm coveralls. The Middle Point snowmobile club assisted and my driver was J.G. Fox. J.G. put me in front of him to ride more safely, however there really was nowhere to hold on so that was interesting. When I left Venedocia the snowmobile for Doug hadn’t arrived yet so we had to leave him behind to come later.

As J.G. and I made our way along 116 toward Spencerville, he decided that we both needed a bit of a break so we stopped at the Jennings school to rest. We were being watched on our journey and word got back to Venedocia that I was in labor at the school. Doug had gotten a snowmobile ride by that time and off he went to get to the school. J.G. and I had left by then and met up with a pickup truck who took me on into Spencerville to Dr. Wright’s office. I was not in labor and it was another three days before I actually started. We stayed with Aunt Clara and when I finally went into labor we called Spencerville EMS for transport to Lima Memorial hospital. On the way we saw a Brinks truck in the ditch due to icy roads so it was a trecherous ride. We made it to the hospital and our beautiful daughter Carrie was born on January 31st. It just so happened that she was Grandma Keltner’s birthday too!

Shortly after I was settled in my room, my Mom and Dad walked in. Grandpa Keltner was grinning from ear to ear and said there was no way Grandma was not going to hold her birthday present. Dad being the truck driver for most of his life I had no doubt that they wouldn’t be there.

There were so very many people who touched our lives and others during that Blizzard of 78. I remember what neighbors were at that time.

David Langstaff

Nestled in on N. Walnut S. I got up early and saw snow engulfing the stop sign, violently whipping in the wind. I worked at Van Wert Manufacturing Co. and planned to walk, but we soon learned it would be impossible because of the forecast warnings.

As soon as we could walk in, a few of the factory guys took turns keeping watch over the building in 8-hour shifts. The insurance company asked this since the power was off. We took turns walking through all five stories every hour with flashlights.

I remember looking out an upper floor window and seeing snowdrifts reaching the top of nearby 3-4 story buildings. Derry’s was open as emergency snowmobile traffic would come and go.