Blizzard

All during a late afternoon in early March, Chicago radio station B96 kept interrupting their music to air weather bulletins. They predicted at least six more inches of snow overnight with a possibility of more for Northwest Indiana.

As I sat at my cubicle thinking I should head home soon and not put in overtime tonight, an auditor approached me. “This one must be done tonight.”

I glanced at the time. It was after 4. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No.” He quickly turned and walked away.

Muttering curses under my breath, I headed to Bennett’s office. He had become one of the tax partners last year, and I worked under his direction. When I knocked on his doorjamb, he told me to come in.

I looked out his windows at the steadily falling snow and pointed. “Quite a storm out there.”

Bennett nodded. “Been coming down for quite a while. What can I do for you?”

“Ron Harvey just gave me the Wilmont Real Estate partnership return. Said it has to be done tonight, and can’t wait until morning. There’s no way I can get it done before 7, and it’s really storming out there. It’ll be treacherous getting back home to Indiana in this weather. If I stay to do it, will he even be here when it’s done?”

Bennett lifted his receiver and chatted with the auditor. When he hung up, he said, “Ron will be here waiting.”

Cursing all the way back, I slammed the massive proforma onto my desktop. Then I made a fresh pot of coffee. After getting a full cup, I crunched the numbers for every sheet before I entered the input for the tax return. Half an hour later, I hit the computer’s enter button to begin the computation. In the past, this gigantic partnership’s information had been shipped to California to be done on Computax’s mainframe. This was only the second tax season, we had the capability to compute it in-house.

I looked at the time, then called my sister who lived near me. “Martha could you please pick my kids up from the sitter. I can’t leave here for another hour. Yes, I know it’s storming. Oh thank you. I’ll call Celia and tell her you’re coming.”

I viewed the diagnostics on the screen twenty minutes later. There weren’t any keying errors, so I loaded a fresh ream of paper into the printer, then sent the 600+ partners and ten multistate tax return to print.

By the time it finished, everyone on my floor had gone home. When I took it upstairs to the audit department, no one was there! I didn’t bother to mutter my curses. The mildest one was, “Lying sack of shit!”

Back down on my floor, I turned off the coffee pot. At my cubicle, I shut off my computer. I then pulled on my boots, put on my long, goose-filled corduroy coat, then my scarf, gloves, and felt hat. Down on the main level, even the bar was deserted. I had to push extremely hard on the revolving door to get outside. My feet were soon damp because the snow came over my boot tops. Crossing over the bridge for the Chicago River was difficult because a layer of ice was underneath the snow. Past it, a maintenance man was pushing a snow blower. I was thankful for the cleared pathway.

Once I was in my Dodge minivan and had it warming up, I decided to get on the nearest expressway rather than take city backstreets for several miles. The radio station’s latest weather alert had convinced me. I didn’t know it, but boy was I wrong!

Though I had worked in Chicago for a decade, I had seldom been on the Eisenhower Expressway. My wipers were on high, and I could barely see through the white shit that was falling so fast. Knuckles white gripping my steering wheel, I inched my way to it. Soon after entering the on-ramp, I saw a parked vehicle in the right-hand passing lane. The next one was almost hidden on the left shoulder. Towering skyscrapers should have been visible, yet all I could see was a sea of white. Even the concrete meridian was blocked by blowing snow.

The winds whipped up, down, then around on this elevated highway. I reduced my speed to below 20 miles per hour. “Lord, please let me get home to my kids safely tonight.” The next abandoned vehicle was in the middle lane. I looked in the rearview mirror, but it had iced up. I took a deep breath and inched into the left lane, correcting when my van started to skid. I thought about stopping to remove the ice, but I was afraid I’d get stuck. At last, I saw the Dan Ryan sign and made my way onto it.

