Schoolchildren's Blizzard | The Frozen Remains | 4

A listener note, Against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. This series contains depictions of violence and death involving children, and may not be suitable for everyone. Twelve-year-old Lena Vabecki shivers as she wakes up from a fitful sleep. She feels the winter sun on her face, but when she goes to open her eyes, she realizes that she can't. They froze shut during the night. She reaches a hand to her face and peels off layers of ice. She whimpers in pain. Scratching away, the ice tears the delicate skin of her eyelids. She finally steals herself and tears the rest of the ice off all at once, letting out a sharp gasp. But at last she can see. The morning sun on the snow practically blinds her. She squints as she gets to her feet, her joints throbbing. It's just after sunrise on January 13th, 1888. Lena stands in a field of fresh snow outside Seward, Nebraska. Although the wind and snow have died down, it's still brutally cold. Well below zero. When the blizzard struck yesterday, Lena left her schoolhouse in the teeth of the storm to get home. An older boy named Lawrence was guiding her, but they got into an argument about the best way to go. She veered off to cut across a field toward her foster parent's farmhouse while he continued down the road. After that, her memory is hazy. She remembers staggering back and forth in the whiteout, unsure where the farmhouse was. At some point, as darkness fell, she crumpled to the ground and pulled her cloak over her head for the night. Maybe she should have gone with Lawrence after all. She recalls their argument again, how Lawrence tried to pull her along the road, but she beat him off with her lunch pail. The lunch pail? Her foster mother will be furious if Lena lost it. She drops to her knees and paws at the snow. Her hands are so numb that she doesn't even feel the cold. Her fingers finally detect the pail's shape. She brushes the snow off of it. What a relief. But then she remembers her textbook. She spends several more minutes digging through the snow until it turns up. She's pained to see that the cover is torn and the page is warped with moisture. She's going to get a licking for this. She knows it. As she struggles to stand, she can't believe how exhausted she is. She wants to lie down again, but she knows she can't stay out here in the cold. Thankfully, she can see her farmhouse a quarter mile in the distance, just past a ravine. There's smoke rising from the chimney. She grips her textbook and lunch pail and trudges in that direction. But she's so weak, she can barely stand upright. Her feet might as well be frozen stumps. Every muscle in her body aches, too. Down to the bone. After 20 painful minutes, she's barely covered 100 yards. Suddenly, her foot catches a gopher hole. She tries to keep her balance, but it's no use. She tumbles to the ground. She tries to get back up, only to fall again. Her body just won't obey. She looks out at the ravine between the field and her house. It's not too wide, but it has steep sides, and it's full of snow. She worries that if she slides into it, she'll never get out. She could skirt the ravine by doubling back to the road, but that would add at least a mile to her journey. The mere thought of this makes her almost cry. Still, she doesn't think she has any other choice. But as she tries to pick herself up, she slumps over into the snow. She just can't go on. She cradles her lunch pail and textbook to her chest and closes her eyes. she needs to sleep. And as she's drifting off, she realizes that she doesn't much care whether she ever wakes up again. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. After the huge blizzard pummeled the American Midwest in January 1888, residents fanned out to find those who'd gone missing. But it wasn't easy. Snow had buried everything in sight, and a bitter cold snap put the lives of the rescue crews in danger as well. Those who were stranded realized it could take too long for help to reach them. If they wanted to live, they would have to summon every ounce of strength they had to save themselves. This is Episode 4, The Frozen Remains. Farmer Wilhelm Vebecky kicks the snow away from the barn door, then pulls it open with a grunt. He grabs his saddle off the wall, then places it onto his mare. The animal's breath sends clouds of steam into the cold morning air. It's just before 7am on January 13th, and Wilhelm is heading out once again to search for his foster daughter, Lena. His first attempt to find her, yesterday, just before dark, almost killed him. Just as his wife predicted, he got lost in the whiteout and ended up stumbling around blindly. Only through dumb luck did he find his way back to the farmhouse. He spent a sleepless night waiting for the storm to break so he could try again. He can only imagine what the little girl is suffering out there all alone. He mounts his horse. The mare seems reluctant to leave the shelter of the barn, but Wilhelm digs his heels into her sides. He yanks the reins toward the road. It's so covered in snow that it's barely distinguishable from the rest of the landscape. As he rides along, he scans the fields in every direction. Lena could be anywhere out