By Christopher Haraden

New Englanders love to talk about the weather.

No matter what it’s like outside, it’s either too hot or too cold, too windy or too calm – never a happy medium. The record-breaking low temperatures of this past weekend will be remembered for a long time, but the Blizzard of 1978 – which struck the region 45 years ago this week – is the standard by which all future weather events continue to be measured.

Those who didn’t live here during those difficult days have learned to be patient with those who did – they called themselves “survivors” long before the TV show popularized the word – because the events of February 6-7, 1978 were indeed life-altering for Hull’s 10,000+ residents.

Although the storm struck only 45 years ago, it might well have been in another lifetime. Advances in meteorology, technology, and sociology have greatly improved our ability to predict, prepare for, and survive natural disasters.

Much about the aftermath of the Blizzard of ’78 would have been different if cellphones were commonplace, and residents had the advantage of constant updates from social media or one of cable television’s 24-hour news and weather channels. Large, rear-wheel drive cars were the norm 35 years ago; 4x4 capability was generally reserved for large trucks. Technological advances that make storm preparations easier – access to bank ATMs, computerized weather modeling, and Doppler radar, to name only a few – were not widely available in 1978.

When light snow began falling on Monday morning, Feb. 6, 1978, eastern Massachusetts was unprepared for the gathering storm. Commuters went to work, children left for school, and most citizens continued their regular routines. Within hours, as the National Weather Service’s warnings became increasingly urgent, residents and government officials reacted, setting in motion a series of events that created havoc on the highways and along the coastline.

Overnight, four distinct weather systems had combined into a storm that was hundreds of miles wide and dumped snow on Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York as it traveled east. Massachusetts already had experienced the second-highest-ever snowfall in Boston [21.4 inches] on Jan 20-21; the last thing anyone wanted to see was more snow in the forecast.

The storm stalled when it reached New England, keeping the snow falling and wind howling through two full tide cycles. Hurricane-force winds pushed waves from astronomically high tides farther and more forcefully onto the shore.

The Boston Herald American described it in more dramatic terms in its storm recap on Feb. 12:

“It was a mean and violent week because the Blizzard of ’78 was a two-headed demon.

“First came the snow. Even at the start there was an unusual bite to it, a sting. It began early Monday morning and a few hours later was striking the ground with an audible hiss.

“By noon it had killed a man and by mid-afternoon people were in flight. By late afternoon a mighty whistling wind had pushed it into great drifts that made everything stop.

“And then, after night had come and no one could see it, the sea went mad in a way it has seldom gone mad before, chewing and spitting what man had built at its edge.

“In the morning the bits and pieces lay on the beach like all the wreckage of the world. What the sea did was the worst of all.”

At midday Monday, as the snow fell more quickly, Gov. Michael Dukakis sent state workers home, and so did nearly every other business in the city. With thousands of cars clogging the highways, an accident on Route 128 snarled southbound traffic and turned the road into a snow-filled parking lot. More than 3,500 cars and trucks were stranded on highways, and “storm orphaned” drivers with nowhere else to go were taken in by strangers living near the exit ramps or at public buildings that doubled as shelters. Even Hull’s commuter boat made the treacherous trip to Pemberton Pier from Boston that evening – a boat ride that the 80 passengers still recall as harrowing.

As Dukakis was fielding questions from constituents on David Brudnoy’s Monday evening radio show, callers’ concerns quickly turned to flooding from the approaching high tide. From the radio studio, the governor asked coastal residents to evacuate, and by 10 p.m. had declared a state of emergency and mobilized the entire National Guard to storm duty.

Monday night’s high tide was an incredible 10.1 feet above normal, sending freezing water over the dunes and seawalls. The morning tide of 10.4 feet was even worse than expected, smashing the previous record and smashing into the shore with unrelenting fury. Coastal residents who hadn’t abandoned their homes kept rescuers busy in rowboats and amphibious “duck boats” (the actual use of the now-commonplace sports championship parade vehicles). The number of refugees in shelters swelled into the thousands, with at least 2,000 in Hull at the Memorial Middle and Damon Elementary schools.

The snow finally ended at about 10 p.m. Tuesday, but not before dropping a then-record 27.1 inches on Boston, with higher amounts in the suburbs. The mountains of snow were featured in news reports about the storm, but people were only beginning to understand the devastation along the coast.

