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Winter contains so much beauty: The gentle fall of the snowflakes. The trees silhouetted against a
field of snow. The subtle colors of the woods. The sun glinting off an exposed piece of ice on a frozen stream.
Winter also sucks.
It's way too long. You can't play golf. It's cold. You have to shovel the snow. Your fingers get
numb. You fall on the ice. You get so cranky being inside all the time that you fight with your family, friends, co-workers and total strangers.
So, while I'm sitting here waiting for winter to be over (it was five below zero this morning) I
am fondly remembering some of my favorite winter stories.
The first year I had my driver's license, actually the first winter, they had this massive
ice/slush storm in Minneapolis – and then it froze. While it was still semi-liquid, the cars created these ruts, four or five inches deep, down the middle of all the streets. The ruts soon became
permanent. It was actually kind of fun. You could pull your car onto a street, put your tires in the ruts, and let go of the steering wheel. It was just like being on a train. This went on for many weeks
until we had a thaw.
Another winter story didn't even take place in Minnesota. I went to boot camp in San Diego where
usually the weather and the people are pretty balmy. Somewhere along the way, though, we encountered a cold snap. Now, cold in southern California is like when it gets to be about 50. Really, really cold
is when it gets into the 30s, and that's what was happening this particular week. It was no big deal because we were wearing our chambray shirts and blue jackets, and we were marching everywhere. We
stayed warm.
On this one particular morning, though, the temp hit 32 degrees and set all kinds of records for
San Diego. Also on that day we were told we'd be marching to where they took the pictures and that we should put on our dress whites. No jackets.
That was a cold march. Us guys from Minnesota were whining a little bit, but the guys from Hawaii
were just about petrified.
We marched to a spot right on the ocean where they had put these risers for picture taking. I'm
sure somebody had a bright idea that the pictures would look cool with the ocean behind the recruits. Well, that wind was whipping off the ocean with massive gusts and cutting through those dress whites
like we were naked. I was born and raised in Minnesota, but I can tell you truly that I've never been so cold as I was standing around waiting for that picture to be taken. My teeth were chattering like
a pneumatic drill and the rest of me was shaking too. Sea cold is a different kind of cold and one that I'd be glad to never experience again, at least not in my dress whites.
I lived in Hibbing for over 20 years, and that was a memorable weather experience. The problem
with the Iron Range is not that the winters are colder, which they are by about six to 10 degrees, but that they last so long. Pretty much every year, you could add about three weeks to either side of
the cold season. That extra six weeks of misery was tough to take. The joke was that if summer fell on the Fourth of July, we'd have a picnic.
Enduring those winters was mainly just a hardship, but I was young and peppy, and I survived just
fine. But there were at least two occasions where I was actually full of fear and trembling at the conditions around me.
I was the editor of the newspaper, but I also helped out on sports. On one occasion, I ventured up
to International Falls for a hockey or a basketball game. It was pretty cold going up there, but coming back, the temperature just fell out of the bottom of the thermometer. It was probably between 35
and 40 below zero.
Highway 53 is the main route to and from the Falls, and it's usually fairly well traveled along
that 80 or 90 miles. But on this Tuesday night, or whatever it was, there was nobody on the road but me. Everybody else was too smart. I had the heat in my little Chevrolet Prism company car cranked to
the max, but it was only putting out about a half a BTU every 10 minutes. It was getting mighty cold in that car.
My fear was that the car would suddenly give up the ghost on that lonely highway, and before
another car came by, I'd be frozen stiff. That may seem unreasonable, but I was actually pretty terrified. I never was happier than to see the lights of Hibbing ahead.
I had a similar experience right in Hibbing one January night. Sen. Rudy Boschwitz had come to
town and they had hosted a little dinner-dance fund raiser for him. Of course, as the editor, I had to go over and take pictures. It was about 35 below zero.
Now it wasn't all that unusual for it to get that cold on the Range. But usually when a cold snap
like that fell on Hibbing, the air was as still as a whisper. The only wind chill you encountered was from your own footsteps.
On this night, though, there was just a raging wind, 20 or 30 miles an hour, coming right out of
the north. To have your skin exposed for even a few seconds meant frost bite.
I made it from the Kahler Hotel back to the newspaper office. I had to do the film that night so
it would be ready for the newspaper in the morning. I just left the car running because I knew that shutting it off would mean I'd probably be sleeping at the Daily Tribune office. I developed the film
and printed up a picture and started my two-mile journey up First Avenue to my home.
It was so cold that it was like there were no springs at all in the car. It was like my butt was
dragging on the road. I could feel every nook and crevice like they were the Grand Canyon. Now, again, this might seem unreasonable, but I was nearly scared out of my wits. If my car quit, I had my
doubts whether I'd be able to reach any nearby house before I became the front page story in the next edition. "Editor found on sidewalk, his fingers clutched around his notebook and pen, stiff as a
board."
I haven't been frightened by the weather for a long time now. Twin Cities winters are fairly mild
compared to the northern Minnesota variety. But you know what? They still suck.
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