My wife and I had only been married since August,1976. We started out in an upstairs flat in Kenmore. It was just the right size for the two of us.

There were a couple of problems though; the gas bill for December was over $350.00 (Yeah, in 1976. We were able to determine that the landlady kept her heat turned down and just sucked up what ever heat we could provide.), and apparently, when we weren't home, our busy-body old landlady would let herself in and look around. (That's a whole other story!)

So, we found a place out in Amherst and were getting ready to move.....on January 28, 1977. We had the hardest time trying to find a U-Haul to rent. Seems everyone was thinking there was a big storm coming in. "C'mon, how bad could it get?" Luckily, there was a vendor out near where we were moving, and my wife gave him a sob story that worked.

We spent all of the 27th loading up the truck. It's a good thing we were able to leave it and my Pinto in the driveway. None of that snow had to be shoveled. The rest of the driveway was a mess, with no less than 2 1/2 feet of snow leading up to an 8 foot drift across the garage door. When I piled it up in front of the other half of the garage, our "lovely" landlady came out and started complaining. Oh, well. She got the rest of the driveway shoveled for free. What does she have to complain about? Certainly not HER heating bill!

As I stated, we lived in Kenmore. And, those of you that know Kenmore, the Village plows were continuously on the road, hour after hour, during the storm. The streets were completely clear and already salted down to bare pavement. Driving in the Village with the rental was not a problem. But, once we got to the Town of Tonawanda and the into Amherst, it was a different story.

The ruts in the snow and ice on Sheridan were 8 to 10 inches deep. It's a good thing there wasn't anyone else on the road that morning. At times, the truck would start moving sideways on its own. Stopping was not possible. I even remember seeing a Town of Tonawanda Police officer just watching us slide through an intersection nearly sideways. He didn't come after us. He just shook his head.

We got the truck unloaded and returned it to the vendor. He said he was going to meet us at the store, but he never made it out of his driveway at home.

When I got back to our new apartment, the phone rang and it was my boss. He wondered if I was going to be able to make it into work. (WHAT!?) At the time, I was employed by Tops Markets at Hertel and Elmwood.

Apparently, the store hadn't closed and customers were walking in, buying anything they could find. A lot of the employees that were scheduled to work were having a hard time making it in.

My dad had helped move us, so he said he would take me in. As I said, I only had a Pinto, but he had a big old Galaxie 500, able to plow through anything.

Getting back to Kenmore was not a problem. Driving down Elmwood from Sheridan was a breeze. But, once we hit the City line at Kenmore, it was another world. It didn't look like a plow had been there at all. He was able to eventually get to Hinman and Elmwood, but then the fun began.

If you can remember, there used to be a Twin Fair just south of Hinman. And on the other side of Elmwood was a huge industrial plant; big square building that went back a couple 1000 feet, WITH A BIG FLAT ROOF! All the snow that didn't stay on the roof was now on Elmwood. There was a drift that started at the warehouse and stretched all the way across Elmwood into the Twin Fair parking lot.......10 FEET HIGH!. There were cars and trucks buried under it.

My dad took a chance and drove into the Twin Fair parking lot. By driving almost to the front of the building, he was able to get around "the drift" and out the other side. But, what lie ahead? More abandoned vehicles and a bus or two, that's all. At least there wasn't another "beast drift".

We made to Tops and this parking lot was just as bad. Nothing but buried cars. Yet, people were walking to and from the store. The entire front of the store was coated with snow. The foyer, with its heater and grated floor, had a drift going all the way into one corner. The evidence of snow didn't stop until you were 5-10 feet INSIDE the heated building. There was almost nothing left on the shelves; bread, milk, eggs, produce.....gone. Canned goods were almost all wiped out. Even toilet paper was down to singles.

Luckily, I was able to bargain with the store manager. I would stay to try to refill the shelves, but after 6 hours I was leaving. But, I would come back to help, and I did.

It was 3 days before a tractor-trailer was able to make a delivery. By then, the store, including the back store room, was nearly empty. And, it would take another 4 trailers and 5 days before the shelves were filled again. Fresh produce didn't show up for a week.

Sheridan Park Sledding

With the news that the toboggan runs at Chestnut Ridge Park have reopened, I can't help but think back to when Sheridan Park had it's runs, too. Granted, the hill at Sheridan was no where near as high, nor was the run as long, nor was there a beautiful stone-and-timber lodge to head into when you got cold. But, it was "our" park and we could get there, or home, pretty quickly if we wanted.

The hill the toboggan run at Sheridan sat is no longer a hill. During the last "renovation", the valley was all but filled in, and now it's barely a dip. But, back then, when the conditions were right, you could fly down the hill, across the valley, and part way up the other side. And that was just with your sled. The toboggans easily made the traverse and sometimes only stopped when they ran out of decent snow.

