History lives in the pages of the Obituary, and now, we’re bringing it back to life with Today in History. Each day, we will revisit notable news items from our archives, offering a glimpse into the events, people, and moments that shaped our community, the region, and the state of North Dakota and Minnesota.
From major milestones to forgotten curiosities, this feature will highlight the stories that once made headlines — just as they appeared in the Herald on this day in years past.
Join us on this journey through time, and discover how yesterday’s news connects to today’s world.
PUBLISHED ON MARCH 8, 1900
Today Is the Anniversary of One of the Worst Blizzards in the State’s History.
In the Destruction of Live Stock, and Human Lives Were Lost—A Few Reminiscences of the Storm as It Was in and About Grand Forks.
The eighth day of March is a day long to be remembered in the history of the northwest, for it is the anniversary of one of the most disastrous storms that ever visited the country. Tuesday, March 8, 1892, was a warm day, the last of a series of such days, and during the warm spell the snow had disappeared, the ground was bare, the watercourses running full, and all the indications were in the direction of an early spring. Rain fell during the day, and along in the evening the wind shifted to the northwest and the rain changed to snow. Great flakes filled the air, and these, driven before a fierce wind, made travel almost impossible. The storm had come with so little warning that no preparation had been made for it, and many were caught unawares. There was considerable loss of human life, and stock suffered terribly.
Thomas Nugent, a well-known resident of Manvel, left Grand Forks in the evening to drive home, his wagon containing a light load of provisions and household necessities. He was lost in the storm. The next morning his dead body was found rolled in the buffalo robe, lying in the wagon box on the railroad track three miles south of Manvel. The horses had been unhitched. It is supposed that after vainly trying to beat his way against the storm he had given it up, and un-hitching the horses that they might care for themselves he had rolled himself in the robe, hoping to weather the storm in this way.
Jacob Lobsinger and Andrew Halverson, both of Grand Forks, had started to drive home from Thompson, a distance of 15 miles, with the wind a little on their left. They succeeded in getting within three miles of the city when their team gave out and had to be abandoned. The two men then started to walk the remainder of the distance, and reached the railroad yards about daylight, tired, hungry, and frostbitten. Lobsinger had become exhausted, and his companion was obliged to support him for the greater part of the distance.
A theatrical performance was given that evening in the opera house, and there was a large crowd present. When the curtain rose it was only raining outside, but before the last act was over a howling blizzard raged outside. Few of the audience dared to go home, and they remained all night. The stage was cleared for dancing and in this amusement the night was spent, those who did not care to dance making themselves as comfortable as possible on the cushioned chairs.
The Ideals, a home talent opera company, was preparing to put on “Pinafore,” which was then the rage. On this evening a rehearsal had been held, and the entire company was storm stayed. Mr. and Mrs. Hodges and Mr. and Mrs. Geo. W. McCaskey entertained the unfortunate vocalists in their rooms in the Bartholomew block.
The Bjarne society, which was then, as it is now, the leading Norwegian musical society of the city, had been having an entertainment, and the members and their friends had great difficulty in getting home. One young lady who had come three blocks in evening dress, wearing only very light additional wraps, is said to have been rolled in an overcoat and carried home by her escort. This gentleman was Capt. John F. Brandt, late of the Fifteenth Minnesota volunteers, and at present mayor of East Grand Forks. Capt. Brandt will not admit having performed this gallant act, but he blushes whenever it is spoken of in his presence.
That Tuesday was township election day in Minnesota, and in Tabor township, Polk county, a Bohemian farmer had gone to vote, leaving his eleven head of cattle in the stable, which, with the enclosed pasture, was on low ground. During his absence the water from an overflowing coulie entered the stable. The farmer’s wife let the cattle out but failed to open the pasture gate. The animals waded about in the water until the ice formed about their legs after the change came, and the next day they were frozen solid, many of them still standing, their legs frozen into the ice.
Trains were delayed throughout the northwest, school children were of necessity detained overnight and sheep and cattle on the western ranges perished by thousands. This was, considering its severity and the season when it came, the worst storm that any of the old timers can remember.
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Our newsroom occasionally reports stories under a byline of “staff.” Often, the “staff” byline is used when rewriting basic news briefs that originate from official sources, such as a city press release about a road closure, and which require little or no reporting. At times, this byline is used when a news story includes numerous authors or when the story is formed by aggregating previously reported news from various sources. If outside sources are used, it is noted within the story.