Reprinted from the "Crossings," January, 1991, a publication of the Stearns County Historical Society

By Steve Penick

The Armistice day blizzard of 1940 was one of the most memorable in Minnesota history. The storm’s terror does not lie in its 16 inches of snowfall that clogged roads for days or its 60 hour duration-other Minnesota storms were worse-but by the total lack of warning in which it swept over the state. In the following article are two eyewitness accounts that testify to the frightening nature of the word—Blizzard.

Blizzard is a word that brings fear, excitement, danger and awe to those who have experienced one. The following two accounts depict the experiences of two individuals and the inner resources they drew on to face the full ferocity of the Great Blizzard of 1940. Monday, November 11, 1940, started out as an unseasonably warm and beautiful late fall day. Changes occurred rapidly as a fast moving cold front rolled northwestward bringing with it the dangerous characteristics of a blizzard: high winds, falling temperatures and heavy snow. As the weather became more ominous, schools and businesses began to close. Farmers who needed to get livestock home safely from the pastures faced near zero visibility. George Liedman remembered the day in a letter in the Paynesville Press on November 11, 1986. Liedman recalled the morning of November 11, 1940 as a "bad storm in progress" with "wind in hurricane proportion." He was faced with a major problem: with the mild spring-like weather of the previous day, his 60 cattle remained in the pasture, three and a half miles from home. The sudden storm and near white-out conditions made him realize that he must get his cattle to shelter or they would not survive.

After telling his wife Margaret to stay home and not step outside under any circumstance, he was on his way. Within the first few steps, he realized the grave danger of the storm. "High wind had piled huge drifts into our yard," he recollected, "and visibility was down to zero. For two solid hours I made slow progress but I finally got to the pasture. The snow blast made it hard to see but seventy head of cattle did not escape me."

The next task was to get the cattle to a safe, sheltered area, the closest of which was the nearby Nels Larson farm. It took two hours to reach the farm through the blinding snow and aided by the wind as a directional guide he reached the farm. Upon reaching the haven, after seven hours, George remembered the reactions from the Nelsons: "Mrs. Nelson thought I fell into the river and wanted me to stay overnight as the blizzard still raged, but once my clothes were dry and after a hearty meal I again headed out into the storm."

After two more hours, Liedman finally reached his farm. He vividly recalled the circumstance that greeted him. "Our entry door was facing the west and as I came to the door only the top part was visible. I had to plunge my hand into the snow to turn the knob and as the door opened a big cascade of snow dumped into the entryway."

This greeting was a fitting conclusion to the storm as the entry got "dumped with snow," Liedman, after spending nine hours in a raging blizzard, admitted it may have not been the wisest thing to do. But, fate and luck were on his side.

Travel of any sort during the storm was perilous. Joanne Carlin, then a 16- year -old Sauk Rapids High School student, vividly recalled her three-day ride home in the following recollection written for the "Crossings."

"We had many pleasant memories of riding the old school bus, even though it was a rough ride over the wash board gravel roads. The roads were dusty and the dust would seep into the bus especially at each stop when the dust behind would catch up with us.

In winter it was cold and the snow would drift across the road. When the driver would shift gears we would look to see how big the drifts ahead were. I don’t remember ever getting stuck; but one memorable day, November 11, 1940, we didn’t even make it home.

We left school running down the many steps in front of the old high school on the hill. It was so windy and snowing already. I won’t forget that wind, and eerie feeling of a storm in the air. We had a long bus route. We went to Mayhew Lake first, then farther north beyond Silver Corner, then south past the Fruitville store. That store we will never forget because that is as far as our bus could make it.

The driver had been having an awful time seeing where the road was. The bus had hand operated windshield wipers and with all that snow in the air. He had to use the telephone poles as a guide as to where the road was. We finally did go off the road a little and the driver waded to a farm for help. We were near the farmer’s driveway so the driver had a clue that a farm was near. The farmer directed him to take us to the Fruitville store. It was about a quarter of a mile away. There were 12 or 15 of us still on the bus.

