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Cleveland Superbomb Evokes Childhood Memories

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2018-02-03

I've decided if I ever write something about family history, or nostalgia or “Americana” (whatever that means) I think I'll write something about the Blizzard of '78.

This past week was the 40-year anniversary of that event, and one of my managers at work was sick of hearing about it. I told him not to piss all over my memories (we have the kind of relationship where I can use language like that) of that time.

Because for some reason, the blizzard sticks in my mind more than any Christmas we ever celebrated. Sure, I love A Christmas Story, but that storm, also known as the Cleveland Superbomb, sparks more memories for me, for some reason.

I was just a kid, but it seemed like there was always something going on. That particular night I had the house all to myself. Dad was on a rare business trip, mom was working second shift at the restaurant, and had told my brother to watch me. Being who he is, he ditched me and told me not to answer the door for anyone. A ten-year-old girl at home alone with two dogs, one of them hours away from whelping her first litter and the blizzard of a lifetime bearing down on the city. What could possibly go wrong?

Actually, nothing did. Everyone got home safely, including mom, who arrived just in time to see the first puppy being born.

I never thought about it at the time, but I wonder if my dad ever regretted moving here from Puerto Rico, via Milwaukee, after seeing so much snow. A seven-foot drift curved across our backyard, from the clothesline all the way down to the back fence. One night, my brother dug a tunnel in the drift. Lots of other people had the same idea too, and the news stations were warning that kids ran the risk of being smothered if the snow collapsed on them. As far as I know, nothing like that ever happened. I remember digging a trench between the drift and the back fence, because our adult dogs, Ruffles and new mom Fluffy could walk on the snow and out of the yard. Finding a lost dog in that mess would have been awful.

I was homeschooled that year, so after my teacher stayed for an hour, I had plenty of time to play in the snow.

At that time, Kroger's was in Northcrest Shopping Center. My brother took my sled and got provisions, but in an ill-fated attempt to get my mom to quit smoking, neglected to pick up her cigarettes. Justifiably pissed (and suffering from nicotine withdrawal), mom bundled up and went to Kokolene, a nearby gas station, to feed her habit. Thank God she did, because no one should have to witness that. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but part of me was fascinated by my mother's mood, part of me was wondering if she'd kill my brother.

I remember other things too, like my mom telling my father to take it easy with the shoveling, the challenging situation of eight-cylinder engine, rear-wheel drive cars versus a foot and a half of snow, the bitter cold, my brother smearing Vasoline on my face to help combat the windchill. Mom being on vacation that week. New puppies. Dad at home. Being amazed by Mother Nature.

I'm sure the blizzard evokes memories for others as well. Some pleasant, perhaps some sad. Maybe it was a pain in the ass for grown-ups, but when the millennials I work with go on and on about some mild snowstorm, and exclaim, “I've never seen so much snow in my life,” I say, “I've seen more.”

In a way, it shocks me that I've reached an age where I've seen historical events happen that young people read about in books. My memories of the Blizzard of '78 are my own little In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash, my own Christmas Story. For me, it was a joyous time when all was right in the world, and the future held sledding, puppies and improved health which allowed me to return to school for sixth grade, the best school year of my life.

After that, it all went to hell—but that's another story.