When I was a kid I observed that old men enjoyed telling stories of harrowing storms they had survived when they were younger. I didn’t understand it all back then, but I do now. So let me tell you about one of the nastiest blizzards in my memory. It happened 50 years ago this month.

In January 1975 my wife, son and I had lived in the Sioux City community just one year and I was working for a radio station with offices at the north end of downtown. It seemed to be an average winter day when I went to work that Friday, but by mid-morning it was snowing heavily.

After making sales calls in the downtown area all morning, I headed back to the office around 11:30 a.m. That 10-block trip on Sioux City’s infamous hilly streets took nearly 30 minutes.

A native of northern Iowa, I was accustomed to nasty winter weather, but I sensed this storm was going to be worse than normal. As I rushed from my car to the office I decided to head home as soon as I could.

I took care of some last-minute paperwork, but before I could leave a co-worker announced that I-29, my normal route home, had been closed. City streets would be no better. My wife and two-year-old son were at home so I called to be sure they were okay and advised I’d have to spend the night at the office.

While I was in sales at the time, I had previously spent seven years in news so I rolled up my sleeves and helped the news department with storm news and related announcements.

Our operations manager, Don Miller, made one of the smartest moves of the weekend. He went across the street to a convenience store early Friday afternoon and brought back several bags of groceries. A short time later the convenience store closed. Despite the nasty weather, we ate well that evening.

There were five of us stranded at the station so we took turns doing what was necessary to keep the station on the air all night. Around midnight I decided to get some sleep. I rolled up my top coat for a pillow and dozed, unable to get comfortable on the carpet-over-concrete floor.

Finally, shortly before 5 a.m., I got up and helped the news department again. Around 7 a.m. I smelled breakfast cooking. Don was frying sausages and eggs.

The howling winds had moderated by the time the sun came up that Saturday morning. The temperature, I recall, was well below zero and most roads in the area were closed. The normally busy intersection outside our offices was silent.

Don, a heavy smoker at the time, had depleted his supply of cigarettes and was pacing the floor in dire need of a smoke. The convenience store across the street was still closed.

Don saw a lone figure walking down our street. As the walker came closer, Don noticed he was smoking. Don greeted him at the door and offered a hot breakfast in exchange for a few cigarettes. The passerby joined us at the breakfast table and Don finally relaxed with a smoke.

At mid-morning I went out to the parking lot to dig my car out of a large snow drift, nearly freezing in my relatively light winter clothing.

Around noon the announcement came that I-29 had been reopened so I set out for home. The entrance ramp was not completely cleared of snow but I was determined and fishtailed my way onto the interstate. While the highway was indeed open, it was still treacherous.

The exit ramp had not been completely plowed either. At the end of the ramp I ran the stop sign to avoid getting stuck. The city streets weren’t much better, but I finally got home safe and sound.

Just how bad was that blizzard? Remembering the misery but not the statistics, I did some research. According to the National Weather Service, the January 10-11, 1975, blizzard was the Midwest’s “worst in 35 years.” It brought winds of up to 90 miles per hour and wind chills as low as -60 degrees. Eight Iowans died because of the storm, 11 died in Nebraska, 12 in Minnesota and eight in South Dakota.

And that’s how this old man survived a blizzard 50 years ago this month.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.