A Winter Odyssey

It was time. Christmas and New Year's Eve had gone by quickly as ever. There hadn't been parties, comings or goings, but just my folks in a quiet traditional home setting. That was more than enough to mean the world to any of us. Being Rome, the pope's presence could be felt through the news outlets and the many rituals of the holiday season. It was an era in which we ushered in the New Year simply by the strike of midnight by the radio. There was a time when the people of Rome would throw out large items as part of the custom, but times had changed and some semblance of a more modern civility had taken hold. I was just home for Christmas and winter break, a relative short but intense three week period. It was to to leave again and return to my studies in the US.

January, by definition a month at the height of winter, was hardly ever the coldest month in Rome, more associated with the mild Roman winters when the early morning hours could be bitterly cold, but never close enough for snow to be part of the landscape. Little did I know that January of 1978 would be an unforgettable month as Mother Nature produced a climate worthy of the annals, but just on the other side of the Atlantic from Rome.

1978 was a notable year for many reasons. I was now a sophomore at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and after a challenging freshman year, I had found a student life that felt rewarding. I had started my journey in computer science. I was involved with an unexpected opportunity within the student union organization, and had wonderful roommates and friends. The prior year New Year was strange as it was the first time away from home but this year I was back in Rome with my parents for the long Christmas break, keeping the everlasting ties to Rome alive.

By mid-January, it was time to return to RPI and start the semester. 1978 was an a time when where snail mail was the only mode of communication for everyone, and while in Rome, I was literally out of contact with the rest of my friends at RPI. One simply planned and scheduled ahead any number of activities and just showed up on the arranged date. Weather forecasts were quite a mysterious and magical feat. If it was difficult enough at a local level, it just didn't make sense to ask for the forecast for a place located in another country. It just wasn't part of the possibilities.

I had my plane ticket back to RPI, the itinerary being a direct TWA flight from Rome to New York's JFK airport and then a connecting flight to Albany, New York with Allegheny Airlines, and I would be there by 9:30 PM if all went according to schedule. How was I to know that everything would be upended and I would be thrown into complete chaos?

When you're twenty years old, you plan, but the idea of a plan B doesn't really form in your mind. Plan B is more of an attitude - "I'll deal with it if it happens." So if you have a plane ticket, the most you can think of is that the airlines will take care of it if there's a problem.

An Impossible Baggage

The day came to fly back. Rome may have been mild, but I knew that Troy was going to be cold and snowy. I had left Troy back in December with a casual down jacket, but on this return, it was stuffed into one of my two suitcases because Mom had given me a new winter coat for Christmas. It was a full-length, fur-lined suede leather coat that was really warm, quite bulky, and heavy. It was still a time when flying required people to dress up, so this coat didn't seem out of place. I even had a winter cap to go along with it. But I was really obsessed with taking advantage of the free excess weight I had, so I had two suitcases to fill, aside from the briefcase and camera case I had. Backpacks weren't yet the popular mode, so a classic rectangular hardside briefcase was what I had. Come to think of it, I don't think it really had anything important aside from the travel documents, but it was just part of the look. Indeed, the camera case with an SLR and telephoto lens was probably even larger and heavier. All in all, this was an impossible set of gear to carry single-handedly, but that wasn't part of the plan. I would just get it to the airport, have the suitcases checked in, and then just have the briefcase and camera case to worry about. The camera case I could shoulder, the briefcase took one hand, and this left the other hand for one suitcase, but the second suitcase would have to wait.

Of course, I wanted to spend the most time with my folks, so my return flight was timed to be the last possible day that made sense, arriving back at RPI just the night before I'd have to go register for the new semester courses. Being Christmas, I was in the same dorm room, so I had left everything as is, ready for me to simply pick up and go. But there was twist. My fall semester roommate, Scott, had taken on an internship as a co-op student and therefore he wasn't returning. Scott had become a wonderful friend, and we had a great time rooming together. He was in a class ahead of me, but that was irrelevant as roommates. Interestingly, Scott didn't have a lot of belongings, kind of always being on the move. It turns out that Scott had a close friend from his hometown, Joe, who was transferring to RPI, and Scott arranged for Joe to simply take his place as my roommate. I had never met Joe, but it didn't take Scott much to convince me that Joe would be fine as a roommate, so I really didn't give it much thought other than to wait and meet Joe on my return in January.

