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. Eight-year-old Walter Allen staggers forward into the fierce wind of the blizzard. He crosses his arms tightly to his chest, sliding his bare hands under his armpits for warmth. He can't stop shivering. He looks around, but the sharp snow stings his eyes. A few steps later, his foot catches and he stumbles forward. He tries to catch his fall, but he ends up flat on his face. The wind knocked out of him. He struggles to his feet, shaking the snow off his numb hands. It's mid-afternoon on January 12, 1888, near Groton in the Dakota Territory. Walter has been wandering through this blinding storm for hours. He missed the sledge that took his classmates from their schoolhouse back to town. It's a near whiteout in this open field, and he can't see a single landmark that he recognizes. He leans forward, his palms on his thighs, catching his breath. He wonders what he tripped on. Walter has crossed this field so many times on his way to and from school that he knows it like the back of his hand. There are a few small boulders out here and a couple of tree stumps. If he can figure out what he tripped on, he might be able to determine where he is in relation to his home. He drops to all fours and crawls the way he came, patting the snow in front of him. But as he gropes his way back, he can't feel anything on the ground but snow. No boulders, no tree stumps. He's so disappointed, he wants to collapse right there and just go to sleep. But he knows he needs to get up and keep moving. Otherwise, he'll freeze to death. With a mighty effort, he drags himself back to his feet. But now, he's not even sure which way he'd been walking. The wind is erasing his tracks as fast as he makes them. He feels a despair settle over him. He can't help himself. Tears well up in his eyes. He feels childish, but he can't stop them. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath. He thinks of his older brother, Will. Will wouldn't sit around crying. He'd take action. Picturing him gives Walter a bit of strength. But when he goes to wipe away his tears, he realizes something terrible. It's so cold that his tears have frozen solid. His eyes are now locked shut with ice. He strains to open his eyes, but they won't budge. He rubs them with the back of his sleeve, but the shards of ice dig into his eyelids. Is he bleeding now? He doesn't even know. Panic surges through him. He jams his hands into his pockets and feels his perfume bottle, the reason he jumped off the sledge. He hadn't wanted to leave it behind, but he realizes now that his decision to return for it could cost him his life. He collapses into the snow, blinded and defeated. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. After a massive blizzard blasted the American Midwest on January 12, 1888, hundreds of people, including dozens of schoolchildren, were left stranded outdoors with no protection. The whiteout conditions left them wandering the prairies. With no landmarks to guide them, they faced near-certain death in the freezing cold. They improvised shelters, hoping to shield themselves just enough from the frigid air to survive the storm. Meanwhile, their friends and families were forced to decide whether or not to risk venturing into the blinding storm to search for their loved ones. This is Episode 3, Exposed. 18-year-old Will Allen cups his hands around his mouth and screams at the top of his lungs, hoping to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. Walter! Walter! Can you hear me? It's mid-afternoon on January 12th, 1888, near Groton in the Dakota Territory. A little over an hour ago, a sledge full of school kids pulled up outside Will's house, but his little brother Walter wasn't on it. So Will, his father W.C., and two neighbors hurried to the schoolhouse on a sledge to look for him. Now they're searching the perimeter of the building desperate for any sign of Walter. The other men seem hesitant to stray too far from the school in the whiteout. The schoolhouse sits alone amid nothing but empty prairie. But Will pushes out farther and farther. He hollers again. Walter! Where are you? Will figures that he's searched every square foot within 50 yards of the school now. And he's getting frustrated. Clearly, Walter isn't here. He must be farther away. But before he can trudge on, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see his neighbor, whose hooded coat is caked with snow. Come back inside. No, I'm not giving up. We need to come up with a plan. Come back for now. Reluctantly, Will grabs the man's hand and they retreat to the schoolhouse. Inside, they brush themselves off. Then the neighbor who summoned Will turns to Will's father. He says they should call off the search, that it's just too dangerous. Will sees his father's nostrils flare in anger. No, we're not abandoning my boy. He's out there, and he needs us. What if we get a rope and tied ourselves to the school? That way we could roam more widely. Where are you going to find a hundred-yard rope in here? Look, I know it's hard, but if you die, think of your wife. She'll be destitute. Will sees his father's eyes widen with fear. Then he slumps against a wall. The neighbor puts a comforting arm around WC. The man says he's sorry, truly, but there's no sense in making things worse. Will knows his father and can see the old man is giving in, but Will refuses to give up on Walter. While the other