here. But before long, he notices something about a quarter mile distant. A dark lump against the stark white snow. His pulse starts to pound. Lena? Lena! He can't hear any response, but the dark shape begins to move. Wilhelm squints into the sun, staring at the shape. Soon, he's sure of it. It's Lena. She's alive, and she's trying to stand. Come on, come on, let's go. He kicks his horse, urging the mare forward. But after a few steps, he remembers the deep ravine that separates him from Lena. It will be nearly impossible for him or his horse to scale its steep sides. He pulls on the mare's reins to slow her down. He'll have to take the road that goes around, even though it will take longer. Hold on, Lena! Hold on! Wilhelm yanks the reins to the left, then spurs his horse again, pushing her as fast as he dares in the snow. Every second is agonizing. His eyes dart back toward Lena, whose body and face turn to follow him like a frozen sunflower. He reaches the road that passes over the ravine, then doubles back toward Lena. At last, he's close enough. He hops off his horse and runs as best he can through the snow toward her. She seems dazed as he approaches, but when he's a few feet away, she holds a tattered book out to him. Wilhelm takes it, confused. What is this? My textbook. I'm so sorry. I tried to keep it safe, but... She can't even finish before she breaks down crying. Wilhelm is stunned. Lena, I don't care about the book. Come here. Wilhelm wraps Lena in his arms, squeezing her for several seconds and kissing her cheek. But her skin is like ice. He pulls back and looks at her closely. Her face is a ghostly white. He lifts her in his arms and then carries her back to his horse. He's got to get her inside and warm as soon as possible. Johan Albrecht Sr. cops his hands around his mouth and hollers to a member of his search party a hundred yards distant. Hey, any luck yet? No. It's the answer Johan Sr. expected, but he's still disappointed. Where on earth could his son and the other four boys be? It's 5 p.m. on January 13th. Sunset is approaching. Johan Sr.'s shadow on the snow is long. Early this morning, Johan made his way to his son's schoolhouse, expecting to find Johan Jr. safe and sound. Instead, he learned that the teacher had tried to lead his students to a nearby farmhouse during the height of the storm. They'd gotten separated in the blizzard, and five of the boys went missing. Johan Sr. rustled up a search party, and they have been combing the fields here outside Freeman in the Dakota Territory all day. They started near the schoolhouse, working their way toward the Graeber farm, where the students had been headed. Johan Sr. and the others walked over every inch of ground, but found no trace of the boys. When that search came up empty, they fanned out to other fields. Johan Sr. can't imagine how the boys could have wandered this far away, but they've got to be somewhere. Despite the bitter cold, Johan Sr. pushes aside any thought of stopping. After all, it's his fault his son is even out here. If he hadn overruled his wife and let Johan Jr run off to school yesterday morning he be safe at home After another few minutes Johan Sr notices a mound of snow ahead of him Given how flat the prairie here is there gotta be something buried underneath. He waves his hand over his head. Hey, there's something here! He races forward in the snow as the other men do the same. They converge on the little mound. Johan Sr. throws himself onto his knees and heaves the snow aside. The first thing he sees is a large brown eye. A cry escapes his lips. But then he groans. His addled mind thought the eye was human for a moment, but no, it's much too large. He realizes it's a cow's eye. Johan Sr. scrapes more snow away and uncovers the animal's face. He's horrified to see an icy mask over its mouth and nose, where its saliva froze solid. It's a crushing moment for the search party. Their one hope all day suddenly dashed. Johan Sr. gets to his feet. Let's push on. Come. But when no one else moves, he turns to find the other men ducking their eyes. Several are shivering. One farmer steps forward, shaking his head sadly. We can't keep going today. You want to quit looking for my child? No, not quit. Just pause. Until tomorrow. No, I'm not stopping. He's out here somewhere. And he's alive. I hope so, Johan. But cows, they're big animals, built for the cold. And if they couldn't make it... Johan doesn't wait for him to finish speaking. He pushes past to continue searching. His son is stranded somewhere, and he will not quit looking until he finds him. Lena Vebecki cringes as the doctor pulls aside the blankets and exposes her feet. No matter how many times she sees them in this state, they still sicken her. Her foster father, Wilhelm, stands in the corner of the bedroom and looks away. The doctor adjusts his glasses. Lena, try wiggling your toes. Lena tries, but they barely move. A jolt of pain shoots up her leg. The doctor frowns and scribbles something in a notebook. Lena stares at his face, trying to figure out what he thinks. it doesn't seem good. It's the morning of January 14th, two days after the blizzard. When Wilhelm rescued Lena, her feet and hands were as white as a fish belly. As her limbs thawed