They could have been refugees from a war.

The restaurant was warm and they were well-dressed. Yet, they sat huddled together in family groups, as if chilled by the thoughts of the storm which raged outside.

From cheer to fear

Uncertainty and confusion showed in the faces of the adults. The children, playful at first, now grew tired. The evening wore slowly on and added to their number. A handful at first, then 50. More came, and soon there were too many to count.

Earlier in the evening, it had been exciting. Travelers caught in the storm have something in common – a certain camaraderie. Jokes came easily.

The storm had been unexpected. It was too bad they had become stuck so close to Bangor. But the Pilots Grill would be a good place to spend a pleasant hour waiting for the snow to stop.

That was hours ago. The excitement had given way to boredom, and then to anxiety.

They noticed that the new arrivals weren’t laughing. Most were frightened. Some wept. Some clearly showed the pain of frostbite.

“We’re trapped”

“We’re trapped,” said someone in the crowd. “I just heard it on the radio.”

Someone else strained to see through a window into the darkness. “The storm seems to be letting up,” he said. “Maybe someone could walk into Bangor and get help.”

One of the late arrivals, still shivering from the cold, answered, “It’s impossible. You couldn’t walk more than a few yards in that storm without freezing.”

“They know we’re here”

“Besides,” said someone else, “they all know that we’re here. There’s nothing anyone can do until the storm stops.”

However, something was indeed being done. The darkness of the night hid countless acts of heroism by unsung, nameless heroes. Only the victims of the storm can ever know the full story.

Unidentified snowplow operators battled through drifts and freezing winds to rescue stranded motorists from mired automobiles.

“You can’t imagine how it was,” said one man in describing the exploits. “My wife and I were trapped in the car for more than three hours. The engine had stalled and it was freezing inside. Ice formed on the inside of the windshield at least an inch thick.

“I tried once to walk for help. It was pitch black and I couldn’t even see which direction the road went.

“I managed to get back inside the car, and we huddled together trying to keep warm. I had about given up hope when we saw the lights from the snowplow coming toward us. He couldn’t have been more than 100 feet away but it took at least a half-hour to push through a last snowdrift.”

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Walton of Old Town were among those who lavished praise on anonymous heroes.

“I don’t know who they were,” said Walton, “but they rescued several people, including my wife and me, from stranded cars. At one time, I saw them coming out of the storm, pulling an 80-year-old woman on a toboggan. Imagine that, a toboggan! I believe that they saved several lives during the evening.”

And so it went through the night. Those inside were the lucky ones. They wondered how many other travelers were still trapped by the relentless storm.

They tried to sleep but turned and fretted restlessly. A meager supply of blankets went to the women and children.

The night slowly surrendered to the first gray light of dawn. Then they realized that the darkness had been merciful. The sight that greeted them in the morning light was no less forbidding than the storm itself.

The line of abandoned vehicles stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. They jutted out at grotesque angles, half-buried by the drifting snow and hopelessly stuck.

Then came the discouraging work of digging out. A bright morning sun was deceiving. Temperatures still hovered near zero, and the wind seemed to cut into the face and fingers.

The job continued through the morning. Some made it. They waved goodbye as they drove away from their newly made friends and acquaintances. Others returned to the seemingly impossible task of undoing nature’s mischief.

What had been hope and optimism under the morning sun, changed to fear and apprehension in the gray shadows of afternoon. They worked as hard as they could, perhaps too hard. It was a battle against time and nature, and the odds were too great.

The cycle continued as it must, from dark to light to darkness again. The weary traveler could only hope that tomorrow would bring another chance.

Bob Taylor worked for the Bangor Daily News from 1952 to 1991 as a reporter, columnist and city editor. He died in 2001 at age 74.