125 years ago, the Blizzard of 1888

The Eastern Seaboard of the United States has recently been hit with a severe blizzard, as has the Eastern portion of Nebraska. Such storms bring about great hardships and even deaths. These days, most of the troubles connected with the storms revolve around automobile traffic, especially on the Interstates, where automobile pileups can reach epic proportions. These recent storms, while bad, pale when compared with the some of the storms of yesteryear.

Of course, no one is still around to recall the Blizzard of 1888, but there are still a few of us that recall the Nebraska Blizzards of 1948-'49, sometimes called, "The Hay-lift Blizzards," blizzards which stranded so many cattle in the fields. The cattle were unable to forage for feed, and their owners were unable to reach them by tractor. The airmen from the Kearney Air Base became heroes to Nebraska cattlemen. The Kearney Air Base, a World War II Air Base, scheduled to be closed early in the Spring of 1949, came to the rescue of cattle over a wide area of Nebraska, airlifting hay and supplies. 11 C-47s and10 C-82s flew almost non-stop for weeks, to ranchers unable to reach their cattle by ordinary means. For instance, in one day, Jan. 10, 1949, the Kearney Airmen made some 78 hay-drops, representing 240 tons of hay bales. In Nebraska, Operation Hay-lift was credited with saving over four million cattle from starvation.

All over the Midwest farmers and ranchers were marooned on their farms for weeks, business in small communities came to a near standstill, and folks counted it as a blessing if they had fuel and electricity to keep warm. Kids loved the snow, and as soon as the storm subsided they brought out the sleds and flat saucers for downhill snow runs. In those pre-TV days snowbound families listened to the radio, played a lot of card games and even talked with one another. (Nine months after a three day blizzard in early January 1949, which effectively immobilized Nebraska, hospitals around the state reported a noticeable increase in births.)

As bad as the blizzards were, they could have been worse. In Nebraska only four deaths were directly attributed to the '49 storms. Two of those deaths hit our family particularly hard. A young couple, both former students of my mother, started out for town from their farm home. Their automobile became stuck in a snow bank, which had drifted across the road. They were found by rescuers the next morning, both dead in their car, by asphyxiation.

The Blizzard of Jan. 12-13, 1888, with the loss of 109 lives is counted as one of the greatest tragedies that ever hit the State of Nebraska. It has been referred to as the "School Children's Blizzard," as it trapped so many children in country schools across the state. The storm was widespread, reaching from the Rockies, across the Midwest, and as far south as Mississippi. A later storm, in March of 1888, hit the Northeastern part of the country, and New York State. The Eastern storm was not as severe as the Midwestern storm, but affected more people -- a great tragedy, accounting for some 400 deaths across the eastern seaboard.

In 1888 there were no early warning systems in place to alert folks of impending storms -- only the behavior of animals, and tell-tale signs of nature. But there was also far less traffic on roads and streets, which no doubt kept the death toll from being much larger.

In Nebraska, the January blizzard came after days of spring-like days, some almost balmy -- like the morning of Jan. 12th, It began with temperatures reaching to 70 degrees above zero. Within 24 hours the temperature had fallen to almost 40 degrees below zero. Coupled with the cold, the wind was fiercely strong, blowing snow crystals, small as powder, and so hard that they were referred to as ice dust. Many cattle died in this storm, the snow packing so tightly in their eyes and nostrils that they lost their direction and died of suffocation. It was said that voices were not audible, barely six feet away.

Across the Midwest some 235 lives were lost in the Blizzard of 1888, including the 109 here in Nebraska. The storm came up suddenly after midday. School children did not have a chance to get home. In rural Plainview a young teacher had nine pupils in her one room school. When the storm came up she sent the six older children home -- they all survived. When she ran out of fuel for the stove in the school she gathered up the three younger pupils and set out for a farmhouse across the road and a quarter mile away. In the storm she became disoriented and was forced to find what shelter she could by burrowing a short way into a snow bank. One by one, through the night, the three children succumbed to the cold. When she was found the next morning, she was still holding the youngest girl's lifeless little body in her arms. The teacher survived, though her feet were so badly frozen that they had to be amputated above the ankle. She never did recover from the trauma of losing her three little charges.

Some years ago, the late Harry Culbertson, a railroader from McCook, related his story about the Blizzard of '88. Harry was attending a country school near Culbertson in 1888. For a mid-January day it was extremely mild and sunny, though there was still snow on the ground from previous storms. That morning Harry decided to take his shot gun, as he walked to school, to get in a bit of hunting on the way. He had managed to bag a couple of quail (or some small bird), and as he neared the schoolhouse, he buried the birds and his shotgun in the snow beside a certain fencepost, not wanting to take either the birds or the shotgun with him into the school building.

Though all morning there was an unusual amount of electricity in the air, the snow did not start until near 1 p.m. The snow began as large silky flakes, but soon turned into a fine powder, which was propelled by strong winds into a full-blown blizzard. The teacher of the school was young, but capable. She dismissed the school and sent the older children home, but kept the younger children with her. She managed to keep them close and together they made it to a nearby farm place where they spent the night.

Harry had a mile or so to go to reach home. Even though the storm was raging, and the temperature had dropped dramatically, he was not worried, as he knew he could follow the fence all the way home. He said that conditions were worse than he at first believed, and he should have been more concerned, but with the confidence of youth, he slogged on. The worst part was that in the raging blizzard he could not see the buildings of his farm and would have gone past had there not been some sort of farm machine near the fence, which he recognized and that enabled him to get his bearings. When the winds abated slightly he caught sight of the lantern in the kitchen window, his safety beacon home.

School did not resume for a week, and some of the youngsters were gone for longer than that. The subsequent drifts completely covered the fence that Harry had followed on his trip home that day. It was late in March before he made his way back to the spot where he had left his shotgun and the two birds he had bagged the morning of the storm. He was much relieved to find that a little oil and cleaning was all the gun required to be restored to prime condition, and the two birds were still frozen solid. Years later he laughed as he told how he had taken them home, thawed them out, cleaned them, and the family had eaten them for supper that night -- only two and a half months late.

In the Eastern parts of the US, especially New York and New Jersey, the Blizzard of 1888, from March 11-14, 1888, was considered the worst blizzard to ever plague that portion of the country. Snowfall of as much as 60 inches fell on parts of New York, New Jersey, Connecticut and Massachusetts. Sustained winds, in excess of 45 mph, produced snow drifts reaching some 50' in height. The trains stopped running, roads were closed, and people were snowed in their homes for as much as one week.

Bad as storms are in rural areas, and relatively lightly populated cities, as they were in Nebraska in 1888, the large cities were immeasurably harder hit. The first electric power for city lights and commerce had reached New York City in 1880. By 1888 electric lights were commonplace in NYC. That power was transmitted to the homes via power lines strung on power poles. But in addition to the electric lines, telegraph wires and telephone wires had their own poles. City streets in New York were canopied with overhead wires. As the snow accumulated, and the winds blew, power poles began to snap under the weight and live electric wires snapped, creating a most dangerous condition on New York streets. For days commerce came to a near standstill in America's largest city

There were the usual stories of heroism with the storm and sad tales of tragedy. One story, which got much circulation, was that of Wall Street Lawyer, Roscoe Coonklin, a prominent NYC figure. Mr. Conklin was a former US Senator, and had been a Presidential Candidate in 1880. He prided himself on his physical condition, but he was also arrogant -- to a fault. Against the advice of staff he insisted on walking the three blocks to his residence in the Madison Square Hotel. He became stuck in a five foot snowdrift, suffered from exhaustion and exposure and died within two weeks. He was 56 years old.