The Great Snowstorm of Feb., 1985

Let the first snow of the season hit and the topic will soon become memorable snows from days gone by. The older you get, the more apt you are to engage in this sort of reverie, and for obvious reasons: You can remember things from several decades ago, even if you aren’t sure what you had for breakfast this morning.

I may be wrong but I am convinced that the worst snow ever to hit Pike County was the one that hit in February of 1985. This storm that started in on Monday left over three feet of snow in its wake, it left a large number of people without power and, to top it all off, it was cold.

I worked for the county then in Solid Waste. I lived on Coal Run Hill. By Tuesday morning, when I got up to go in to work, I heard on the radio how dire the situation was. Most roads in the county were shut down, and no one was to get out. People were stranded in Pikeville with no way home and the county was organizing four-wheel drive trucks to shuttle people back to their places of residence.

I decided to see if I could get to work since I only had a few miles to go. The four-lane below Pikeville was completely deserted and was reduced to a two-lane road, as the passing lanes were snowed in, and, as Larry Webster, in his next Red Dog, observed, those open lanes were just wide enough for an economy car.

One of the first people I saw after I got to the courthouse was Fuzzy Keesee. Fuzzy was between gigs as sheriff then and when he came in, someone asked him where he’d been that morning. Casually, Fuzzy replied that he’d been over on Pawpaw campaigning. Of course, that bought a laugh, but to tell the truth, I’m still not certain that he wasn’t serious.

First night in, around 8 pm, some people called Judge Patton to complain about the electricity. Paul tried to explain that he had no control over when the power came back on, but the sad tale of a household with no heat moved him to send me and a co-worker out with wood from his own supply. So we bravely ventured forth in the Judge’s Cherokee to where these people lived. We pulled up in their driveway, turned off the key, and watched, wide-eyed, as the power came back on. No, they said, we don’t need the wood now. Thanks, anyway.

Howard Justice led the group of workers/coffee drinkers. The coffee supply gave out on the second day; well, all but for the de-caf. We were desperate enough to actually drink it. Howard made the second pot, still full, when we got some more of the hi-test, whereupon Howard poured out the just-brewed de-caf. “Why’d you do that?” I asked. Howard just looked at me like I was crazy and made some hi-test. “Because!” he said, and that was that.

By Thursday, the crises played itself out. Everyone got power back, the roads were gradually cleared, and everyone got to go home. Everyone but the Judge, that is. He stayed until Saturday. But that’s why he got the big bucks.