In 1992, when my mom was in hospital with a serious heart condition, I spent a good bit of time with my dad, when visiting hours at the hospital were over. During that time, he told me the story of when he was 17, and he was raising chickens. There was a very bad snow storm and the road was drifted shut. He was expecting a delivery of kerosene oil and needed it to keep his “peeps” warm. The section of road that was drifted shut was called “Bloody Hill.” It was a very steep hill. (They were never sure of how the road got that graphic name.)
He knew the truck wouldn’t be able to make it up the hill, so he shoveled the snow out of the roadway the entire length of the hill!
Later the road supervisor came to him and said that he’d heard that he had shoveled the road open. Was that true? Dad said it was. The the road supervisor, Bill Reifschneider, asked how many hours it had taken him and he paid him “so much” an hour for doing it. Dad didn’t remember what the amount was, but maybe something like 40 cents and hour. Whatever it was, it seemed like a lot of money to him at the time and it had been entirely unexpected.