Category: South Shore MA history

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The Blizzard of ‘78, 45 years ago

Feb. 2023.

As I write this note, here in Down East Maine, I am looking out the window watching the snow drift across my deck, the wind is  a-blowing-like-hell !  But, why shouldn’t it be?  It’s Maine, and it’s Feb.
Enjoy my previous posted blog of my  venture from Dedham to Marshfield  on the 7th, 8 th. & 9th. of Feb, 1978!

   45  years ago, that was almost  half my life ago!  I’m having my morning coffee and a freshly made blueberry muffin and watching snow being blown across my deck,  reminded me of my  three day journey home after  that blizzard.  I have done a bit of revision to a few photos and some text.

I am jumping ahead of “the kid from Seaview” in the 40s & 50s, to a 44 year old man from Seaview. I was teaching in Fitchburg, Ma., on February 6th, 1978, I was up at 5:00 to leave Seaview about 6:00 for the 90-mile journey.

Monday morning off I went, with a slight falling of snow, arriving at school at 7:55, just in time for class. I kept an eye on the much faster and heavier snow falling. School was called off at noon. I called my wife to get the latest news; she said, “It’s getting bad.” I had a room in Ashburnham, but decided to head back home,

East on Route 2 was plowed, however, slow. It took two hours to get to Route 128 – usually about 30 minutes. Approaching 128, I had to make a decision to continue on Route 2 or 128. Route 128 looked clear, so down I went. As I approached the Mass Pike, I entertained the idea of heading toward Boston.

Unbeknownst to me, at 6pm, Route 128 was at a complete jam in Canton. I did not have a radio in my truck to monitor the storm or traffic. It was stop and go for about a mile, then stop and no more go! I could see the railroad bridge in Westwood.

14 died from carbon dioxide poisoning.

After about an hour, people were walking past me. I stopped one and asked where everyone was going. That person was going to seek refuge in the St. Bartholomew Church, not far away. He told me that Route 128 was jammed solid. Not being a church going person, I opted to stay in my truck.

It was quite cold and the wind wouldn’t stop howling! A few more cold souls passed by about 10PM. I was quite aware that exhaust fumes entering the cab could do me in! I cleared the snow away from the exhaust a few times. I had my suitcase with me for my week of extra clothes, and the two sheets I would have used on my bed in Ashburnham. I usually had some leftovers and sandwich making stuff, however I left that back in the shop refrigerator. I cracked open the wing windows and the back slider for a fresh flow of air. I turned the heat to full hot and high fan, wrapped up in the sheets, and dozed off. When the heat got so hot I woke, turned the truck off, and dozed until I was cold. That went on for nearly six hours.

The sound of sirens awoke me at about 6:30 am. Two State Police cruisers were broadcasting that a bus was coming to transport any of us left. This was happening on the cleared northbound lane, now being used for both north and southbound traffic.


I was stuck within sight of this bridge in Westwood!

About 20 of us abandoned our vehicles, climbed over the guardrails, and boarded the bus. More were picked up as we traveled along. We ended up at the National Guard Armory in Dedham. They let us use their phone to call our loved ones. My wife and two kids were fine as well as Reggie, our dog. They had plenty of wood for heat and cooking.

After I contacted my wife, the guardsmen fed us onion soup for breakfast! There were four of us at the table trying to decide what to do. One local suggested  a small restaurant close by that we ended up having a lunch in, they had gas fired grills and a limited menu,  cash only!

Two of the group were from Quincy, one from Norwood, and me, from Marshfield. The two from Quincy left us. My new-found friend said he would walk home to Norwood and asked if I wanted to come along. I did.

Oh my god, what was I in for? Down Route 1, un-plowed! We were walking on a snowmobile trail with just the roofs of cars showing! As we passed Lechmere’s, the snow had drifted so high it covered the entire entrance!

We continued until we came to a Chinese restaurant, and turned right up a hill that was barely plowed. It was dusk. When we arrived at my friend’s house, the entrance was completely covered in snow!

Our shovel was a board. It took about 30 minutes to get through the door with quite frozen hands. My friend’s wife made us dinner, we did some chatting, then off to the sofa for a some well-needed sleep. The next morning: a nice breakfast, a thank you, and a farewell.

I hiked south on Route 1. Some plowing had been done to Route 27 — that was my way home. I got a ride on the running board of a wrecker into Stoughton, another ride in the back of a pickup through Brockton, and finally another ride on the step of a grader into Rockland. I headed east on Route 123 and got a ride to 3A & 123.

As I got to Neal Gate Street in Greenbush, a friend picked me up and dropped me off at my front door! Wednesday, Feb. 8th about 2pm — two and half days. Not too bad!

My wife had the deck and back steps cleared. Up I went, opened the back door and hollered, “I’m home!” My wife said that she had a feeling I’d be home that afternoon. Hugs and kisses for the wife, the kids, and the dog, in that order.

Now my wife says, “Let’s take a walk down to Fourth Cliff to see the damage!” Oh well, why not? My legs were still in motion from hiking from Norwood.

looking for the pavement on Central Ave.