Here on flat ground, I increased my speed. While the snow came down with intensity, the winds didn’t whip it nearly as much. When a semi passed me, I moved over into its lane to follow it. At a safe distance, I sped up to continue to view its red tail lights. I was happy when it turned onto the Kingery bypass. A mile later, I was on the Bishop Ford freeway. The last major snow hurdle would be making it safely over the steel bridge. When I reached it, my grip tightened on my steering wheel as I ascended. I removed my foot from the gas on the decline, not wanting to brake and go into a skid.

Five miles later, I took the entrance to the Borman Expressway. It was freshly plowed. Ten minutes later, I turned off onto the Indianapolis Boulevard exit, then waited for the light to turn on 175th Avenue. A plow had recently been through, and the city street was relatively clear when I drove past the high school. I inched my way down the alley and slowly drove into my garage. “Thank you Lord!”

Indoors my sister was dozing on my couch. I grabbed a glass of wine then woke her. “Were my kids any problem?”

Martha shook her head. “No. I fed them a frozen pizza then they took their baths. They’re hoping for a snow day tomorrow.”

I laughed. “Doubt it. There’s a lot more snow in Chicago than here for once. My drive was a nightmare until I reached Indiana. Do you want to spend the night?”

“No. I’d better get home to Jerry.”

I hugged her. “Drive safe!”

“I will!”

Comparison

My name is John McIntire. I was born in Virginia in 1759 and received little education as a child. One of my legs was shorter than the other, so I limped as I travelled as an itinerant cobbler. One night while I was drinking whiskey at Zane’s inn in Wheeling, I overheard Ebenezer telling his brothers about a contract awarded to him by our Confederated Congress. This was to layout a trail from Wheeling through Ohio to reach Kentucky. He would receive one-square-mile land tracts at the three river crossings, where he was required to set up a ferry service.

I thought these men were already quite rich with their large land holdings here, and I was looking for the means to improve my situation. Ebenezer’s daughter Sarah was a sweet, innocent 14-year-old girl. Though I was almost age 30, I coaxed her into marrying me. People today would call me a gold digger. As you can imagine, her parents were against our marrying. Ebenezer went hunting, and Mrs. Zane threw her shoe at Sarah during our wedding ceremony.

Her father had only given his permission when I agreed to help layout this trace through the frontier. Mrs. Zane insisted her daughter remain there, so I left her behind. Sarah’s cousin Lyddy accompanied our group to cook our meals. She tenderly cared for me when I accidentally shot my wrist while hunting. Disgusted by my ineptness with firearms, the party left me along with George Mercer to build a ferry when we reached the Muskingum River. Lyddy remained here to continue nursing me. I must admit I took advantage of her.

George helped me build a double log cabin. The two buildings were connected by a breezeway, and one would be used as an inn. When Sarah finally arrived in 1800, she found I had fathered a daughter with Lyddy. Lucky for me, she forgave me and adopted Amelia as her own child. But Sarah demanded a servant. When a bounty hunter came through with an escaped slave, I purchased Mess Johnson to serve our needs. Sarah and I never had children.

When Zane’s Trace was completed, Ebenezer wanted to remain in Wheeling, so he sold these three tracts. His brother Jonathan Zane and I purchased the Muskingum acreage for only $100. Jonathan’s son Isaac came to oversee his share. Ebenezer wanted our settlement to be named Westbourne, but people referred to it as Zane’s Town. When a post office was established, it officially became Zanesville.

When skilled workmen came to the area, I offered them land to settle here. Many repaid me by voting for me as their Washington County representative to the Ohio constitutional convention in 1802. Being from the south, I voted against removing the word “white” from our voting qualifications and against the enfranchisement of blacks and mulattoes.

When I had attempted to purchase land to the south of our settlement, I was thwarted by General Putnam and his two nephews, who drove the auction price to over $4 per acre.

Through the Zane family’s political clout, I was able to sway our Ohio legislators to make Zanesville the county seat when Muskingum County was apportioned from Washington County.

