The blizzard of ‘67

Jack Deatherage

(9/2020) I was well into the 7th level of Hell, what my parents called "the seventh grade", in the Fairfield Area School System when a blizzard descended on south-central Pennsylvania and mid Maryland. The historical record shows the storm pounded us after first tearing through Chicago from January 26 – 27 where it dropped 23 inches of snow before reaching Baltimore where it dumped just over 10 inches of snow on February 7th. Our area got around 16 inches.

We were living along Crum Road, just off the Tract Road, between Fairfield and Emmitsburg. The winds must have howled for two weeks as snow piled up around the rancher we lived in. Eventually we awoke to silence and snow drifts that nearly reached the peak of our roof. The world was a sparkling wonderland of undulating snow flows! And the best part of that morning was the radio telling us the schools were still closed! (It would be at least another week before a snowplow managed to open Crum Road.)

The youngest of my five siblings (2 and 5 years old) were confined to a open area of frozen lawn that ran along the front of the house. The drift there was only head high on a 5 year old. It was days before Dad and us older kids shoveled paths around the house and tunneled through the larger drifts so the smaller kids could also play in the snow. Much of the digging had to do with reaching the pump-box behind the house so Dad could thaw the waterline.

Thinking back on that time, I marvel that Mom and Dad didn't kill us kids and, come the thaw, claim they did it because of cabin fever. I recall Dad running out of cigarettes and suffering more than a week of withdrawal as well as six 'trapped in the house kids', before he announced he was walking into Emmitsburg for smokes. Mom requested a carton of her brand as well and off Dad waded down the road.

Me and First Sister watched Dad until he disappeared behind some trees. I don't know what possessed me to follow him, but I do recall asking First Sister to tell Mom I was going after him. Yep. I was well established at age twelve as not being particularly bright. It was 3.6 miles by road from where we lived to my Grandmother Deatherage's apartment on the town square. Piece of cake!

After making that first mistake, what followed was pretty mundane.

I lost Dad's track almost immediately. To this day I do not understand how I managed that, given Dad was 6'2" tall and weighed about 150 pounds in those days. Hell, the track I made could have been followed by a snow-blind drunk and I was no where near as big as Dad!

I later heard Dad had stopped at Wenschoff's house and had hiked with them out Wenschoff Road to check on their people before Dad continued on alone to Emmitsburg. I must have missed his track turning onto their property. I was close to being snow blind myself by that point of the adventure.

Having discovered the snow was deeper in front of Wenschoff's house, and no longer having a track to follow, I debated turning around and going home. Not wanting to set a precedent for making smart choices, I decided I'd cut across a cow pasture (1,100 feet according to Google Map) which seemed to be windblown clear of drifts and skip 1,400 feet of waist deep snow that covered the rest of Crum Road. I stepped gingerly onto the crusted snow between the road and a barbed wire fence. Upon reaching the fence, I only had to step over the top strand of wire and the rest was an easy amble to the Tract Road.

Fear is one of humanity's greatest motivators. Of course the crust gave way as I swung a leg over the fence. I don't remember how long I struggled to tear loose from the wire, but I do remember being terrified I'd fall down and not be able to rise from the drift again!

Once free of the fence, I found myself exhausted, soaked with sweat and on the Tract Road side of the wire. I had to soldier on. There was no way I'd get back over the fence and survive.

Eventually I reached the road, which was a wonder in itself- bare blacktop! Hell, I could do this! Until I couldn't. The snow rose straight up from the road, about 50 yards ahead of me, as a wall at least six feet high! Finally coming to grips with my inability to follow Dad into town, I gave up and turned around to walk the stretch of Crum Road I'd skipped by cutting across the pasture. Only another wall of snow greeted me before I even reached that road.

In a panic I walked back and forth between the walls of snow trying to spot a way around either of them. I was standing in the middle of the road between Sanders' house and the barn when I experienced the second cold-induced asthma attack of my life. (Others would follow, but none would be as terrible as that one!)

Exhausted, unable to escape the trap I'd stupidly walked into, and now unable to breath, I realized I was standing where I'd been told Grandfather Deatherage had been killed in an accident two years before I was born. I began crying.

"Are you alright?" I heard Mrs. Sanders call from her doorway. "Ricky! Go get the boy!"

Ricky, probably a senior in high school, waded 200 feet through the snow drifts in the yard, scooped me up as if I weighed nothing and carried me into the house. I was stripped down to my long johns, wrapped in a wool blanket and set next to the wood burning stove in the living room, possibly the same stove that heated the house when Dad's people had lived there. Someone put a mug of hot cocoa in my trembling hands while Mrs Sanders called Mom on the phone.

Mom was rather surprised that I was at Sanders' house. First Sister hadn't told her what I was about, probably because she thought Mom would send her out to bring me back. First Sister wasn't stupid. If I got myself killed, she still had two other brothers.

It was decided I would stay by the stove until I was warm enough to make the trek back home. Mom had Last Brother in diapers so she couldn't go fetch me and none of the other three kids could have followed my path anyhow.

I can't remember leaving Sanders' house, though I suspect Ricky walked with me back across the cow pasture and got me across the barbed wire without much difficulty.

I don't recall Mom's exact words when I finally walked into our house. More than likely she asked something inane, like, "What were you thinking?"

It sticks in mind that Dad, upon hearing the story, shook his head and grumbled something like, "You won't do anything that stupid again."

Ha! A precedent had been established!