A VALENTINE’S DAY TO REMEMBER

It was February 14th, in the early sixties, a beautiful winter’s morning, as I drove to St. Margaret’s to teach my students. Once inside the classroom, I was very busy trying to teach my thirty—nine students, ranging in grades from one to eight. Because of the cool temperature, the frost on the windows did not disappear until the afternoon. Consequently, I was unaware of what was happening outside the school.

At approximately eleven o’clock, we were startled by a sudden knock on the door. It was a parent who came to alert us about an impending storm, and to take his children home. I was surprised and shocked to hear this, and we quickly picked up our belongings and started for home.

My mode of transportation was a half—ton, pick-up truck, and I took some students with me, some in the front, and others in the back.

After all the students were delivered to their homes, I continued on my journey, hoping to reach home safely. By now, the storm was quite severe, and the visibility was nil. I was still three miles from home when the truck came to an abrupt stop. I struggled to get out, only to find that I was in the ditch. I was unharmed, so I crawled up the bank to the main highway and tried to get my sense of direction. Everything was now a complete white-out, and I had no idea where I was. Using the electric light pole as a guide, I plunged through the deep snow, trying to make my way home. In those days, teachers wore dresses to school. I wore a long coat over my dress. My thin stockings did not provide me with much warmth. After an exhausting walk, I arrived at Mary Ann Chaisson’s home, where she gave me tea and a lunch. She invited me to spend the night there. However, I knew that my husband, Joe, and our two young children were at home, and they

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