Departure

The departure from Rome Fiumicino Airport went smoothly, mostly because the flight wasn't full even though it was a Boeing 747. Aboard, it was even more evident as I had the entire row to myself. Once the flight was over the Atlantic and just off of Ireland, the captain made an announcement, which in retrospect was a little ominous since most announcements occur after reaching altitude and then just before descending upon arrival. He simply gave an update, saying that it was likely that JFK airport would experience snow due to the updated weather conditions and that he would keep us posted should there be any traffic delays.

This was an era when the moon landing was still fresh in memory and the thirst for extraordinary developments in travel, that the world would be smaller, and that time in travel might magically disappear. The stuff of dreams. It was natural to think of supersonic travel as the next frontier as it had already arrived with the Concorde. Just as the Boeing 747 was immediately iconic and captured the imagination of a large, powerful, and at the same time graceful aircraft capable of lifting into the skies, the sleek shape of the Concorde could only seem that it was still flying at supersonic speed while simply sitting on the tarmac. It didn't seem so far fetched to think that maybe in a few years I might be on a Concorde across the Atlantic. I was just enjoying a very comfortable flight, no crowds to fight, and no queues to the restrooms.

Flying over the Atlantic takes time, enough to be tiring at 10 hours, and dealing with immigration at JFK. We must have been closer to Greenland when the update came. The US northeast was experiencing a rather significant weather condition that was dumping significant snowfall, and there were no indications it was going to let up any time soon.

Diverted

As we got closer to the coast and should have been able to initiate an approach into JFK, the captain was on again, this time to tell us that the snowstorm was creating serious problems because JFK, as well as Newark and La Guardia, had just closed down to all traffic and flights were diverting elsewhere. Our new destination was now Washington Dulles. A few minutes later came the news that the entire Northeast coast airports had all closed due to the exceptional conditions, with the last flights landing be those with emergencies due to low fuel conditions. Apparently, we still had some fuel and ended up being diverted to Montreal, Canada.

A smooth flight, a plane that felt fairly airy due to the few passengers, and a rather uneventful crossing of the Atlantic, had just changed completely.

I was traveling with a US student visa and began to worry about what would happen if we were to disembark. As we flew inland, it was clear there was a storm of some sort as I could only see dark cloud cover all over. It didn't look good. Arrival at JFK should have been around 3 PM, and as we headed towards Montreal, the sun was quickly setting. At long last, we began our descent. As we broke through the cloud cover, it was clear that it was snowing. During the final approach to the runway, the snowfall was constant, although it didn't seem like a heavy snowstorm with windy conditions. I could barely make out the airport, but we did touch down on a runway although it was barely plowed.

Not the Usual Landing

A 747 is a large plane, majestic in its feel even if you were merely a passenger. Most times a 747 landing feels like coming down on a cushion of air. This time it was the strangest of feelings and one that I don't think anyone would want to experience. Apparently, the copious amount of snow made it difficult for the snow plows to be effective 100%, and with the right temperature, ice beneath was bound to form. The 747 wheels found this layer, and with the wind direction, the large airplane began to angle itself and literally skidded sideways and slided for quite a distance. I remember it distinctly because looking out the window, I could just stare ahead without turning my head, and I was perfectly aligned looking straight down the runway. I have no idea what the captain was doing at the controls and wondered if such a scenario was ever in their training. Skidding sideways meant the plane wasn't really slowing down as the brakes would have been ineffective. Somehow we righted ourselves and eventually slowed down, although it felt like an eternity.

We finally parked, though I think it was just on the tarmac as I could make out other large planes, which seemed at odds with this smaller airport. We were told that the airport closure wasn't going to be lifted until the exceptional blizzard conditions receded and the airports could clear runways properly, so we were going to be in Montreal for a while. It was impossible to stay on the plane because of the cold temperatures, and the plane would not be powered. So, we disembarked.

Inside the terminal, it was utter chaos. There were many more passengers than what immigration was prepared for. From the discussions going on, it was clear that there were many flights that had diverted to Montreal, all in the same predicament. I have no idea under whose authority or process, but international passengers, including myself, who did not have entry visas for Canada, were granted a special permit due to the exceptional conditions.

Overnight

No internet, no mobile phones, just pencil and paper, and maybe a teletype with the company headquarters, the airline was to be highly commended. They got us through. They had managed to arrange a hotel, then arranged a transfer, they arranged dining vouchers, and some basic amenities. Maybe it was a civilized Canada rather than the typical New York attitude of everyone for themselves.

