Remembering the Blizzard of '88

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(Gallery by The Republican Photo Desk)

When David Roberts threw his heavy load of pine knots over his shoulder on March 11, 1888, and set out to sell them on Springfield streets, he must have thought business would be brisk.



Snow had already begun falling, and the people would be in need of the pine knots, and the warmth they would generate in fireplaces and stoves.



Maybe the chilly winds and snow were the very reasons the peddlar of pine knots ventured out.



Whatever the reason, David Roberts didn't live to tell. He was a casualty of one of Mother Nature's most spectacular rages – the blizzard of 1888.



The snow began falling on March 11, and continued for more than 24 hours.



About four feet fell on level ground but wind-whipped drifts of 15 to 20 feet were common.



Although Roberts was the only fatality in Springfield, there were close calls.



A man named Edwin F. Leonard noticed a hat in a snowbank, when he stooped down to pick it up, he discovered a little girl buried in the snow.



The blizzard, actually three storms which hit one after another, paralyzed the Northeast. More than 400 people died.



A train loaded with passengers made its way through the drifts, as far as the North Wilbraham-Indian Orchard line, where it chugged to a halt. For two days the passengers were stranded.



Thousands of employees were stranded at mills and factories, unable to get home to their families.



The Springfield Armory closed down for lack of coal. Springfield Street Railway trollies were abandoned in snowdrifts in the middle of the street.



As in the case of most natural disasters, when the sick and injured were taken care of in Springfield, it was time to make merry.



Downtown hotels shook to the rafters with revelry as "the knights of the cork" sang and drank on end.



For years following the storm, The Association of '88, consisting of those who stayed at the Hotel Cooley during the storm, met annually.



The only way to get around after the storm was by snowshoes, which rapidly became scarce.



Telegraph boys attached lengths of wire around their waists so they could be pulled from snowdrifts which reached over their heads.



Tons of snow were carted from city streets, using horse-drawn wagons and man-powered shovels.



Over the years when forecasters predict heavy snow eyes scan the clouds, waiting for a repeat performance, waiting for the first flake signaling another blizzard of 1888.



But it has yet to happen.



Even with the threat of global warming they just don't have winters like they used to. Maybe next year, maybe next week, maybe never.