The snowstorm of 1945

To the editor:
    ‘Twas May 11th, 1945, and many who are still alive recall that date of yesteryear, and to this day they hold it dear. (Apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who wrote “Paul Revere’s Ride.”)
    One of those who remember was in a Houlton garage on Bangor Street recently. When she mentioned this year’s April 1st snowstorm, the owner of the garage said, “Back in the ‘40s there was a big storm on April 11th.” “Oh, that was on May 11th.” She explained how she knew.
    Reading about this in her letter takes me back. Friends and I are riding in our ‘40 Ford V8, Porter is driving, and the snow is getting heavier. He says, “We’ll never make it.” A week or so before, in a seventh-grade classroom, my friends were grouped around a student’s desk, all talking in low tones. Mariette Martin stood out, a cute little blonde, who lived out at Cary’s Mills and later moved away. When I approached, they stopped talking.
    The next day they were back at it and I caught something, but tried not to react. I guess I failed because they soon called me over. “Since you know we’re planning a surprise party for you … well, we have a problem: No place to have it. Could we have it at your cottage?”
    Now, years later, I call the letter writer and another friend to fill in details. The snow was up very high, not to the power lines, of course, but high, where it had been pushed over before the plow gave up. Coming down harder, it spelled defeat when we reached McGinleys’ (on the right; big green potato house on the left by the road to Hodgdon). No way to turn around, so we went a bit farther on to Charlie Long’s place, just in on Nickerson Lake road. The group’s planning for days had come to nought. “We were going to pick bunches of fresh flowers and everything,” they now recall.
    Then what? Did we go to a movie? No, to the Heywood Café on Court Street. We have no idea what we ate, but items served then included hot beef, chicken, or pork sandwiches with gravy, mashed potato and a side vegetable (peas, green beans or corn, with milk and butter, or pickled beets). We probably had ice cream for dessert. (I liked chocolate, on a brownie with chocolate sauce.)
    Mother Nature and her colossal snowstorm upstaged me as star of my day. That is what looms large, all that white through the windshield, followed by disappointment at plans gone awry. We suspect, however, that was quickly overcome as we talked, giggled, and enjoyed the restaurant.
    With apologies to Bob Hope, I now say, “Thanks for the memories,” to Thelma and Gladys, whose help is much appreciated.
Byrna Porter Weir
Rochester, N.Y.