It was 30 years ago this weekend, but people who are old enough still remember exactly what they were doing during the Blizzard of ’78, the worst winter storm in Ohio’s history.

COURTESY LORAIN COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY

A tractor-trailer gets towed in the aftermath of the Blizzard of 1978.

The storm blew across Ohio with 70 mph winds that caused snow to drift in 20-foot mounds, burying houses and cars.

It killed 48 people across Ohio and shut down businesses, schools and almost every road, including the Ohio Turnpike.

The barometer fell to a record 28.28 inches on the first day, the lowest pressure ever recorded in Ohio and a pressure lower than most hurricanes, Kent State University professor Thomas Schmidlin said.

To mark the anniversary of the great storm, we asked readers to share their memories.

There are some great stories we think you’ll enjoy — especially since you are reading about them in your cozy house.

If nothing else, they will make today’s cold and snow much easier to bear.

A busy night for firefighters

When the blizzard hit, Tom Kelley, current director of the Lorain County Office of Emergency Management and Homeland Security, was just a young part-time firefighter and EMT with the Elyria Township Fire Department.

He got a call at 6 a.m. from then-Fire Chief Louis Laule asking him to come to the station to help. A groggy Kelley could not understand why he would have to go to the station.

“The temperature at midnight the night before had been close to 60 degrees. I could not understand why he wanted to know if I could make it to the station — until I looked out the window.”

The previous six hours had piled drifts of snow into mountains outside of Kelley’s windows. He did make it to the station and was quickly dispatched to the railroad tracks on Murray Ridge Road, where an occupied taxi cab was stuck on the tracks.

When he found the taxi, it was empty.

“The occupants had taken refuge in a home in the area. There was a train stopped within 30 feet of the cab. We could hear it running, but had to walk to see it because of the blowing snow,” Kelley said.

Later that night, Kelley and others responded to a call of a heart attack on North Ridge Road. They took a 4×4 pickup truck and a plow to the home.

“We put the patient in the 4×4 with oxygen, and plowed our way to Elyria Hospital,” Kelley said. “I can remember state Route 57 being a sea of abandoned cars.’’

Home alone with the boys

The blizzard kept Billy Morrow and his wife, Glenna, apart for three straight days.

Billy went in for the night shift at Kasper Foundry, where he worked as a crane operator, just as the snow was beginning to pick up. By the time his shift was over, the storm had dumped a thick blanket of snow on the ground and stranded him at work.

Along with most of his coworkers, Billy spent the night at the foundry, not knowing when he would get to go home.

With the roads out of commission and no way for either the day shift to get to work or the night shift to leave, Billy and the others just continued to plug away.

And when the next night came, there was no exit in sight.

At home, his wife, Glenna, was left alone to fight the storm and provide for their three sons — all the while worried about her husband.

Whenever the chance arose, Billy would bundle up and steal off to his truck where he had a two-way CB radio. From there he would radio Glenna to assure her he was fine and see how she and the boys were holding up. They spoke frequently over those long three days. His radio name was Hummingbird and hers was Peanut.

As the days passed, Billy looked for signs that the roads were clear to drive, but it was slow going. He passed the days working two shifts and eating candy bars from the vending machines for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Back at their home in Avon, Glenna was having trouble fending off the snow and the cold.

“It was pretty scary,” she said.

When she was forced to leave the house to get food, she took her three boys with her out of fear. The landscape, covered in snow and littered with abandoned cars and machinery, was like something out of ‘Lost in Space,’ ’’ she said.

The four of them battled the high winds to make it to the store.

“We all had to hold onto each other, or we’d be knocked right off our feet by the wind,” she said.

Finally, after three days and nights, the CB radio had good news.

“Peanut,” Hummingbird said, “I’m coming home.”

Billy drove slowly and had to take a circuitous route to make it home, but eventually, he did.

“I was so tickled to see him,” Glenna said.

Billy, for his part, was equally relieved.

“It was a very scary time,” he said. “You didn’t know what was going to happen. You just had to put your faith in the Lord.”

“And I didn’t want to see any more snow for a while,” he added.

Cuddling up in the car

Shirley Gore spent the blizzard of 1978 in her garage. Frozen pipes and a lack of power forced Gore, her husband and their two daughters to spend a few frigid nights sleeping in the relative warmth of their car.

“We just gathered up all the pillows and blankets we could find and spread them across the seats of my husband’s race car,” Gore said.

The nights in her Columbia Station garage were cold but bearable.

The Gores’ pipes weren’t the only ones to freeze. When their neighbors found themselves without heat, Gore offered to share what little space she had with them.

“I don’t remember where they slept,” she said. “I just remember that it was pretty crowded in (the garage).”

She said that although she never feared for her life, the situation was a little nerve-racking. When supplies got low, Gore’s husband would take his snowmobile to one of the few open grocery stores for eggs and bread.

“Luckily we had a hot plate in the garage,” Gore said. “We pretty much survived on eggs.”

Gore’s youngest daughter, who was 6, was small and had a hard time staying warm.

“I had to hold on to her all the time,” Gore said.

But all the coldness made the homecoming all the more pleasurable.

“It was so nice to return to the house,” she said, “and my bed.”

Making sure folks had food

During the Blizzard of ’78, Bill and Bonnie Cutcher might have been the most popular couple in town. Their store — Cutcher’s Brownhelm Store at the corner of

Baumhart and North Ridge Road in Brownhelm — was one of the only stores open in the area.

“We sold all our bread and milk the night before the storm and knew we would need product the next morning,” said Bonnie. Bill called Lorain Creamery and Nickles Bakery to learn that neither would be making deliveries.

Knowing that most of the neighborhood relied on them for bread and milk, Bill found himself in a jam. But he decided with his 1963 front-wheel drive Jeep equipped with a snowplow he could probably make it to Lorain for the milk and bread.

Most of the roads were too covered in snow for any driving, so Bill had to map a winding route to get him over those six miles. He loaded up the cab of his Jeep with gallons and gallons of milk at the creamery and packed the remaining space with bread from Nickle’s.

The bread and milk did not stay on the shelves. It seemed like everyone in the neighborhood came out of hiding to visit the store. They rode tractors and snowmobiles or they simply plodded through the drifts to get milk and bread.

“It was a time when neighbors shared and helped one another to make sure they had food and heat,” said Bonnie.

 

 

 

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