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“And then came the dawn…”

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The Blizzard of 1932

Richard D. L. Fulton

On March 7, 1932, Frederick County residents awakened to assess the damage inflicted upon their respective communities by a severe overnight blizzard that had beset the region.

Instead of continuing to seek encouragement from the newspapers as to any signs of relief from the economic oppression of the Great Depression, readers instead learned of the damage that nature had inflicted.  Stories of all the damages and deaths associated with the storm competed with headlines of the latest news regarding the kidnapping of the son of  Charles and Anne Lindbergh, which had taken place less than a week earlier.

The “nor’easter” that moved into Frederick County during the evening of March 6, and raged on into the early morning hours of March 7, had originated in the Gulf of Mexico on March 5, moving rapidly northeastwardly along a track paralleling the eastern flank of the Appalachian Mountains until it made its way offshore in New England, thus, impacting the entire middle Eastern Seaboard of the nation.

The storm generated sustained winds of up to 60 miles per hour, while temperatures plummeted down from 45 to 20 degrees (apparently not accounting for wind-chill effects), according to The (Baltimore) Evening Sun. 

Snowdrifts in the wake of the storm in Frederick County exceeded five to nine feet in depth.

“And then came the dawn,” The (Frederick) News wrote in its March 7 paper, further stating, “With it, Frederick found: paralyzed electric service, crippled telephone and motor communications, hundreds of stranded motorists… the most tangled snarl in a decade, and a temperature of 15 degrees…”

Frederick County sustained widespread damage. Hundreds of power and telephone lines were downed in the county, The News reporting that “crews would actually be busy for months before the final damage (to the power and telephone infrastructure) was repaired. (More than 1,000 poles were reported down in the Middletown area alone.)”

Not only were roads clogged with stranded vehicles (over 100 of which were towed to Frederick alone, in the wake of the storm), but streetcars (also known as trolleys) were stranded wherever they were running at the time the power went out, including the Thurmont Trolley.

Few deaths associated with the storm were reported in the county.  Two were reported as having frozen to death during the storm, and a third (identified only as a man named Pickett of Lisbon) had sustained a heart attack while shoveling snow.

On March 7, The Sun identified the two individuals who had frozen to death as having been Catherine B. Overs, 30, of Lime Kiln, and Thomas D. Tyler, 25, of Buckeystown.  According to The News, Tyler’s body had been spotted by a passing train crew. Overs’ body was also located by the train crew less than 500 yards from that of Tyler’s.

The newspaper reported that Overs and Tyler had abandoned a stalled car that had originally contained six individuals altogether, and they had struck out on foot to seek help. The Sun further reported that Overs and Tyler “left the car and tried to make their way over the tracks of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad to a farmhouse, but were apparently blinded by the storm and became lost.”

The four individuals who had remained in the stranded car were subsequently rescued.

Maryland suffered only one additional death, but more than 40 individuals lost their lives in the balance of the storm’s path (including five individuals who drowned when a Coast Guard surf boat capsized).

The News reported on March 8 that Frederick County was essentially isolated from the rest of Maryland for nearly 24 hours, but that the isolation effect had begun diminishing into Tuesday as roads were reopened (the roads from Frederick to Thurmont and Emmitsburg were yet to be cleared). Railroads had been sufficiently cleared to then permit the trains to run, while work continued in restoring the power and telephone infrastructure.

Structural damage was surprisingly limited, with losses primarily involving the loss of shingles and chimneys, along with blown-out windows and damage to doors.

Veteran Spotlight

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“Farm Boy to Combat Engineer”

by Priscilla Rall

Robert “Bob” Clifford Mount, the son of Clifford and Violet Mount, grew up milking cows by hand and plowing with a team of horses, named Dick and Queeny. He lived in a home without electricity, phone, or plumbing. Bob was a farm boy, born in 1931 in the Great Depression. He went to a one-room school and knew little about what was going on in the world, as the family could only use their radio when they charged its battery at his grandmother’s house.

In 1948, Bob left school when he turned 18 and joined the U.S. Army.

He went to Fort Belvoir for training at the Heavy Equipment Mechanic School. Then he was sent to Hawaii, where he was able to complete his high school classes and get his diploma. In June 1950, the Korean War erupted unexpectedly, and Bob was sent to Korea in July. His unit, the 72nd Combat Engineer Company, was in the Pusan Perimeter, where the Americans were desperately holding onto a patch of land on the southeast Korean peninsula. When the company was in review one day, the commanding officer asked if anyone could type. No one raised their hand. So, the commanding officer asked again, and this time, Bob raised his hand, breaking the first law in the Army: NEVER volunteer for ANYTHING!
Bob then raced to the camp’s office and yelled, “Does anyone know how to type?” He managed to get a book on learning to type, and he was ready in a few days to become the company’s regimental clerk! But, soon, the company was sent to make roads, sweep for mines, etc. They didn’t have a demolition man, and Pvt. Mount ended up with that job, too.

Once, when they were checking a bridge for explosives, they descended a ravine by the bridge and, without warning, became the target of North Korean snipers. The GIs promptly called for artillery, which quickly ended the snipers’ attack.

Another time, they were passing through a deserted village on a lane with stone walls on both sides when the enemy opened fire on them from behind the walls, resulting in several casualties. The danger was never far away, even in the Pusan Perimeter.

