STEPHEN VAN TASSEL writes from
Mount Vernon, New York:"I was 23 years of age and ticket agent at the Mount Vernon, New York, station of the New Haven Railroad. Early on Monday morning, I found trouble already awaiting me although the snow had started only the night before. Two trains were even then snowbound near the station, and the passengers from points farther east were demanding everything from dog sleds to the agent's blood.
"A survey of the situation showed that both stalled trains were definitely stuck, and telegraph reports from along the line brought news that not a thing was moving. Then, to make matters worse, the telegraph lines themselves went down and we were cut off from the outside world far more completely than was Byrd at the South Pole.
"After their initial shock had worn off, the passengers began to take matters more stoically. Struggling through the bitter northeast storm and the drifts which rose higher every minute, we managed to find accommodations in near-by homes for the few women, but the men were compelled to accept such poor hospitality as the railroad station itself could offer. Two coal stoves in the waiting room were kept roaring. . . . A neighboring drygoods store was cleaned out of its supply of women's stockings (they were not silk in those days) to provide extra warmth for freezing lower limbs; a restaurant sold out all its food in the first few hours-, and later a small grocery store was requisitioned at the expense of the railroad for hams, bread, cheese and other staples. . . .
"Monday night came and slowly passed. Everyone kept on his heaviest clothing because, even with the two fires going, the bitter weather made the station very cold. On Tuesday, besides playing card games, the men danced with each other to the tune of a harmonica produced by one of the passengers. Others pitched pennies, and rolled bones, and smoked, and swapped experiences until this familiarity got on their nerves and they began to hate the sight of each other. The first thing I knew they were fighting over the food, and the most minor things served to start a battle as their taut nerves reached a breaking point.
"By this time the snow was up to the cabs of the stalled engines, while across the street from the station, the snow had drifted to such a depth that, in some places, it reached second story windows. . . .
"Wednesday dawned more hopefully. The storm had abated and we began to look forward to moving the trains again. Late Wednesday afternoon two linesmen staggered wearily into the station and told me that I was now connected with New York. It was necessary, they said, for me to take all messages for the East, and to send them out on the first train that got through. And there I sat, all Wednesday night and most of Thursday, receiving telegrams by the dozen to be relayed from people snowbound in New York to worrying families at points all over New England.
"Thursday night my relief came on duty, the first he had been able to get through, and I was able at last to go home. From Monday morning to Thursday night I had not taken off my clothes and had had but little sleep. My right hand and arm were numb from the long hours at the telegraph key. . . . "