The white storm that I was caught in happened twenty-seven years ago. The natural disaster I refer to struck on Friday, January 28, 1977, "The Blizzard of '77", or as author Erno Rossi, M.A. termed it
             "White Death". What happened on that Friday so long ago was actually a winter hurricane.
             It had been such a cold, brutal winter. Lake Erie had been frozen solid by Christmas. With extreme
             temperature and record snowfall, the snow had piled up on top of the ice. So as the 50 mile an hour wind swept across Lake Erie, it blew the powdery snow off the lake, and into Buffalo and the surrounding counties.
             Into my county it came with a vengeance. I was working as an office clerk at a local linen factory. At that time I did not have my license to drive, so I had to depend on others for my transportation. On this particular day it was my Dad who drove me to work, and who would also drive me home.
             As we went to work that day it had been snowing heavily. Note enough for us hearty Upstate New Yorkers to stay home though. As the morning had progressed, so had the snow and the wind. My Dad had called me to let me know that he was leaving work early, everyone was being sent home. My Dad came and picked me up at about 12:00 noon. At which point the winds were even stronger and visibility was zero. There we were my Dad and I leaving the city of Batavia to make our six mile trek home in the storm. As we inched our way out of the city we were headed north to our home in Oakfield New York. When I say inched I mean it literally. The windshield wipers couldn't work fast enough to keep the snow off the windshield, the wind was howling around us. We couldn't see. I would roll my window down and pop my head out to see if we were still on the road, but that did little good. So we crept on. It seemed we were alone in this white vacuum.
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