Heavy Equipment Operator Ned Dubois operating a big Cat.

A week later I obtained a permit to recover my truck. I found it in the northbound lane. The National Guard had cut openings in the guardrails and dragged all of the vehicles into the northbound lane.

The next week was spent freeing the vehicles.

All was well, except all my clothing in the suitcase was gone! I suppose a Guardsman was grateful for the dry clothes!

“Snowflakes are one of nature’s most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together.” – Vesta M. Kelly

by Ray Freden Seaview/Marshfield

Note;

I later learned a friend from Needham,that had tickets to Boston’s traditional “Bean Pot ” hockey game’s at the Boston Gardens.
There was no way he could take the Tee or drive into Boston.
His neighbor had a snowmobile, Believe it or not they snowmobiled through the storm Feb. 6th, and  into Boston to the Gardens for the semi finals game between  Harvard , (4) & Northeastern,(3) .  Jack relayed to me, “the only things moving were snow machines!”

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The NORTH RIVER, over 100 years ago

PART 1.

This blog contains excerpts from the Story Teller of Damonds Point, Walter Crossley, “as he remembers”.  This one was published in the Mariner Newspaper on June 1, 1972.

*Walter takes you from  points inland of the North River  and travels downstream to the New Inlet.                              There are location notes by me  ( * —–.)

“A brief description of the river is perhaps a necessity to bring things to a starting point.”
“North River is a small semi-tidal river in the area known as the South Shore of Massachusetts. The river touches or takes drainage from Marshfield, , Norwell, Hanover, Pembroke, Hanson, Rockland, and, I believe, parts of Whitman, Abington, and Hingham.”
“Before the November storm of 1898, the river was three miles longer, entering the bay at the present day parking lot in Rexhame.
(*Marshfield.)
The mouth, at that time, was partially choked with sand bars and prevented a large portion of the present rise and fall of the tide.  This condition resulted in a fresher (*fresh-water), quieter stream.”

RIVER SKATING
“I have heard my father,  and several others in his generation, tell of skating from Brick-Kiln Landing (* Pembroke), to the Life Saving Station on the end of Fourth Cliff (* Humarock/Scituate). They all agreed that the bridges had to be circumvented and that caution was required at several places, such as at the narrows ( ? ),  and at stream entrances.”

“Spearing eels and netting white perch through the ice were winter occupations.”
“A successful catch was shipped to Boston and it brought in some welcome money.  In the spring, there were runs of smelt, shad, and alewives, all commercially valuable in those days.  I can remember only the alewives or herring as they were often called.
After the storm of 1898, saltwater came much farther up-stream than it had before. When I first began to go up and down the stream, there were many acres of white cedar and blueberry swamps that had been killed by  the increase of saltwater.”

North River Ghost Trees.
Photography by Mike Sleeper.

“I was pleased to see on my most recent trip up river, that new cedars and other vegetation are growing again in the marshes. And on my uncle’s farm  (still in the family), there are now many trees.  In 1908, there were many dead trees in the low-lying area of the farm, and I was told the saltwater killed them. The fact that fresh water species, meadow corn, cattails, wild rose, and cedar, are pushing out farther into the marsh and much farther down river would seem to indicate that the old conditions are being restored”.
“Sixty years ago (* 1913 ), it is a fact that the rivers are much easier to navigate down stream than up, so, with that in mind, let us begin our trip at the first convenient place at the Pembroke Herring Run on Barker St. in Pembroke. Actually those are  shown on some maps as Barker’s River. ”
“The North River does not appear until it reaches the junction of the Barker and Indian Head Rivers, a short distance from the site of the old rubber mill (*The Clapp  Rubber Mill Co.), off Elm St. , Hanover.”
“Years ago a run of perch was the first good fishing of the spring, and it coincided pretty well with the schools’ vacation.  Almost all the boys in the neighborhood would be at the brook from early  morn’ ’til dark.  Armed with nets, hooks, sticks, spears and anything else that was available, we took some perch, a few herring, and an occasional eel. ”
It wasn’t often I got to fish alone
at my favorite spot.

But, mine is a better spot.


“Soon the real herring run started and the boys were chased off the brook. The herring in those days were serious business.”
” One of my earliest memories is of being taken to the brook to watch men with dip nets scoop out fish at the weir. Teams were hired by the town to transport live herring to sawing ponds. They lashed large hogs heads (* Wood Barrels) to wagons, filled them with water and placed the herring inside. They were then unloaded in Furnace Pond, opposite where the Nine Owls now stands.”(* Pembroke).
This loading and unloading continued until the town officials felt that enough herring had been transported to insure continuation of the run. I think every taxpayer was entitled to 100 herring.”
Barrels of live herring waiting to be unloaded.

