As I begin this column, we are in the throes of winter. At our latitude winter is just severe enough to give us a taste of what northern climes experience, yet short enough to normally serve as a pleasant distraction. We may have brief episodes in late November and December, or later on in February and March, but most years our taste of a continuous spell of freezing temperatures and repeated snowstorms is limited to a period lasting ten days or two weeks sometime in January. This year’s period arrived on Monday, the 15th, and lasted till the middle of the following week.
According to my old-fashioned temperature indicating devices, it never got colder than seven degrees Fahrenheit. The surest indicator of near zero temperatures is the state of the leaves on the large rhododendron bush in front of the bay window in our living room. When it gets cold they begin to curl up tightly, a natural effort to minimize the area of surface exposed to the elements. The other indicator is the brass sill under my front door. When the outside temperature approaches zero, frost turning to ice forms on the tiny inner sliver of the sill. Neither indicator has been activated this year, confirming the minimum temperature reported by the Weather Bureau.
In my younger days, when we were building iron ore pelletizing plants at the mines in the North country, I had the opportunity to experience real winter. Invariably, their startups frequently coincided with the dead of winter. I recall an inch and a half of solid ice on the inside face of a first-floor exterior wall in the INCO (International Nickel Company) plant at Copper Cliff in northern Ontario; minus forty degrees Fahrenheit outsid´at the Inland Steel plant in Atikokan, western Ontario; and walking between buildings in Labrador City, Labrador, at the Iron Ore Company of Canada plant on paths cut through snow piled eight feet high on each side. Those folks can truly say they know what winter is all about.
This cold snap has been severe out west. My daughter Sara reported that Ian had been unable to start their minivan at school in Boulder, Colorado, this week when it was minus eighteen degrees. This led to a discussion of engine block heaters, which are still commonly used in frigid climates. I am most familiar with the dip-stick version which was frequently a mandatory accessory for rental vehicles in Canada. It replaced the dip-stick and was connected by a heavy electrical cable to an outdoor electrical outlet, a standard item in most motel parking lots. By keeping the oil (and some portion of the engine block) warm, it greatly facilitated starting the vehicle regardless of the temperature.
Any discussion of winter must include “The Big Snow of 1950”. I was a Sophomore at Penn State, home for Thanksgiving that year. The Pitt-Penn State varsity football game was scheduled for Saturday that weekend, the Freshman game for Friday. My father, brother Joe, and I were eager to see the Pitt Freshmen play; Lou Cimarolli and Elmer Villani were members of their squad. We set out for the Stadium, via Bigi bus, in a heavy snow squall, ended up staying on the bus and returning home when it we learned the game was cancelled. The evening paper reported “Four to Six Inches of Snow”. By Saturday morning we had a foot and a half of snow, with no sign of it letting up. By Sunday afternoon we had thirty inches in our front yard (the official recorded total was twenty-seven point four inches), and everything was snarled. I remember walking downtown and seeing kids playing tackle football in the Washington Avenue/Station Street intersection. I wasn’t able to get back to State College till Wednesday; it took another week for things to return to normal.
That event gave us the opportunity to do a lot of sled riding on Chartiers Street. On other occasions the opportunity was much shorter, but greatly appreciated. Every time we got three or four inches of snow, the Borough would close down the street all the way from Elm Street to Washington Avenue. Sled riding took priority over chores or other activities, and we all headed to Chartiers Street. It was an ideal run with the section from Elm to Chestnut just steep enough to enable us to build up sufficient speed that we could easily coast all the way to Dewey, with sufficient momentum left to get us through the bridge over the railroad and down to Washington Avenue. Most of our coasting was on conventional runner sleds, although I do recall a few runs on a legitimate four-person bobsled. I also have fond memories of tobogganing down a steep hill behind Grahams’ house on Old Lesnett Road. Mary Lou (Butch) Graham was a member of our Bethany Church clique and an effective hostess for tobogganing parties in her back yard.
When we had a cold snap and minimal snow, we trekked down to the Blue Ponds for ice skating and a very primitive form of hockey. My parents purchased a good pair of hockey skates for me, providing me the opportunity to add hockey and ice skating to the long list of sports in which I couldn’t compete. They had difficulty understanding why the sides of the boots were heavily scuffed, despite my feeble efforts to blame it on weak ankles. One year it was cold enough that Chartiers Creek actually froze over and we were able to skate all the way to Presto and back.
As I get older, my enjoyment of outdoor activities in the winter is limited to nostalgic memories. I have visited Vail, Lake Placid, and Squaw Valley and envied the thrills skiers were having there, but I wouldn’t trade places with them if the alternative was reliving a run down Chartiers Street when I was a teenager.