men continue to talk, he quietly eases open the front door and slips through it. Outside, the wind seems fiercer than ever, but he ducks his head against it and lurches forward. He's always looked out for his little brother, and he's not about to stop now. Twelve-year-old Lena Vabecki clutches her metal lunch pail in one hand and cradles her textbook to her chest in the other. She leans into the wind and fights her way against the raging blizzard. A few yards ahead of her, she sees her classmate Lawrence walking backwards. All the other students at their school walk in the other direction, with the wind at their backs. But Lena, and Lawrence's way home, is in the opposite way, a mile north into the wind. Lawrence gestures at Lena, and shouts at her over the storm. Turn around! If you walk backwards, you'll keep your face out of the wind! But Lena refuses. She still remembers how Lawrence humiliated her by asking her why her parents abandoned her. She doesn't trust him, and certainly won't turn her back to him. For the past half hour, they've been trudging through the snow along the dirt road, or at least what they think is the road. Every landmark is either covered in snow or obscured by it Progress has been agonizingly slow At times it feels like the wind is shoving them backwards Lena body aches from the cold Her feet are so numb now they might as well belong to someone else. That's another reason she refuses to walk backwards. She's worried about tripping and dropping her textbook. If it falls in a snowdrift, her foster mother will be furious. They finally encounter the snow-covered outline of something they recognize, an abandoned plow by the side of the road. This is where Lena usually veers left. She takes a shortcut through a field, then follows a ravine practically to her front door. She shouts to Lawrence, I'm turning here for the ravine. No, no, no. We have to follow the road. That's too far. I don't want to be outside any longer than I have to be. But there's no way to tell your direction out there. If we follow the road, we can keep our way. You can't even see the ravine from here. He points, and Lena looks. He's right. She can't see anything past 25 feet, but she's determined to get home as soon as possible, so she shrugs and turns left. To her surprise, Lawrence grabs her from behind. Lena, stop. You're going to get lost. Let me go! Lawrence drags her backward, shouting at her not to be stupid. Lena gets furious and swings her lunch pail at him. It thumps him on the arm. She swings it again, and when it strikes his exposed hand, he lets out a cry and jumps back. You're a crazy old goat. No wonder your parents got rid of you. Then he turns and heads off down the road. Within seconds, he disappears in the blown snow. The insult stings Lena, and she feels a stab of shame. Then she collects herself. She doesn't have time to waste on emotions. She turns sharply, maneuvers around the plow, then lowers her head and steps onto the empty, windswept field. Trapper Charlie Stabler pats the last lump of snow into place, then slouches over onto his side. He's exhausted. It's taken hours, but he and his trapping partner, Rough Clouds, have finally finished digging out a shelter in a deep snowbank. They're up against a thick tree along Beaver Creek in eastern Nebraska. After Stabler catches his breath, he turns to Rough Clouds. How you feeling? Dizzy. Stabler nods. He feels lightheaded as well. He guesses it must be 4pm, closing in on dusk. They haven't eaten since breakfast, and he feels like he's just burned every last ounce of energy to build this shelter. The cavity they've dug out is barely high enough for them to sit up in, and just big enough so they can lie down. But it should keep them safe from the wind until the blizzard passes. There's still a bit of light from a small opening that leads outside. They'll have to huddle together tonight under the buffalo skin blankets to keep warm. At least they have Stabler's dog Bearclaws for additional body heat. But at this thought, Stabler feels a jolt of alarm. He looks wildly about him. Where is his dog? He's been so focused on digging out the shelter and so cold and tired that he didn't notice Bearclaws leave. He crawls over to the shelter's tiny entrance and sticks his head out into the biting wind and snow. Bearclaws, are you out here? Hey boy, can you hear me? He strains his ears to listen, but all he can hear is the howling wind. 18-year-old Will Allen frantically pauses at a mound of snow that he just tripped over. He's in the second hour of searching for his little brother Walter. He figures he's probably halfway between the schoolhouse and Groton by now, a quarter mile from each. And this lump is the first thing he's seen besides blowing snow. Maybe his brother is under here. But after a few seconds, Will uncovers only a tree stump. He doesn't know whether to be relieved or crushed. If Will was here, he'd likely be frozen to death by now. So, until Will sees otherwise, he has to believe his little brother is still alive. He just has to keep looking. But down here on his knees, he notices something. The wind is less fierce close to the ground. The visibility is better too. When he's standing up, he can barely see 10 feet in front of him. But along the ground, he can see closer to 40. It's as if there's a buffer between the ground and the storm that's still raging across the prairie. he decides to resume his search