If you were really up for a challenge, you headed to the "other" hill. Granted, this one was actually on the Golf Course, and there was no official acknowledgement of it, but it attracted a more daring clientele. We didn't know it then, but the hill was actually the tee for, what would eventually become, the 13th hole.

The hill itself was a vista; all the way from the dam to Ensminger Road. Directly below was the "deadly" 2-Mile Creek. If you weren't able to stop, or if you made the ill-advised attempt to cross the walk-bridge with your sled and missed, you were in the water. Granted, the flow of 2-Mile Creek was not torrent, nor deep. But, being wet in the winter was not something anyone looked forward to.

The hill also had 2-3 plateau's. Once I became a golfer and frequented the course, I learned that these were various tee-boxes. But, when you're a kid, you only know that, unless you launched from the very top, you were a sissy and didn't belong here; you should be on the other side of the park.

Both north and south of "the hill", were long meadows (fairways) that paralleled the creek. The one to the south was more frequently utilized, as the walk back up the slope was more stepped, and you could, if you were so inclined, throw yourself down quickly to catch a short-run back down the hill. This type of action took place during the busiest of days, where you could wait long periods of time at the top of the big hill for traffic to clear. Remember, with this hill being "unofficial", there was no standard return route to the peak; you could be cut down at any moment by a kamikaze sledder.

One fine and fitful Saturday morning, we didn't have a ride from home to the Park, so three of us decided to walk. Now, during the summer months, this never seemed like that long of a walk. Even though it was cold and snowy, the trek there was fueled by a wanton desire to fly downhill. The return home was far from our minds.

We attacked the hill with avengance; hitting the plateau's, flying across the snow and ice, having a blast. Then came the challenge.....how far can you go. The north side of the slope was not being used by many; it had not received the settling of snow normally needed to allow for metal-runnered sleds to go great distance. But, after 10 to 15 runs apiece, the arena was set for the competition.

Each of us took turns with the others acting as judge. One rule was specific; you could not lunge your body weight forward in order to eek out a few more feet of travel distance. (Before we had left for the day, I took the time to clean and wax my runners, unbeknownst to my competitors.)

As the snow pack improved, distances, that first had just barely reached the bottom of the hill, were now extending yards and yards out onto the far plain. This great action was beginning to draw the attention of other sledders, so our sanctuary was soon to be invaded. We had little time left to compete without interruption. It was decided; one more run each.

Knowing that I would be hard to beat, I went first. And what a run it was. I caught the perfect line between slope and snow and traveled farther than anyone had done that day. Full of pride, I turned when I arose from my Silver Salute, facing my enemies, waving my arms in triumph.

Of course, the attempt by our second sledder ended without as much jubulance. A quick puff of snow was the tell-tale sign he had entered into a previously unvisited area and came to a sudden stop. Failure!

Our third entrant eyed the slope well. Now, there was no rule against taking a running start and flopping face first onto the sled. If you did this, it had to take place before hitting the downward slope or you were disqualified. Back and back he went. 10, 20, 30 yards. And then the scream. A primal scream to not only excite himself, but to let everyone in the immediate area that a great feat was about to take place.

Off he went, flying faster than anyone had been able, taking a line in the snow no one had even attempted, heading toward the lip of the embankment. (Apparently, this area of snow was well packed, and having no barriers to assist drift formation, was crusty and iced over.) Out onto the plain. Farther and farther. Easily past my great distance. But, he was not giving up. Out and out he went, until the mark he had set was beyond anyone's imagination. Then, and only then, did he turn towards us while still lying on his sled and yell, "I won! I wo---".

Down into the creek, into the abyss. It was either the upward movement of his triumphant arm, or losing sight of where the sled was heading that caused his watery disappearance.

Each of us threw down our sleds and flew to his assistance. There was little to do at that point but laugh. We tried not to, but we couldn't help ourselves. Icicles were already forming on his sled runners. And, then his gloves. And, then (snicker, snicker) his eyebrows.

Luckily, he hadn't rolled in the water after he slid down the embankment. It was more of a sit-down. But, a sufficient amount of him and his clothing had entered the water, whereupon standing, all fluids trapped beneath his snow pants headed directly into his boots; actually, golashes, with the buckles down the front. Socks, shoes, golashes, underwear, long underwear, pants, and his jacket and sweater and shirt and hat; all soaked.

As I stated earlier, we didn't have a ride to the park. And, we didn't have a ride home. The walk that, in normal conditions, took only 15 minutes was going to take much longer today. And, for one of us, it was going to be a lot wetter and very cold. At least this time, it wasn't me that had to explain to my mom, "Why?"

"Off with his head..."

His father warned us....no one listened.
He was trained in Yemen....no one knew.
He had explosives sewn into his underwear....no one dared to look.
He succeeded in only burning himself.....no plane went down.

OMG! He was trained in Yemen! Quick! Shut down the embassy!
Why didn't any one tell us there were bad people there in Yemen. "Off with his head!"