FISH ON STICKS.
“Sticks were a common sight in these days.   I believe a dozen fish per stick were hung on the sides of barns and sheds to dry. I cannot, however, agree with those that tell of the joys of eating roast herring and hot biscuits. I will only go so far as to say the biscuits were good.”
“The herring run was at the site of the first house and the first mill in what is now Pembroke, and, before the first European settlements, Indians camped there.  In fact, one can easily imagine a group of crude shelters with fires burning at intervals and Indians eating large quantities of fish after a long hard winter.”
“Leaving the herring run, we must  leave the river and go on foot for some distance.  A thick alder swamp, which offers only a few places to pass, reached out to the junction of the brook flowing by West’s Mill ( *Junction of Rte 3, now 53, & Rte 14).
“These swamps were believed to have been created by the saw mills on the brooks. The custom was to dispose of saw-dust by dumping it into the stream. This procedure worked fine if there was a good flow of water, but as the current became sluggish, saw-dust settled and accumulated on the banks, which in turn, diverted the streams in several directions instead of one main channel.  I understand there is now a beaver dam and a pond in this area. The only use we could find for the stretch was muskrat trapping and an occasional mink and duck shooting in the fall. There may have been fish there but impossible to catch them.”

Next, PART 2 ….. to be continued as my time permits.

Keep in mind these excerpts were written in the ’70’s by Walter Crossley, ((1899-1991),  for the Mariner newspaper. I am fortunate to have a capitulation of his works that I find most interesting.

 

W, Ray Freden.
ray@wrayfreden.com

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The First Blizzard I Remember (1940)

On St. Valentine’s Day in 1940, as I was approaching five and a half years, a horrific northeast blizzard swept over the northeastern United States. Seaview was left buried in snow.

It was on a Wednesday, and my Dad made it to Greenbush to take the train to work in Boston. The storm was getting worse. At noon his boss – knowing my Dad had a long trip home — let him off early. The next train to Greenbush wasn’t until 4:30. Dad had to wait four hours in the South Station . . . and my Dad didn’t like waiting.

Steaming out of Boston.

That early train just made it to Greenbush. Dad had installed tire chains on his car that morning, just in case the storm got worse. Route 3A was plowed, but at Stoddard’s Corner, Summer Street had a huge drift across it. Dad had to continue down 3A until he found a plowed road to Seaview.

Highland Street was plowed, as were Pleasant and Summer Streets. Station Street was not plowed, and the snow bank was too high to crash through. The Seaview Garage was closed for the night and had a space plowed open. Dad left his car and walked home from there, just two doors away.

Our streets were barely plowed.

I remember the snow was so high that getting in or out of the back door was difficult. Dad was over an hour late, but Mom had supper warm on the kerosene stove. Mom made a favorite dinner for Dad. Valentine’s Day was always special for my folks and so the dinner was eaten in the dining room by candlelight (this night we HAD to use candles — the electricity was out.

After supper, a white frosted cake with red heart shapes all over it, was dessert. Just after we finished, Dad placed a red heart-shaped box of Fanny Farmer chocolates at Mom’s place. Mom had first pick, I had the next — always a square one. Dad had last pick — he didn’t care which one. Then we had another round.

After supper, Dad lit his lantern, and went to shovel an opening out to Summer Street so he could get his car into the side yard. The wind was howling and stayed that way all night. The drifts were becoming quite high against our house — up to the windows!

We had a coal furnace for heat and the telephone was working. Our home was lighted by kerosene lamps and candles. Dad had a flashlight that he carried everywhere until the batteries went dead. When the flashlight was useless, he lit up a kerosene lantern.

The next morning, Dad got a telephone call from Bill Pratt, the Police Chief. He was asked if he would help dig out Summer Street between the O’Donnells’ and the Littles’. This is now the entrance to Cedar Acres Road. Dad agreed, got his shovel and walked down Summer Street to the site. There were many men and the older boys from the neighborhood there.

Men and boys shoveling through a drift.

When he arrived home in the late afternoon, he told Mom and me that they only made about ten feet of headway and Dad was beat! There were no plowing machines that could handle these fifteen foot drifts, and many were higher.

The ladies of the neighborhood kept a steady flow of coffee, sandwiches and goodies for the crew.

 

Also, there was a huge drift at the south end of Station Street and the plow truck couldn’t budge it. The north end of Station Street got plowed because Charlie Langille, our neighbor, was a town selectman. All hell would break loose if it didn’t get plowed!

On the third day, Saturday, Mom and I took a hike down to the big drift to watch the gang shoveling.

When we arrived, Dad was atop the drift, cutting blocks of snow that would be passed to the next shoveler, and finally into a waiting dump truck to be hauled away. In those days there were no front end loaders. I think there were only two graders in town, one was the town’s and the other was Gino Rugani’s. Gino’s was assigned to Stoddard’s Corner (Main and Summer). The crew got information about the goings-on around town from the truck drivers. It took three days to get through that drift.

I think Dad got to work in Boston on that following Tuesday. He said that along the way to Boston, from Greenbush, that the drifts were as high as the train.

I was to live in that house for another seven years, and every Valentine’s Day dinner, my folks would go over every detail of that 1940 “Valentine’s Day Blizzard,” and a box of Fanny Farmer’s candy would always there.

by Ray Freden, 70 years in Marshfield,/ Seaview.