When I heard that the northerners from across the river were erecting a large stone building in an attempt to get our state legislature to move there, I started a subscription to build a commodious brick statehouse in Zanesville. Much to my pleasure, we succeeded in becoming the state capital, but this only lasted two years.

Believing any land east of the river should belong to us, I begged my father-in-law to petition Congress to rule in our favor. I also tried to obtain a deed from the Marietta land office. When this failed, I filed a lawsuit against the Land Office Receiver named Woods. The writ of mandamus trying to force Woods to issue it finally ended up in the United States Supreme Court, where the judges refused to overturn the state.

After my attempt at erecting a sawmill failed, I formed the Zanesville Canal and Manufacturing Company. In my will, I bequeathed a portion of my estate to my wife and Amelia with the remainder to my company. Upon their demise, the money would fund a school for poor children.

***

My name is Increase Mathews. I was born into a large Massachusetts farm family in 1772. We were devout members of the Congregational Church. As a child, my mother taught me to play the violoncello. This was something I enjoyed playing throughout the rest of my life.

My father owned a sawmill and was a town trustee. He and my older brothers were Revolutionary War veterans. My mother’s youngest brother was Brigadier-General Rufus Putnam, who organized the Ohio Company of Associates to begin a settlement in the Northwest Territory in 1788.

As a young man, I received one year of education at Harvard then was medically trained by Dr. Stephen Field, but always preferred making medicinal treatments. In 1798, I visited my older sister, brother, and uncle in Ohio, but couldn’t afford to purchase land. Returning to Massachusetts, I married Nabby Willis. Our daughter Melissa was born there.

When Congress changed the frontier land purchase requirements, I transplanted my wife and infant daughter to Ohio. We arrived in Marietta in October 1800. By early spring, we moved to Zanesville where my older brother John and I rented a cabin from John McIntire for our joint trading post. As the only physician, I travelled up to 30 miles to care for patients.

I had an almost instantaneous dislike for McIntire who boasted that he had hosted royalty at his inn when the exiled Louis Phillipe of France visited this area.

When I attended the first public land auction, McIntire bid on the same acreage driving the price up from the original $2. I had to bid $4.05 per acre to secure this land for Uncle Rufus Putnam, his nephew Levi Whipple and myself. We acquired almost 1100 acres with a small part lying on the east side of the Muskingum River. Our purchase price was in excess of $4,400. It would be years before we turned a profit.

Considering McIntire a drunken lout, I hurriedly built a two-story log cabin and moved my family and trading post onto our partnership lands. Our joint venture built the first permanent sawmill and gristmill structures. When I later dissolved my partnership with brother John, I changed the trading post into a drug store.

Nabby died shortly after giving birth to another daughter. Worrying that my skills were insufficient, I decided to give up practicing medicine as soon as another doctor arrived. Alone in this wilderness with two small children, I soon remarried. Betsey Leavens was a perfect helpmate, and I had another eight children with her. Our daughter Lucy died before she turned nine.

I was elected trustee when Springfield Township was created. Many of the residents of our settlement came from New England and were also religious. We soon formed a church and built the first schoolhouse on land we had set aside for government buildings and as a park. When we combined our church services with Zanesville residents, Mrs. McIntire regularly attended, yet her husband seldom did.

Hoping to persuade our legislature to move the capital from Chillicothe to Springfield, I formed a schoolhouse venture with Levi and Ebenezer Buckingham Jr. We built a large two-story stone structure that still stands today. Unfortunately, Zanesville was chosen. But church services took place there immediately after the building was completed. I have used this Stone Academy to hide fugitive slaves.
After giving up the practice of medicine, I devoted my time to my apothecary business and agriculture. I imported the first Merino sheep into Muskingum County and won the best award at our first county fair.

Betsey, my oldest son Henry and his wife Margaret, plus my daughter Melissa died before me. In my will, I provided for my seven surviving children plus my grandchildren.