How Cold Was It?

As a New Englander, born and raised in Connecticut, I was used to cold and snowy winters. So the thought of applying to the University of Vermont, two states to the north, was of little concern weather-wise. In my junior year of high school, I visited “UVM” for the first time. The drive took about five hours along scenic Route 7 – a straight shot north through northwest Connecticut, western Massachusetts and Vermont. The latter is a very long state, 159 miles; we had to travel most of it to reach Burlington, home of the university and just 40 miles from the Canadian border.

As we proceeded north through Vermont that first trip, I marveled at so many bucolic farms and classic New England small towns, each accented with a white church steeple. But most inspiring were massive rock formations, many of which glittered with frozen stalactites of glistening ice. The fact that it was late April should have been a clue that winters in Vermont were long-lasting and significantly colder than in Connecticut.

Freshman year at UVM partnered me with a roommate from Rutland, Vermont – about 67 miles to the south of Burlington. I was impressed to learn that John had graduated high school at the top of his class – as its president, as well as was captain of his football and ski teams – but less impressed when I learned that there were 11 students in his graduating class. (By contrast, my high school graduating class numbered over 600.) As winter approached that first year, John delighted in the deluge of snow. It meant he was assured of work and good skiing as a member of Ski Patrol back in Rutland. I hadn’t caught the ski bug, and was less thrilled as the powder mounted up toward our window, particularly because we were on the second floor!

Burlington, Vermont sits astride 125-mile long Lake Champlain (6^th largest in the U.S.). Each winter awaits the announcement that a portion of the lake is frozen to a depth of at least 10 inches. In 1966 and ’67, the lake reached “full ice,” meaning it was solid from shore to shore. When that happened, the local press awaited coverage of the occasional daredevil who would try to drive his car about 10 miles across the lake to neighboring Port Douglas, New York. While at UVM, a VW bug, circa 1960 was the vehicle of choice as it was rumored have a sealed bottom enabling it to float should the ice break.

During my Sophomore and Junior Years, I lived in a fraternity house more than a dozen blocks from campus. My fraternity brothers and I were studious (at least during the week), and since the house itself wasn’t conducive to hearing yourself think, a group of us routinely studied in the library at the center of campus. When the main library closed at 10 p.m., we’d venture downstairs to the all-night study room, lovingly dubbed “the pit,” for a few more hours “pitting.” On frigid evenings, our bundled-up group numbering anywhere from three to eight or so, would agree to trudge “home” together. We quickly developed a survival skill to keep our minds of the bone-chilling wind and frozen ground under foot: We sang! The early 60’s were among the prime years of harmonizing folk groups like Peter, Paul and Mary, The Kingston Trio, The Mamas and The Papas and many others. Crunching along snow-packed sidewalks, we’d focus on harmonizing, filling the air with frosty exhaled notes. The lower the temperature, the louder we crooned.

In my senior year, I lived in an off-campus apartment with two roommates. Each of had a car by then. We had a major hill to climb up to campus. Fortunately, Vermont allowed studded tires, which in winter gave us the false impression of invincibility behind the wheel. To save on gas, we’d usually carpool to campus. One rather brisk morning, the three of us ventured out into a record-setting 32 degrees below zero. We looked at our three vehicles standing stiffly at attention in our driveway. None of us had the heart to start our car, nor the time it would take to warm it up, assuming it even started. So we bundled up covering every inch of skin from head to toe and walked briskly up hill, but not before we tested the so-called rumor that spit would freeze in mid-air at that temperature. And, yes, it really does!

Perhaps the most depressing moment of my college career came in the last semester of my senior year. By mid-April, the campus was practically deserted and Burlington had turned a verdant green. While most exams were over, I was stuck with my last final exam on May 1^st. That morning, I headed to the library for a last-minute review. Sadly, beyond feeling like the last person on campus, the long cross-cross of sidewalks leading from many directions toward the front door were completely surrounded by – not grass – but a pure white blanket of freshly-fallen snow.