After the successful invasion at Inchon, near Seoul, the troops in the Pusan Perimeter broke out and headed north. Pvt. Mount’s company was part of the 5th Regimental Combat Team that worked with the Turks, the British, the Greeks, the South Koreans, the 1st Cavalry, and the U.S. Marines. Again, they were making roads and also building pontoon bridges. The troops were buoyed by the pronouncement from Gen. MacArthur that they would be “home for Christmas.” The soldiers made their way north with few difficulties until those in on the west side made it to the Yalu River, which divides North Korea and China.

It was mid-November and getting colder by the day. Bob remembers standing guard one night; in the morning, when he was relieved, he got to camp just as the chow truck got there with tasty hot pancakes—the best meal Bob claims he ever had!

Tragedy loomed as the Chinese crossed undetected into North Korea and attacked the Allied troops, just as the soldiers had finished savoring their Thanksgiving dinner. The soldiers located on the east of the Chosin Reservoir and the Marines on its west took the brunt of the enemy’s forces. The northernmost troops in the west were decimated as well. Frederick County lost Cpl. Paul Carty from Thurmont, Sgt. Roy Delauter, Sgt. Joseph Trail (who was captured and died in a POW camp), and Sgt. Norman Reid. Washington County lost PFC Herene Blevins, Cpl. Kenneth Ridge, and Marine PFC Daily Dye, all at the Chosin.

The Allied troops retreated in haste, and most of those killed in the north still lie in that frozen wasteland. Bob recalls that his general ordered a retreat even before MacArthur did. The 8th Army fled in confusion, as did all the Allied troops. His unit finally stopped in Seoul, and they built a bridge next to the destroyed one across the Han River. He could hear friendly howitzers firing north all night long. Ironically, another Maryland boy, Rupert Spring from Dickerson, was with a company illuminating the area to help the engineers building the bridge.

Finally, Bob was sent home and discharged at Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania, in August 1951. Unbeknownst to Mount or the military doctors, he had contracted a case of malaria that didn’t flair up for two months. Few local doctors were familiar with this tropical disease, and it was some time until it was properly diagnosed and treated.

Bob soon crossed paths with a beautiful young lady, Winnie, who he had known slightly before the war. They were married in March 1952 and had two children. The GI Bill helped them buy their first home. Later, they lived on Fish Hatchery Road. Bob realized that to get ahead in business, he had to get as much education as he could. With the help of the GI Bill, he took classes at several different colleges and eventually became the Senior VP Auditor with the Bank of America. Pretty good for a boy who grew up without even electricity!

Bob doesn’t regret his time in Korea. The GI Bill helped him in his career, and his ambition did the rest. Bob has been very active in the KWVA Chapter 142, and he and Winnie now live in Country Meadows, enjoying a peaceful retirement that they have both earned. Bob, thank you for your service!

If you are a Veteran or know a Veteran who is willing to tell his or her story, contact the Frederick County Veterans History Project at priscillarall@gmail.com.

Robert Clifford Mount

McAfee Falls Mystery Becomes A Bit Clearer

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The reason for the name “Cunningham” being chosen as the name of the Catoctin Area’s local waterfalls, located west of Thurmont on Route 77, has become slightly clearer recently when following a reference from a May 2018 issue of The Frederick News-Post to an article from 1968.

Historically, the falls had been called Herman’s Falls (or Harmon’s Falls) and McAfee Falls after various land owners, and even Hunting Creek Falls after the stream that supplies water through the Falls.

Many locals still refer to the waterfalls as McAfee Falls, honoring the family who owned the falls at the time the federal government took ownership of the land in 1935 as part of Former President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal, which sought to use the land for recreational use and provide much-needed jobs in response to the Great Depression.

The McAfees were early settlers from Bute, Scotland, in the mid-1770s. The name had been changed to Cunningham Falls after the transition of ownership of the land from the federal government to the State of Maryland. There is no clarity as to how the name Cunningham stuck since there have been obvious efforts and intent on record to keep the name McAfee Falls.

A May 23, 2018, Frederick News-Post’s “Yesterday” post from “50 Years Ago” references that, “A mistake of more than 30 years standing (as of May 23, 1968) was righted recently when Maryland’s Commission on Forests and Parks renamed the falls in Cunningham Falls State Park. The official name is now McAfee Falls, honoring an old Frederick County family which settled in the area in 1790. As a logical follow-up the Forests and Parks Commission is now considering renaming the park Hunting Creek State Park.”

There are several theories about how the name Cunningham came to be the modern name of the Falls, but none are backed by a substantial amount of fact. Today, on the internet, it is stated that the falls “was apparently named after a photographer from Pen Mar Park who frequently photographed the falls.” Research shows that there is no evidence of a photographer of Pen Mar Park or Cunningham Falls by the name of Cunningham.

In a previous edition of The Catoctin Banner, a grandson of the Falls’ owner at the time of federal acquisition, Reuben McAfee, Rob McAfee of Foxville informed us that a local woman believed there was a Cunningham family who lived near the falls.

Most recently, the Frederick News-Post’s “50 Years Ago” reference led us to that May 23, 1968, article in the News-Post titled, “Cunningham Park Falls Renamed ‘McAfee Falls.’” In this article, written by Jim Gilford, the name Cunningham is referenced to, “honor a Department of Interior employee.”

Researchers still have yet to uncover the truth behind the mystery, but regardless, thousands of visitors enjoy the falls every year, which is the state of Maryland’s largest cascading waterfall, standing at 78 feet.