By then, when we were awaiting immigration, I had struck up a conversation with a fellow passenger, a natural response when living out such a plight. The guy was a good choice as he was willing to talk and share, and more importantly, he wasn't one to panic or be upset at the situation. Once we arrived at the hotel, another surprise was in store. The only way this was going to work was if double rooms were occupied either by family or by sharing with another single passenger. I was in the latter case and rather than have the hotel assign a stranger from a list of names, I suggested to my fellow passenger that we would just stick together, and so we ended up together.

The airline told us to sleep for the night and then be ready by 9 am the next day after breakfast. Clearly, I hadn't made it to RPI as planned and began to wonder when I would actually get there. But what could I do? Naively, I suppose I thought the next morning I would just pick up where we left off and continue forth.

Round and Round

The next day brought sunlight and relatively clear skies with no snow falling. Like clockwork, at 9 am we were told that at 10 am we would be bused back to the airport to reboard the flight. It sounded like excellent news. Aboard the bus and looking out, the landscape was a little eerie with high snow drifts all around and snow plows trying to clear the roads. It was a quiet ride all the way to the airport. From the bus on the tarmac to the airplane, we could see quite a number of other 747s parked, all from different airlines. Quite a night it must have been. We boarded a plane that felt cold.

Once on board, the captain announced that we would soon depart with the final destination being JFK, but did point out some specifics. The actual arrival time in JFK was uncertain because while JFK had managed to clear runways, only one was fully operational for landing and today's normal flights were also landing, so we would have to be slotted in as capacity permitted. Since this was an emergency technical stop, there would be no onboard service. Furthermore, due to the nighttime conditions of the blizzard, all water was drained to avoid damage from frozen water. If necessary, the vodka on board could be used as a cleaning alternative as it doesn't leave an odor. I suppose what a waste.

Plan B

The flight time between Montreal and JFK is normally around 2 hours. We did make it to the lower Hudson Valley just north of Manhattan and started a circling pattern that lasted for 3 hours. Once we managed to land and disembark, I realized that I had only made it to JFK and that it was just another chapter to be written. It was utter chaos inside. People everywhere. There were those stuck in the airport for the night. Flights had been canceled and very few were rescheduled. Rebooking was a challenge as flights continued to be delayed due to the runway restrictions. The Allegheny Airline counter was full of people yelling and complaining. A flight to Albany was next to impossible for at least 2 days and even then just for a waiting list. My fellow passenger with whom I had shared the room was in a similar situation, but being much older than me, he was a little more resourceful. He tried working out a plan B. He found out that at least the subway connection to Grand Central was working. If he could get to the Port Authority from there, he could find a Greyhound service to his destination. I have no idea how or why I decided, but I suppose I wouldn't have just on my own. If he didn't mind me tagging along, I was willing to take my chances and try to reach RPI with a Greyhound bus.

So there I was - in a heavy coat, with a briefcase, a camera case, and two suitcases. Not exactly agile. Not how you want to be for New York City. I suppose I didn't know any better. Still, the alternative looked rather bleak - people sleeping in the terminal, nothing to eat, and unknown timing.

The Trek

I guess my fellow passenger took pity on me, or my guardian angel worked overtime. I managed to get on the subway to reach Grand Central. Grand Central was actually fairly quiet because Manhattan had literally shut down for the blizzard, and people were still staying home. Things worked in a sporadic fashion. Outside of Grand Central, it was evident that New York City had its work cut out for recovery. Snow drifts everywhere, streets filled with snow, and few cars running on the street. Apparently, few taxis were plying the streets. Our only option was to use a public bus line to the Port Authority.

It felt surreal. It was only late afternoon, but the clouds that had gathered were dense and blocking any useful sunlight. It was cold, bitter at times as the wind would pick up. The normally busy and chaotic streets of New York City were barren, devoid of the usual foot traffic, and mostly white with the fallen snow. If it weren't for the lamp posts, it would have been difficult to discern the sidewalk from the actual street. There were piles of plowed snow around, but even then the new snow, which was beginning to come down again, seemed to render them softer, melding into the general background of desolation. There were some cars on the streets, but most were moving at a snail's pace as they negotiated the icy conditions. But there I was on the street with all my baggage, which truly was excessive at this point, but there wasn't much of a choice. I probably would have been an easy prey, but the suddenness of the blizzard caught everyone off guard, and seeing that everyone was off the streets, who knows. I slowly lugged my way towards the nearest bus stop with my fellow passengers. It felt like slow motion as I looked up the street, and with New York City's street pattern, it was easy to look all the way down the straight street. I could see in the distance the shape of the bus as it made its way towards us. The only question was who would arrive at the bus stop first. I had no intention of missing this bus. I don't know how I mustered the strength or what tricks I had up my sleeves, but to the stop with all my baggage, I made it just as the bus was pulling up.