near the kitchen stove over the next few hours, they turned pink. She thought they were healing, but then the itching started. So fierce, she nearly scratched off her skin. Next came a burning sensation, like someone dunking them in flames. But the worst was yet to come. Now her hands and feet are turning black. Pus oozes from them, and the smell makes her gag. Lena has been lying in bed for the past 24 hours waiting for the doctor. The cold and snow meant he couldn't get here until this morning. Lena spent that whole time anxious to see him, desperate for relief, but now she's terrified of what he's going to tell her. The doctor reaches a hand toward her left foot. This may hurt a little. The instant he touches her, Lena screams in pain. It feels like bolts of lightning are shooting up her leg. She pounds the mattress with her fist. Stop! Stop! Please stop! I have to examine them. Lena, it's for your own good. The doctor turns the foot this way and that, then spreads her toes. He finally sets her foot down and scribbles more notes. But before Lena can catch her breath, he grasps the other foot and the pain is even more intense. She shouts again and her foster her father steps forward to take her hand. It doesn't help. The doctor finally lowers her foot, then removes his glasses and cleans them on his shirt. Your feet are badly infected. Gangrene has already set in. Don't you have some medicine you can give me? We're past the point of medicine. We need to focus on saving your life now, okay? Do you know what the word amputate means? Lena is horrified. She's seen Civil War veterans with missing legs and hands. She knows that they underwent amputations. You want to cut my feet off? We have no choice, dear. Your hands might be next. Lena recoils, then reddens in fury. She still has feeling in her hands and feet. How can this doctor even think about amputating them? No, no, no, you're not cutting anything off. The doctor looks stunned at her outburst. Excuse me, young lady. I am the doctor. The doctor grows stern and lectures Lena about the danger she faces. She crosses her arms and rolls over, sobbing. She cannot believe she survived a day and a night out in the storm of the century just to lose her hands and feet. What's going to happen to her now? Johan Albrecht Sr. takes his wife Maria's hand in his. He closes his eyes, then they each pray. Johan whispers words that pour from his heart. Please, please God, help us find our boy alive. We will give anything for him. Johan Sr. opens his eyes to see Maria wiping a tear from her cheek. It's Sunday morning, January 15th, three days since the storm battered the territory. Johan Sr. has spent the past two days scouring the fields near Freeman for his son. He's worn out and feels his hope dwindling with every passing hour. Still, he's been heartened to hear tales of survivors discovered in other towns. So, there's still a chance. But he knows that if the five missing boys are not found today, it's unlikely they can survive another night. Not in this brutal cold. He thought seriously about skipping services to keep searching. But even in his distress, he felt guilty not honoring the Sabbath. Besides, he could use a miracle. The preacher finishes, and a hymn starts. Maria has a beautiful voice, and her sadness makes it even more lovely. Johan joins in with his baritone, but all he can focus on are the next places to search the minute the service ends. Suddenly, the door at the back of the church flies open. A lanky man with ink-stained hands rushes in. Johan recognizes him as the editor of a local paper. The singing falls silent as he dashes down the aisle and hops onto the dais where the preacher stands. They converse in low tones. The preacher looks startled. He casts a quick look at Johan and Maria. Next thing Johan knows is he's on his feet. It feels like someone is gripping his throat. Is this the news he's been waiting for? Has someone found his son? After a few more seconds, the preacher steps past the editor and addresses the congregation. News has arrived that several children have been found over at the Gertz farm. Johan interrupts. Are they alive? The preacher looks at the editor, who shrugs. I don't know. I've heard conflicting reports. The congregation bursts into chatter, everyone talking at once, except Johan Sr. He's already pushing his way out of his pew into the aisle and toward the door. He sees the fathers of the other missing boys doing the same. It's three miles to the Gertz farm, and every minute will count if he wants to save his son. Trapper Charlie Stabler bites his cheek until he can taste blood. After a grunt of pain, he spits red onto the ground, but the taste sickens him. How long has he been lying in his snow shelter, trapped beneath this ceiling of ice? Two days? Three? Maybe more? He's doing all he can to avoid falling into a deep sleep. He knows that if he does, he may never wake up again. At first, he talked to Rough Clouds, his friend who lies dead beside him. But that stopped working. Stabler found himself nodding off in the middle of sentences. That's when he started biting. His lips first, and now his inner cheek. It's agony, but it's better than dying in his sleep. He wishes his dog Bearclaws was here to keep