crawling. Every minute or so, he pops up to his feet and cups his hands around his mouth. Walter! Walter! Can you hear me? When he hears nothing, he resumes crawling. He makes a zigzag pattern to cover the most ground. He crawls a few hundred feet in one direction, then angles off the other way. Before long, he sees something, another hump of snow 20 feet to his right, He heads for it. Remembering the tree trunk a few minutes ago, he doesn't get his hopes up. But as he brushes aside the snow, he sees a flash of brown fabric. It looks like Walter's coat. A second later, he's sure of it. It's his little brother. He sweeps the snow off of him, then pulls him into a sitting position. He gives him a violent shake. Walter, oh God, Walter, wake up. You gotta wake up. But Walter doesn't move. Through the swirling snow, Will stares in horror at Walter's face. There's a layer of ice locked over the little boy's eyes. Even worse, Will sees streaks of red encased in the ice. Frozen blood. Will found his brother. But is he too late? Walter, come on, wake up! Will Allen shakes his little brother Walter, desperate for any sign of life. Walter, Walter, wake up, come on! Will lays his brother down again. He lowers his head close to Walter's mouth and feels it, an unmistakable warm breath. Walter's alive. Will's so relieved he could weep with joy. But things are still dire. He studies the ice covering Walter's eyes. He tries picking it off like a scab, but it's frozen so stiff that he decides not to. Will grabs his brother by the coat collar and, keeping as low as he can, drags him along in the direction of town, or what he hopes is the direction of town. He scooches forward, then reaches back, grabs Walter under his arms, and pulls him towards him. It's slow going and exhausting. It's also freezing. Will's gloves are no match for the frigid temperatures, and soon his hands have stiffened into claws. The knees of his pants are torn from crawling, and the snow is creeping up and down his legs. He stops to check on Walter. There is ice forming around his brother's mouth now, which Will picks off. Then he places his mouth right above his brother's ear and whispers to him. Hey, you still with me, buddy? Good, good, okay. Keep breathing, little man. We're almost there, okay? He drags his brother for another hour, until at long last they reach the edge of Groton. The houses and buildings offer some shelter from the gusts of wind, so Will stands and lifts his brother, carrying him now. He had planned to take Walter home, but they live on the opposite end of town, and he's simply too tired to make it that far. So he heads for his father's law office, which is closer. It's a two-story brick building with the family's name emblazoned on a sign up front. Will totters under the weight of Walter as he climbs up the front steps of the building He kicks Snow away from the door until he finally clears enough to wrench it open He carries Walter inside toward the stove and lowers him gently to the floor He opens the door of the stove and is relieved to see smoldering coals inside. He adds some more and blows on them to stoke it. Will would love nothing more than to drop to the floor and just sleep for hours, but he's got to make sure Walter's okay first. He checks his little brother over. Walter does not look good. His hands are a waxy white and his breathing is ragged, and there's still that horrible, bloody layer of ice over his eyes. Will strips off Walter's clothes, so frozen that they feel like boards. He's got to get his brother warm and fast. He can't have come this far only to lose him now. 19-year-old Etta Shaddock sways sideways as gales of wind pummel her. She loses her footing and topples into the snow. She draws herself up to her knees and tries to get her bearings. She knows this Nebraska landscape well, but the whiteout has left her completely disoriented. She's looking for a sod house that she swears is close by. If she can find it, she can take shelter there, but she's been searching for it for hours with no luck. Every direction she turns, things look the same. It's all just whirling snow. She can barely tell up from down. There's only one thing she can think to do. She closes her eyes and clasps her hands. Dear Lord, please deliver me from this affliction. Guide me with your light to safety. My life is in your hands. The prayer boosts her spirits. She pushes herself up from the ground. Once she's on her feet, she glances left and right, unsure which direction to head. But something about the left beckons to her. So she decides to trust her instincts. She hunches her shoulders in her thin jacket and pitches forward. She figures she's been wandering for three hours now, maybe more. If she doesn't find the sod house soon, she doesn't know how much longer she'll last. The older farmers complain about the winters they used to spend in sod huts. But it sounds like a palace right now to Etta. She plods on for several more minutes. Suddenly, her foot comes down awkwardly and she careens forward. But instead of stumbling onto the ground, something breaks her fall. If she didn't know how flat the land is here, she might think it's a small hill. Her heart leaps to her throat. Is it the wall of the sod hut? There's a crust of ice and snow on whatever it is. She slams it with her palm until she breaks through. Then she digs around, hoping she'll touch frozen sod. Instead, she feels something soft