The distance to the Port Authority Terminal wasn't much in normal conditions, but this felt like an eternity as the bus slowly rolled along with just an occasional passenger getting on. The Port Authority Terminal looked promising as there were Greyhound buses at the terminal and people were boarding. Inside, it was like another JFK. At least there was a queue, so we joined the line. Eventually, it was our turn. My fellow passenger found a route he could use, and it was operating. He got his ticket, and finally, it was my turn. I may have looked completely out of place, but I'm sure the ticket agent at the Port Authority was accustomed to all sorts of people getting on Greyhound. At this point, I wasn't reasoning much, tired from all the lugging, constant vigilance on unknown surroundings, and the uncertainty of ill-fated encounters. Worst comes to worst, I would have just sat on the floor of the terminal to wait for better times. To my surprise, there was a Greyhound bus leaving for Albany at 8 pm, so that was my ride to RPI.

Was it courage or was it foolishness? New York City was notorious for being a place to avoid, with crime being the prevalent news headline of any day. Whether it was drugs, thieves, the homeless, or hustlers of any sort, any street and sidewalk was fertile ground. Public spaces like Grand Central Station and the Port Authority Bus Terminal were even more concentrated hot spots. If people who knew NYC well considered it dangerous, imagine a stranger like me. On a normal day, I probably didn't stand a chance. It wasn't a question of if, but when. But this was far from a normal day. NYC had shut down. Schools had closed exceptionally. Businesses had shuttered. It was physically difficult to get around due to the snow and ice. Only essential services were operating, and public transport was effectively curtailed depending on accessibility. Without people around, crime plummeted; actually, it disappeared from the streets as if someone had called a timeout. As in the eye of a hurricane, it wouldn't last forever, but I could merely sense this as I looked around. Was it going to last a day or just a few hours? I'm sure that as more people appeared on the streets, crime would be close behind.

The blizzard of 1978 is a historical record and one for the annals. It literally crippled the Midwest, the Great Lakes, as well as other parts of the Northeast. But what is less remembered is that the Blizzard of 1978, in reality, was only the most significant event of a series of storms that started in early January. My odyssey was with the third ice storm in this series, and the storms came again the following and then culminating in the fury of the blizzard in February 1978. That was an era when weather forecast was very imprecise and only communicated to the public at best twice a day, and even then it was more than outdated. So while it might not have been difficult to forecast the possibility of snow, they all miss the amount that would be experience. The blizzard created drifts of several feet in many areas. Stranded cars were totally covered and hidden. Roofs came crashing down and many buckled. The cycle of storms only made it worse as it was a losing battle against the accumulation.

Greyhound

The driver took my suitcases and put them in the baggage hold. I boarded and took my seat. It was like watching a movie where the lead character takes a Greyhound. It was the same look, the same feel, a plausible setting. I-87 was clear, and the bus had no difficulties once we left New York City. I nodded off a couple of times but didn't really fall asleep, afraid that I would miss my stop, in reality rather difficult as it was a major stop. It was a long ride, and we pulled in after midnight. But it was still only Albany, and I still needed to make it to Troy and my dorm.

There was only one taxi at the terminal, but I only needed one taxi. Which taxi runs at this hour? It looked pretty forlorn. I was suspicious of the driver, just as he was of me. Dressed the way I was and with my suitcases, he couldn't quite make out if I was a college student or not, trying to figure out if I could afford the ride. Most people who use Greyhound services aren't likely to use a taxi.

It was 2 am by the time I made it to my dorm, more than a day later than planned. I felt bad for disturbing and meeting Joe for the first time this way. In the end, I simply slept and reset for the morning.

Indeed, the next day was the start of a new chapter in my life, the beginning of an everlasting and defining friendship with Joe. Another story for another day.

Over the years I found it amusing that every now and then there were movies that depicted, presumably, outlandish and comical travel adventures due to snow storms. A great one was the 1978 Planes, Trains, Automobiles with Steve Martin and John Candy with a bit of odd couple. I get an instant reminder of my own adventure.