THE WEIRD MARCH WINTER OF 1960 by Sarah J. McNeal

Here we are in the deep freeze IN THE United States right now and although Charlotte isn’t getting any snow this year, back in 1960 in March of all months, it snowed—I mean really SNOWED—every Wednesday for three weeks in a row. Well, I was a kid back then and in the south we don’t go to school if someone even smells snow. So, the neighborhood kids, my sister, and I had a pretty dang good holiday that year.

But let’s face it, kids all holed up in the house for three seeks must be a pain for moms who, by the way in those days were mostly stay at home moms. We were all HIGHLY encouraged to go outside and play.

Luckily, my Yankee parents had some delightful sleds that suddenly became the center of the neighborhood kids’ attention. We had a huge hill and two sleds so, hello fun times. The really great thing about the snow that year was that it was also extremely cold. So all day the snow only melted enough so that overnight it froze into an ice sheet over the top of the snow making a nice slick, sled riding highway. Good thing, too, because we had already built all those snowmen and tried to kill each other with snowballs the first day. The snow was hard on top after that with the icy layer so we couldn’t build any more snow people or throw snowballs anymore.

I’m certain our parents were happy since all of us kids were occupied with sledding all day, we only came in for lunch or to warm our hands and back outside we went. I actually got a snow tan. Pop came out with me once and we rode down the hill together. His skills at sledding had faded so we crashed and burned spilling both of us off the sled. But that just added to the special memories for me.

I don’t recall ever having that kind of snow here again, but I remember that time with great joy.

The official climate report:

March 1960 remains the snowiest month on record in Charlotte.

How crazy was that March? It was and still is the snowiest month on record in Charlotte with 19.5” of snow for the entire month. That’s snowier than any other month including December, January and February. Even more, 1960 is the snowiest year on record in Charlotte as well. With 22.9”  of snowfall and 19.3” of that falling in March alone.

It was very cold as well!

It’s amazing to think that one month outside of Winter in one year can still be the record holder for snowfall in Charlotte.  Not only was it snowy it was frigid. The March of 1960 was the coldest March on record by 3.4°, and it was an astounding 11.5° below average.

There is good reason that so many people who were here remember the March of 1960. It will remain one the coldest and snowiest periods in the history of the area. For more information on that crazy March here is a great write-up that the National Weather Service Office in Greer, SC did in 2010. That was the 50 year anniversary of the memorable March.

For those of who were raised here during that time, do you remember that weird March in Charlotte? What did y’all do for fun? Now I know some of you experience this kind of winter weather every year where you live. Do you like that kind of snow that gets so hard on top you can walk on it? How did you spend your time as kids in winter? What about right now—are any of you living where this weather has gotten into the sub-zero category? Have you lost power? By the way, do you have a backup plan for power outages? What are you doing to amuse yourselves during this weather? What is the most memorable time from your childhood about winter weather?

 Charlotte Past And Present Face Book Page is a great place to check out pictures and stories of historical events here in Charlotte, NC just in case you might be interested.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/charlottencthepastandpresent/?multi_permalinks=2164470953634190&notif_id=1548693893677110&notif_t=group_highlights

3 Wednesdays graph in Charotte, NC 1960

https://i2.wp.com/wxbrad.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/2014-02-26_9-37-22.png

Sarah J. McNeal

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A Place of Memories

I have a special connection to central Pennsylvania, especially the northern, agricultural area around Numidia, Catawissa, Sunbury, and Bloomsburg. My parents were born and raised in the area, in fact, my entire family originated there--even me. I was born in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania, a small college town where most of the houses are old Victorian beauties with well tended yards filled with flowers in the spring and summer and surrounded by soft, round-topped mountains.
We visited this area so often when I was young to reunite with my grandparents, family members, and old friends of my parents. Sometimes my sister and I would spend summer vacation time there. It's such a beautiful place with the Susquehanna River running through those lush green mountains, valleys where the farmers create fields that look like patchwork quilts. 

I remember the quiet, the fun running outside in our bathing suites to enjoy the rain, picking sweet, wild strawberries, and Sunday visits to my grandmother's friends most of whom lived on Mt. Carmel and Bear Mountain. They would exchange gifts of their handy work, like homemade baked goods, crocheted items, and quilts. I loved playing with all the kids. My grandmother loved to fish and she often packed a picnic and took us with her. We would spend our time playing in the water while she fished. Such great fun. We went to church bazaars, ice cream socials, and church picnics and ate delicious food and played games with other kids--and once, I actually won a peanut pushing race.
I only remember the 8 months of actually living in Pennsylvania when I was 4 years old. We lived in Luthersburg, a small town not too far from Pittsburg. I have so many warm memories of living there and the people who were so friendly and kind to us.

When the weather station closed in Luthersburg, we moved to Charlotte, NC where I have lived most of my life. 
Since my parents are gone, I seldom go back to Pennsylvania. Sometimes I miss it. I have gone to Catawissa and Numidia a couple times to see to the placing of a monument on my paternal grandparents' and Uncle John's graves.

While I stood there at The Hillside Cemetery and looked around at the rounded mountains surrounding the town, I felt a kind of homesickness for a place that held so many memories of my childhood and had now become a place where my ancestors can only whisper to me on the wind. It still tugs at my heart.