him company. He's thought about giving up and embracing sleep. I mean, why prolong his suffering? But every time he starts slipping under, the thought that these might be his last moments on earth jolts him awake. He's not ready to die. Based on how the roar of the wind has died down outside, Stabler's confident the blizzard has stopped. He's tried several times to claw his way out through the collapsed entrance tunnel, but he's so fatigued and weak he can't make any progress. Then he hears a noise. It sounds like an animal digging. There are coyotes out here Is one coming for him He feels a wrenching tightness in his chest What an awful way to die getting his throat ripped out by savage beasts He now wishes he'd just fallen asleep. At least that would be a peaceful death. Then he hears something. A dog's bark. Could it be? Stabler swallows thickly, still tasting blood. He calls out, Bear claws! Is that you, boy? A round of frenzied barks follows. Stabler realizes that his faithful dog is digging him out of the snow, and he weeps with joy. After a few minutes, Stabler can see the dog's murky outline through the ice above him. Summoning all of his strength, Stabler rises onto one elbow and pounds the ice ceiling. His hand throbs, but he keeps striking over and over. The roof finally cracks. Bearclaws tumbles inside, then licks Stabler's face. Stabler laughs and cries all at once. And as he wraps the dog's warm fur in his arms, he feels a surge of hope. He's going to fight on. Johan Albrecht Sr. leaps off the sledge before it even stops moving and takes off running for the Gertz farmhouse. He stumbles once or twice in the snow, but he keeps churning forward. Wait for us! He hears the shouts of Peter Graeber Sr. and Johan Kaufman Sr. behind him, telling him to wait for them. but Johan Sr. doesn't stop. Between the snow and the cold, it took the trio 30 minutes to cover the three miles from the church. It was the longest half hour of Johan's life, but somehow the two minute run to the Gertz's front door seems to take even longer. He's panting for breath when Johan Gertz answers his knocking. Johan Sr. pushes past him inside. Where are the boys? Where's my son. They're out back, but wait. Johan Sr. darts out the front door again, circling around the house. A hundred yards distant, in the middle of a field, he sees something sticking out of a lump of snow. It looks like a branch. Johan's heart soars. Maybe the boys made a lean-to from this branch and their coats and huddled inside. That could have kept them sheltered enough to survive. The snow gets deeper as Johan Sr. approaches, but he fights onward. He's 50 yards away now. But five yards from the mound, he skids to a stop. What he thought was a branch isn't a branch at all. It's a human arm, a teenage boy's arm. The fingers outspread. It's frozen in place, sticking up at a grotesque angle. For a moment, he wonders who it is, but then he sees brown fabric. He recognizes it at once. It's the sleeve of his son's coat. Johan Sr. falls to his knees and pushes the snow aside. He has to know for sure. After a moment, he sees him, his precious oldest boy, frozen solid. But Johan Sr. buries his face in his hands and weeps. He can hear the other fathers behind him, demanding to know what he's found. But he's too crushed with grief to answer. How can he face life without his son? How will he ever tell his wife? They always said that Johan Jr. was blessed. that he'd broken the curse of all their children who died before him. And now he's gone too. Charlie Stabler lurches forward in the snow, then stops to rest with his hands on his knees. He can hear Bearclaws ahead, barking. The dog seems to be leading him somewhere. Whenever Stabler has tried walking in another direction, Bearclaws gets agitated and nudges him back on this path. But Stabler can't imagine where they're headed. For hours, he's seen nothing but the white expanse of prairie and the darkening sky. At this point, Stabler can't walk anymore. He hasn't eaten in days. He's barely slept, and he's shivering from head to toe. All that he wants to do is collapse into a ball and just rest. Using his frozen hands to steady himself, he drops onto the ground. Seconds later, Bearclaws is there, licking his face and tugging on his jacket sleeve with his teeth. Stabler bats his hands at him. Go away, boy. Leave me alone. But Bearclaws won't stop He even nips Stabler with his teeth to get him moving No matter how hard Stabler shoves him away, the dog won't leave Stabler has finally had it Fine, fine, I'll get up, boy I'll just die on my feet What's the difference anyway? It takes him several attempts but he stands. Bearclaws races off with Stabler stumbling behind. After another 20 minutes, Bearclaws returns to him, whining and tugging on his pant leg. He seems frantic. Stabler looks around, then stops, stunned. A hundred yards away, he sees the silhouette of a farmhouse. A wisp of gray smoke rises from the chimney. Stabler teeters toward it, his knees knocking together. Bearclaws dashes up the stairs. Stabler takes them slower, planting two feet on each one. His legs feel stiffer than a tree trunk. He finally reaches the top. All he has to do is step forward and knock, but climbing the stairs has done him