As residents evacuated their homes in the darkened streets the night before, they’d braved waist-high water rushing into their neighborhoods. When Tuesday morning’s tide receded, much of the water stayed in place. It would be as much as a week before the seawater could be pumped back into the ocean.

“Slowly, it began to be understood – while the blizzard stood still and raged – that it was the little towns on the Massachusetts shores that had suffered the most. The discomfort of the big cities was nothing compared to what such coastal areas endured,“  a United Press International reporter wrote.

“The wind and water scythed through the towns. Houses were tossed about like toys. Cars were buried in the mud. Boats were shoved into living rooms. People feared for their lives while everything else they owned was taken by the sea.

“It was like a whirlwind in a toothpick factory. Suddenly, the 27 inches of snow in Boston and up to 40 inches in Rhode Island seemed of little consequence. Snow can be moved. It requires only time and money.

“There were too many things to put it all in focus at once. Blackouts affecting 100,000 Bostonians; jammed freeways everywhere; avaricious looters; a mounting death toll; exhausted, stranded people; and in Hull, people peered out under their first blue skies in three days to view streets filled with water, houses torn to shreds and mud and debris everywhere.”

In all, the storm was blamed for 54 deaths across the region, and millions of dollars in property damages. In Hull, two homes in the Pemberton area and one in the alphabet section burned to the ground, as floodwaters prevented firefighters from hooking up hoses to the hydrants. National Guard troops patrolled the town and blocked entry to non-residents. Power was restored slowly, and schools that were used to shelter residents reopened after a two-week vacation.

Schoolkids weren’t the only ones whose routine was disturbed. The Catholic Church moved Ash Wednesday to the following Sunday, and the Boston Archdiocese relaxed its no-meat rule for the first Friday of Lent, saying that snow shoveling required extra nourishment, and that the governor’s travel ban had prevented people from getting to the store to buy fresh fish.

Florists, card shops, and candy stores convinced Dukakis to extend Valentine’s Day into a week-long celebration, allowing people more time to purchase gifts, and the postal service extra days to catch up on delayed deliveries.

The physical destruction of the storm is only one reason the Blizzard is so memorable. More so than any other disaster, the Blizzard of ’78 represented an outpouring of community spirit unrivaled in the past and unmatched since.

Neighbors who previously had disregarded each other’s presence were quick to help pick up the pieces of damaged houses, bring food and supplies to stranded residents, and transport folks whose cars remained submerged.

Neighbors took in residents who had lost their homes to flooding, and owners of summer cottages happily turned over their keys to those needing shelter. Strangers went out of their way to help each other in the unique way that times of shared distress bring out the best in people.

For many years after the blizzard, however, the lessons learned in the aftermath were quickly forgotten. Most property owners quickly rebuilt their homes without regard for flood mitigation. Flood insurance was grudgingly purchased, and typically only when required by a mortgage lender. Coastal communities, including Hull, paid little attention to disaster-prevention planning, leaving citizens without an awareness of how to minimize risks from future storms. While memories of the blizzard remained vivid, they did not translate into action on public policy and governmental response until current officials began the planning process.

More recently, has not only been preparing for foul weather, but building resiliency in the face of climate change – a factor unheard of in the 1970s and ‘80s.

Hull also holds the distinction of being the only community in the state to publicly thank its blizzard rescuers. On July 30, 1978, the town hosted Hull Appreciation Day and invited disaster-relief workers back to Hull for a full schedule of activities, including a day at the beach and rides at Paragon Park. Sales of bumper stickers and a souvenir photo book emblazoned with the day’s slogan, “Thanks a ‘Hull’ava Lot!” raised money for the American Red Cross and other relief agencies. To mark the occasion, Dukakis honored the town’s spirited response to the storm:

“Your courage and determination in facing the devastation wrought on this brave community in February 1978 was an inspiration to all of us in the Commonwealth working to restore normalcy to our shore communities.

“We were proud of the way this community held together and helped the homeless find shelter, the hungry find food, and the downhearted find courage and the will to go on.

“Through very desperate days, Hull townspeople and their community leaders held together.

“For centuries to come, proud residents of Hull will look back at the storm of 1978 and remember the splendid and unselfish response of her citizenry in time of need.”

 

Times Editor Christopher Haraden is the author of “Storm of the Century: New England’s Great Blizzard of 1978.” His late father, Barry, was co-chairman of the Hull Appreciation Day Committee 45 years ago.