We were told to hold on to each other’s hands and form sort of a human chain so we would stay together, with the driver in the lead. Some weren’t even wearing mittens or caps because it had started out as a rather nice day.

I think the bus driver was very brave and is surely responsible for saving our lives as the storm lasted nearly three days.

The wood stove in the middle of the store warmed us and dried our clothes. The people who owned the store were gracious and fed us and provided blankets so we could sleep on the floor. A few of we girls went upstairs to sleep in a bed. There wasn’t any heat up there and the wind was blowing so hard that the snow was sifting in around the windows.

I don’t remember what we ate except the first night and that was canned chili. How fortunate to be at a store even though it was small with a meager supply of groceries. There were decks of cards so some played cards a lot. There was laughing and jokes but you know everyone just wanted to go home and wondered how long the storm would last. The boys had the job of keeping the path to the outdoor toilet open. It would drift in so fast. I won’t forget the dress I was wearing because I had to wear it for three days and sleep in it too. Girls wore dresses to school in those days and that day I wore the wrong dress. It was one I made, orchid colored, and had a bustle bow in the back, which I removed. It probably was rayon and so wrinkled after three days.

There were two people on the bus that day who lived near Sauk Rapids and could have gotten off the bus at their homes, but decided to ride around the route just for fun. They chose the wrong day to ride around.

Some of the parents didn’t know where their children were all that time. Our driver was able to call Sauk Rapids with the message before some of the telephone lines went down. It was put on the radio but there was poor reception then and some didn’t hear it. Our parents got a call from Mr. Melby the principal so they knew where Donna and I were. The storm lasted from Monday until Wednesday afternoon when it finally broke. My dad knew where we were and somehow got the county snow plow to come and plow us out Wednesday late afternoon. He had followed the plow with his car so we and a few neighbors got to ride home with him.

The snow drifts were so high and the snow was packed so hard from the wind that we could walk right on top of the drifts.

There are many stories about this Armistice Day storm but this one we will never forget. Thank the Lord we all survived so well."

The blizzard raged for three days and nights. Eventually 16 inches of snow fell and 49 Minnesotans perished. Many were stranded for days before snowplows could open roads through the drifted over roads.

The real terror of the storm lay not in its severity but with the lack of warning in which it came. The weather forecasters of 1940 relied on practices considered primitive according to today’s standards. The upper atmosphere, the best indicator of oncoming weather systems, was measured by means of helium filled balloons that were sent up to a height of 1,000,000 feet with instruments capable of measuring wind velocity, temperature changes, and pressure. This data was radioed down to weather stations on the ground. Some weather bureaus also used aircraft to observe conditions. But as the air became turbulent, these methods became less effective and weather stations relied on reports relayed from other stations to issue reports of oncoming severe weather.

But if the storm developed fast such as the 1940 blizzard, information about its intensity could be haphazard. Sudden storms were particularly frightening to the region’s pioneers since primitive transportation and communication made them particularly vulnerable. In the nineteenth century, the only scientific method used to gauge upper air disturbances was the use of kites. But since the kites could only be used in calm weather and be lofted to an altitude of 10,000 feet, it was an inefficient method. Instead, weather observers relied on the ground instruments and personal observations which could be relayed by telegraph. Even so, relatively few people would receive warnings because of the lack of communication devices.

Since settlers were much more intertwined with their environment than we are today, they were much more alert for any ominous weather changes. Lacking any scientific means, pioneers fell back on their own "weather sense" to forecast storms. They believed the change in behavior of animals was the best warning that a storm was imminent. Horses that suddenly became restless, birds in flight, and sheep huddling together were reliable indicators that something bad was going to happen. Pioneers also became suspicious when unnatural calms occurred-the foreshadow of ominous weather.

In a state where rapid climatic changes were commonplace it is no surprise that second guessing the weatherman is a longstanding Minnesota custom. But as Joanne Carlin and George Liedman recalled it could be quite a mistake to second guess a Minnesota blizzard.