Minnesota’s reputation for brutal winters is not completely unjust: obscenely-cold temperatures (that’s actual not windchill), blizzards which stop (almost) everything, winters where new snow fall is constant and the shoveling never stops. The natives brag: my first winter had one week’s high temperature of -10F/-23C. My mother was not amused.
On the other end of the spectrum is the (so far) tame/lame winter of 2023-24, with almost no snow and only one cold stretch (single-digits below zero). I actually need a legitimate snow if I’m to sled with my grandchildren!
The small talk before today’s (Friday) late afternoon meeting was how the lack of snow meant no snow days for school-aged kids. But then we asked each other: are snow days even a thing anymore? On questionable mornings my mom turned on the radio and we’d anxiously wait to (hopefully) hear our school name read out on the list of closed schools. However, COVID taught everyone how school (and everything else) can operate virtually/remotely, including education. How utterly depressing.
[I’ll conveniently ignore the fact that I work from home every day with every intention to avoid office work if at all possible; I’ll hot-spot off my phone if my home network is down.]
Winter in Eastern Iowa 1978-79
I lived in Jackson Country, Iowa from second grade through high school, and experienced The Brutal Winter of 1978-1979 as an eighth grader. A mid-January blizzard dropped 18.4″/46.7cm snow on Davenport; the amounts were higher as you went north towards Jackson County.
The blizzard started a run of snow days, school canceled most days for the next four weeks, with (convenient) fresh snow falling just as the gravel roads were plowed enough for school buses. School was often canceled the previous afternoon: no drama, no need to get up early, no need to listen to the radio. Sleep until my toddler siblings woke me up. Very anti-climatic.
Once all possible make-up days were exhausted, Saturday school was needed. A novel experience, surprisingly only one absentee, and definitely a weird vibe. Fortunately Saturday school was a one-off event, though we were told that each additional canceled school day required a make-up Saturday.
Snow Rule Football
Perhaps inspired by this game from December 1976, during his January 1979 visit, my dad created a variation of American football he named Snow Rules Football: backyard football with the added rule that an incomplete forward pass was live, spot possession awarded to whomever got to the ball first.
On many of those days with no school, I walked into Green Island and played hours-long Snow Rules Football games with the Daniels boys (Jeff, Tim and Lonnie), many throws to no one in particular followed by everyone trouncing through thigh-deep snow to get to the football first. We’d played until exhaustion and soaked clothes made us stop, by which point sunset was approaching. I’d walk home, confirmed that school was already canceled, and rest up for tomorrow’s activities.
That Christmas Tim got a football helmet as a present, and immediately lost the chin strap while playing Snow Rules Football. The chinstrap was found in April or May after the snow had (finally) melted.
Sports Journalism Extraordinaire
Please take the time to read Dan Jenkins recap of the Steelers/Bengals game (the above magazine cover), as the writing is amazingly humorous. My favorite parts include:
The visibility in Riverfront Stadium was deteriorating so quickly, however, it is unlikely that [Art] Rooney or many others of the 55,142 customers ever saw little Chris Bahr kick the rumored 40-yard field goal that gave the Bengals a 3-0 lead near the end of the first quarter, just before the snow began to fall.
Twenty-five yards can be a long way to go when you can’t stand up or see very well, particularly when the rules won’t let you use a sled.
So [Franco] Harris did the best Hamill Camel of the day, or double axel, or whatever they call those things skaters do. All these large guys were standing up and shoving and tugging, and there went Franco, drifting to his right and aiming at a huge hole his blockers had opened. He shoved off with one foot and sort of glided, and then he shoved off with the other and did a bit of ice dancing—and all of a sudden he was in the Cincinnati end zone and trying to stop himself from going on through a tunnel and out into the white-caps of the Ohio River.
[Ken Anderson] stepped back into the end zone and lofted a bomb to [Isaac] Curtis at midfield. The ball disappeared in the whirling snow, and when it reappeared Curtis caught it over his shoulder in perfect stride. On a clear day Curtis may have run forever. On this day, though, he was forced out of bounds.
I believe I saw the broadcast live, though my mother’s strict television limits makes that seem doubtful, and I devoured the article when I received a copy from my dad. Even though I haven’t read the article in decades, I specifically remember parts of it. Insane.
Image Credits
- “Snow day at Clark Park” by ceg is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.
- “Quad Cities Blizzard” courtesy of The Quad City Times.
- “The Steelers Storm On” courtesy of Sports Illustrated