and crinkly. It's straw. A haystack. Ada realizes that if she can burrow inside, she can find some protection from the wind and snow. It's not the sod hut, but it'll have to do. She starts to crack more of the ice crust with her palm, then begins clawing the snow away. Pretty soon, she's pulling out tufts of straw and tossing them behind her. It's not easy with her numb fingers. The straw is tough and dense, and she's worn out and weak. But after a few minutes, she's made a short tunnel into the hay. It's not much of an opening, just a foot deep so far. But if she can clear out a few more feet, she can crawl inside and ride out the worst of the blizzard. By God's grace, she's going to survive. Farmer Wilhelm Vebecki slowly pulls his coat off the peg by the front door, and he slides his arm inside. Then he drops into a sitting position to put on his warmest boots. Once they're laced, he slips on his gloves, grabs his hat, and eases open the door as quietly as he can. Unfortunately, he's been putting off oiling the hinges, and there's a distinct creak. A moment later, he winces to hear his wife, Katerina, yell from the other room. Who's going outside? Wilhelm hurries to slip out without her seeing him, but she's there in a flash. Wilhelm? What are you doing? He glances outside, toward the fields of their farm outside of Seward, Nebraska. The blizzard rages, but he can tell that dusk is here, the sheer white has shifted to grey, and his young cousin Lena is still out there in it. Wilhelm and Katerina did Lena's mother a favor in taking the girl in, and Wilhelm feels responsible for her. But he knows Katerina feels differently. I'm going out to look for Lena. What if she's stranded out there? She's got to be at the school still. No teacher would let their children walk home alone in this. But being at the school is hardly better. There's barely any heat and no food to speak of. Wilhelm, get back inside. You have three children under the age of six upstairs. Are you really going to risk their future to save Lena? Wilhelm hesitates. He knows Katarina is right. If he died, or even lost a foot or a hand to frostbite, his family would be left penniless. His fingers reach for the buttons of his coat. He can't risk going out there. Then, Katerina says something. She's not even our daughter, Wilhelm. Wilhelm's shoulders stiffen. Lena can be difficult sometimes. He's never met a child so stubborn. But she still is family. I'll be back soon. With that, he pulls his hat down over his ears, and he steps out the door. Paterina rushes forward and grabs his coat, trying to drag him back inside. But he prides her hands loose, shuts the door behind him, and marches forward into the gray wall of snow. 19-year-old Etta Shaddock rears back and punches her fist into the haystack around her. Again and again, she strikes it. She's trying to loosen up the dense bundles of straw and work her way deeper inside, but she isn't making much progress. She figures it must be past midnight now, the start of January 13th. She's survived nearly 12 hours outdoors in this blizzard, but she knows she can't hold out much longer. The wind is too fierce, the snow too deep, the air too cold. She's burrowed deeply enough into the haystack that the upper half of her body is protected, but her legs are still exposed to the freezing cold. As a result, her legs and feet have gone numb. She reaches down and slides up her skirt to grip her calf muscle. She pinches it, but there's no sensation. She tries pinching harder until she's straining, but there's no pain. No, nothing. This sends a pulse of fear through her. She could lose her legs to frostbite. She'll never walk again if she doesn't succeed in burrowing deeper. The surge of adrenaline strengthens her for a moment. Like an animal, she grunts and punches and fights her way deeper through the dense straw. But then she runs out of strength again. She's just simply out of energy. and the one thing she knows is that she cannot fall asleep. Since she was a little girl, she's heard stories about people being caught in blizzards who fell asleep and never woke up again. So she starts praying, chatting with God about whatever crosses her thoughts. It's all she can think to do to keep her mind occupied in the cold of this endless night. Trapper Charlie Stabler snorts awake under his buffalo skin blanket and blinks several times in the dark He shivering from the cold and his mind feels so cloudy that it takes him several seconds to recall what happened It comes back in fragments. The sudden blizzard, while he and his partner were trapping animals near Beaver Creek in Nebraska, scrambling back to the campsite, then building this snow shelter by the thick tree. And then he remembers his missing dog, Bearclaws. He'd been dreaming just now about playing fetch with him. Waking up to remember that he's gone leaves his heart aching all over again. As his mind clears, Stabler scolds himself for falling asleep. It's the most dangerous thing you can do in extreme cold. In the dim light seeping through the walls of their snow cave, Stabler can make out his hulking partner rough clouds next to him. He's lying on his side, motionless, wrapped in his blanket. Stabler clears his throat. His voice sounds thick. Rough clouds. Wake up. Hey, get up. We can't sleep. It's too dangerous. He gets no answer. Stabler's joints and muscles ache, but he forces himself up onto an elbow, then reaches over to