By Dr. Bruce Smith —— Bio and Archives--February 26, 2024
This is one of the most cherished memories of my Heartland childhood. Journey with me, dear reader, to those remarkable days in my memory, February 25th and 26th, 1961.
I turned eight near the end of 1960. We had moved away from the old hometown of New Castle, Indiana the previous year and had moved again already, this time to a rented two-story house in Richmond, Indiana. We were a family of five with the folks, my two brothers and me. My dad had taken a job with a local heating and air conditioning firm, and my mother had gone to work as a secretary at the local college. Both sets of grandparents still lived in the old hometown, thirty-two miles away. We visited them often, every couple of months if possible. This story came about because of a visit to my paternal grandparents in February of 1961.
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By Tim Minnich on 2024 02 26
Awesome write-up so far, Bruce. Most evocative! I am a meteorologist, one year younger than you, and you will definitely want to check out my historical novel about the Great Blizzard of 1888 which hit the northeast, with New York City being ground-zero. timothyminnich.com
By Barbi on 2024 02 29
It is really fortunate that you were able to make it into their driveway. What if you had gone off the road before then? No pie, no blankets. What a safe and warm place to sit out a storm! Still, no matter how snug and warm you are, listening to a storm rage all night makes you want to look out the windows and watch the changes as that storm is enveloping you. What a night to remember!
By Joe Boudreault on 2024 03 03
Great survival memories, Dr Smith. It reminds me of growing up on a farm in eastern Canada where there was even more snow and wind, and our farmhouse was nowhere as warm as your grandfather's. But we survived and actually laughed about it. If people were stranded out in the country they just found a way to the nearest farmhouse and were always invited in for the night.
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