in. Black spots swim in his eyes, and the world spins. He pitches forward, and his face hits the door with a thump. Then he rolls over, dazed. What was that? Is somebody out there? Bearclaws barks. A minute later, the door opens, and a head pops out. Stabler finds himself looking up at a farmer with the long salt-and-pepper beard. The farmer gasps, then leans over Stabler, asking if he can stand. Stabler shakes his head no, so the farmer drags him. Bearclaws grabs his coat in his teeth and helps. However woozy he is, a smile flashes across Stabler's face. He's saved at last. Even before they're across the threshold, he can feel himself falling asleep. He figures that he's earned it. 19-year-old Etta Shattuck feels something nibbling on her neck, and she jerks awake. It's another mouse. She can hear it scurrying away, burrowing deeper inside the haystack. Several mice have also taken shelter here in the hay, and they've been biting Etta for hours now, testing to see if they can eat her. Etta usually doesn't like mice, hates them in fact, but in a strange way, she's grateful for these ones. The nibbles keep her awake. Besides, she's comforted to know that at least something else is alive out here. It's around sunset on January 15th, and Etta has spent more than three days burrowed inside this haystack. When the blizzard ended, she considered leaving to seek help, but her legs were too frozen to walk, and now she doubts she could even crawl. She's been passing time singing hymns and praying aloud But yesterday she noticed she was struggling to form the words Her voice was slurred It frustrated her at first But eventually she found this funny She started laughing deliriously How silly she must sound But she knows that God understands She's making the effort And her prayers will still count Instead of singing, she's resorted to humming Softly, to conserve energy. She goes through several favorite hymns now. How Great Thou Art and The Old Rugged Cross. Such beautiful songs. She rests for a moment, but before starting up again, she hears something. It sounds like footsteps crunching in the snow. Then she hears voices, and she can feel vibrations. Etta swallows and feels her throat ache. She didn't realize how raw it was with no water to drink. Is someone out there? The voices go silent. Etta has a horrible thought. What if she hallucinated this? Can you hear me? Hello? Who's in there? Hold on, hold on! A second later, there's a burst of chatter, and she can feel the men clawing at the hay. They tell Etta to hold on. A minute later, one tears away a tuft, and Etta blinks to see a dim silhouette in the fading daylight. It looks like her neighbor, Mr. Murphy. He has tears in his eyes and reaches in and touches her face. It's the warmest thing she's ever felt in her life. The two men, Mr. Murphy and a hired farmhand, scramble to clear her off. As they finish, Etta closes her eyes and whispers thanks to God. Then she opens them and looks up to thank the men. But something about their expressions stop her. They look like they staring at a ghost Will Allen whips his head up at the sound of his eight-year-old brother Walter coughing. Will had been nodding off in the rocking chair next to Walter's bed. He brushes his younger brother's hair from his forehead. Hey, how you feeling, little man? Where am I? You're in your room. Nice and warm here. Is the blizzard over? Yeah. Yeah, it's over. Will smiles down at Walter. It's January 16th, 1888, four days since Walter wandered away from a sledge that was supposed to bring him home from school and ended up stranded in the blizzard. After hours of searching, Will dragged Walter to his father's law office here in Groton. After getting the boy warm, Will carried him home. Walter has been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since. He's actually asked where he was a few times now, but he never seemed to register the answer. He just nodded and drifted off again. This time is different. Although there are still bloody scratches around his eyes from the ice that was crusted there, Walter seems alert. What about everyone at school? They're all safe. You were the one that had everyone worried. Did I lose any toes? Will assures Walter that everything is okay now. His fingers and toes had looked deathly white initially, but all of them survived. Walter complains that he's hungry, and Will darts downstairs to grab a bowl of hot chicken soup. Then he feeds Walter as much as he'll eat. Most of a bowl. It's a good sign. Eventually, Walter says that he wants to sleep again. Will figures that's a good idea, but there's one thing Will needs to do first. A task that he's been putting off. He goes to a dresser nearby, opens a drawer, and removes a folded linen napkin. He unwraps it slowly, careful not to let the shards of glass spill onto the floor. Then he returns to the mattress and sits. Sorry, Walter. Will reaches out the napkin so Walter can see. In it, he's holding what remains of his brother's beloved perfume bottle. Will found the pieces in Walter's pocket when he undressed him at the law office. The water inside had frozen while Walter was lost and it shattered. Walter's lip trembles and he starts to cry softly. Will lays the broken bottle aside and pulls