nudge his partner. Hey, I'm serious. You gotta wake up. Stabler shakes him harder. Hey, rough clouds. Come on, wake up. Wake up. By the end, Stabler is screaming at him, but it's no use. His partner is dead. Stabler drops back in disbelief. He's known rough clouds since they were boys. His mother will be devastated. Stabler also feels pangs of guilt. He pushed his partner awfully hard the past few days. Did that contribute to his death? But, mixed with grief for rough clouds, is fear for himself. Could he be next to die? And the longer he lies here, the deeper the fear grows. He has no food. No way to keep warm. He needs to get out. Summoning his strength, he turns his body and crawls toward the tiny passageway that leads outside. But, to his horror, it's not there. It must have caved in overnight. He tries clawing away the snow, but it's hard and dense, and his fingers can't get purchase on it. He decides to try the roof. Maybe he can tunnel up instead of out. But when he reaches up, his fingers find a layer of hard, smooth ice. He realizes that their body heat must have melted the snow above them, only for it to freeze again as temperatures plummeted overnight. Stabler taps the ice, and it feels solid. He balls up his hand and jabs at it, only to recoil in pain. But he's got to break through, so he cocks his fist and drives it upward, smashing as hard as he can. A second later, a chunk of ice tumbles down, clobbering him in the face. He coils into a ball and tastes blood. He lies there dazed. He decides not to strike the ceiling again and cause an even bigger cave-in. But if he doesn't get out soon, this won't just be Ruff Cloud's tomb. It'll be his, too. Farmer Johan Albrecht Sr. lowers a metal bucket of food onto the fresh snow. Then he pulls off his gloves and blows on his fingers to warm them. It's just after dawn on January 13th. The blizzard that ravaged Freeman and the rest of Dakota Territory has finally stopped. He marvels at how cold it is. He's never experienced weather like this, where it stings your chest even to breathe. Still, aside from the bitter cold, it is a beautiful morning. The world is calm and quiet, with the sun sparkling on the fields of white. Snow has blown into deep drifts in places, but the wind was so fierce that other patches of bare earth lie exposed. When his hands are warm, Johan Sr. picks up the bucket and resumes walking. The bucket holds two pies, plus some ham and biscuits for all the boys at the school. Last night, he promised his wife that as soon as it was safe, he'd deliver this to their son and his classmates at the school, where he's sure they must have spent the night. After a few minutes, the sight of smoke coming from the schoolhouse lifts his spirits. The truth is, he's been feeling guilty ever since the blizzard struck yesterday. If he hadn't downplayed his wife's premonition, their son Johan Jr. would have been safe and snug at home. Johan Sr. opens the schoolhouse door and steps inside. He expects to hear the commotion of the boys, but instead, there's only silence. He's confused. Still, it's dark inside and he can't see much after the blinding white outside. So, maybe they're asleep. He calls out uncertainly in English, a language he struggles to speak. Hello? Anyone here? No one answers. Maybe they built a fire and left. Finally, his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he sees the teacher, James Cotton, at his desk in the front of the room. Johan Sr. walks forward and places the pail on the desk. Good morning, Mr. Cotton. I have food. Where are the boys? But Cotton doesn't answer. He's staring at Johan Sr. as if he's terrified to see him. Johan Sr. repeats his question. Cotton drops his head. It looks like he's talking to the floor. Mr. Albrecht, I want to extend my deepest condolences. I say this with great regret, but the circumstances of yesterday were such that I thought it expedient to risk venturing out. Cotton launches into some sort of explanation, but Johan Sr. doesn't recognize half of the words. He interrupts. I'm sorry, please, please slow down. Cotton takes a deep breath, then turns and stares out the window. Johan Sr. feels a tingle of nervousness. When Cotton starts again, Johan Sr. still doesn't follow everything, but he grasps enough. Cotton explains that he tried to lead the boys to the Graeber home and that they got separated. Cotton arrived there with only two of the seven students that he left with. When he finishes, Johan Sr. is dumbfounded. So, where is my son? Cotton can't answer. His face flushes red in shame. Johan Sr. suddenly feels dizzy as the full impact of Cotton's words hit him. Johan Jr., his precious oldest son, was stuck outside all day and night in the worst blizzard anyone here has ever seen. A scream erupts from inside him. Then he turns and races toward the door. He blasts into the freezing morning air. Only one thought is racing through his mind. He needs to alert the other families and form a rescue party. He can't waste a minute if he's going to save his boy. This is the third episode of our four-part series, The Schoolhouse Blizzard. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the books The Children's Blizzard by David Laskin and In All Its Fury, a collection of survivors' 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 Blaylock Senior producers are Andy Herman and Austin Rackless Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery Using A