Walter in for a hug. Will finds that he's fighting tears himself. He genuinely doesn't know what he would have done if Walter had died. And Will knows just how easily that might have happened. Based on what Will has read in the paper, lots of people in the region have lost their loved ones. Benjamin Shattuck limps down the hallway of the farmer Daniel Murphy's home in Holt County, Nebraska. Murphy twists a doorknob and gestures for Benjamin to enter a bedroom. Benjamin removes his hat and ducks inside. It's January 19th. His daughter, Etta, has been recuperating here for four days since Murphy and his farmhand found her in a haystack. Etta smiles as he walks in. The sight of her breaks her father's heart. she's just as joyful as ever despite her condition father it's wonderful to see you take my hand benjamin does so although he's too choked up to speak at first he just hangs his head and breathes feeling at his hand in his he received word of edda's miraculous rescue in the haystack only two days ago since the storm had blown down the telegraph lines then benjamin had to borrow money to buy a train ticket to get here. The trip was 135 miles, and he came straight to Murphy's Farm from the station nine miles away. After some deep breaths, he manages to speak. I'm sorry, Etta. What for? I know you came as quickly as you could. No, it's not that. It's... He can't get the words out. Seeing Etta's plight causes a flood of guilt. She wouldn't be in this position if he hadn't moved the family out here a few years ago, or if he hadn't failed so badly at farming that she had to take a job teaching school. He tries to explain all of this, but Etta hushes him. It's all part of God's plan, father. Benjamin nods and he wipes his eyes. Yeah, yeah, I hope so. How are your legs? See for yourself. Benjamin eases the blanket aside and winces Her lower legs are black and covered in weeping sores He sees that gangrene has already started to consume a few toes He saw plenty of gangrene during the Civil War And knows how dangerous it is He fears that she'll lose both of her legs But he doesn't want Etta to despair So he puts on a brave face and squeezes his daughter's hand I'm taking you home. I've already arranged for the best doctors in Seward to look after you. I know you can't afford that, Father. I'll borrow the money. I'll sell everything we own. You're getting the best care. And you'll be just fine. You'll see. Then let's pray for success. Join me? Truth be told, Benjamin isn't much of a prayer. But he joins Etta now with all of his heart. He pleads for God to heal his daughter, and that he'll forgive Benjamin for his own pride. Etta Shattuck was soon removed to Seward, where three doctors labored over her for weeks. Both of her legs were amputated below the knee. However, an aggressive infection set in, and she died on February 6th. She was two months shy of her 20th birthday and was one of the Blizzard's last victims. Lena Vabecki also underwent an amputation, losing one of her feet to damage from frostbite. Unlike Etta Shattuck, Lena recovered well from her surgery and learned to walk again with a wooden foot. She married in 1901, at age 24. She died two years later of unknown causes. Trapper Charlie Stabler recovered fully from his ordeal and returned to live with his tribe. He always told children to be extra nice to bear claws for saving his life. The dog passed away eight years later. Stabler died in 1910. Will and Walter Allen remained close for the rest of their lives. Will became editor-in-chief of Dakota Farmer, an agricultural newspaper. He grew prominent enough to run for governor in South Dakota, although he lost. Walter worked on the paper's staff as well. Will died in 1939, Walter in 1973. There is no record of what happened to the Albrecht family after they lost their son, Johan Jr. Lieutenant Thomas Woodruff left the Signal Corps in the spring after the blizzard, due to internal politics. he never predicted weather again. The blizzard no doubt would have claimed lives regardless, but his failure to issue a timely warning almost certainly raised the death toll. A few months after the blizzard in the Midwest, the Army Weather Bureau failed to warn of a blizzard in New York. Afterward, President William Harrison yanked control of weather reporting away from the Army and gave it to the Department of Agriculture. Estimates vary widely for the number of deaths in the so-called children's blizzard, but at least 250 people perished overall, and possibly up to 500. 20% of the victims were children, most of whom had been released from school into the worst of the storm. To this day, it remains one of the deadliest blizzards in history. The Children's Blizzard a collection of survivor's tales put together by W.H. O'Gara. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Sam Keen wrote this episode. Our editor is Steve Fennessy. Sound design by Joe Richardson. Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Original theme music by Scott Velasquez and 2K for Fries on Sync. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry. Produced by Emily Frost. Managing producer is Desi Blalock. Senior producers are Andy Herman and Austin Rackless. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery.