The Mac Weekly has been publishing on Macalester’s campus for over 110 years, so it may seem obvious to say that this paper has reported on countless historical events. From protests and politics to sports and traditions, our archive is rich with anecdotes of Macalester students’ past. To refresh the memory of the student body, The Mac Weekly’s history and research enthusiasts have revived this column: Way Back at Mac. Started in 2016 and running occasionally until 2022, Way Back at Mac explores significant events and trends on campus, and across the Twin Cities, through the lens of this paper’s coverage.
Onto our first topic: an event so significant that 34 years later people are naming cats after it!
As Macalester faced down an October with temperatures reaching 90 degrees Fahrenheit, veterans of the Minnesota winter feel compelled to remind us of the Halloween Blizzard of 1991. On that night so many years ago, trick-or-treaters were consumed by an apocalyptic wave of snow. 36 hours later, and the whole of the Twin Cities was buried under the thickest blanket of snow ever recorded in one storm.
According to The Mac Weekly’s coverage of the snowstorm (an article by Andrew Summersby ’95 appearing on page 4 of the Nov. 8, 1991 edition), Macalester students were, for the most part, unfazed.
The night of the all-consuming storm, as roads closed and reasonable people retreated to warmth, nearly 400 students spat in the face of nature and participated in the annual North-South snowball fight. The North-South snowball fight, a long-time Macalester tradition that was only retired in 1996, was unusually peaceful on that fateful evening.
Dividing the student body along Grand Avenue, this legendary battle once pitted the likes of Dupre Hall and Kirk Hall in vicious combat. Many past snowball fights had culminated in riots, arrests for assaulting an officer, mace and attempted vehicular manslaughter, according to the February 23, 1979 issue of The Mac Weekly. The fight of ’91 was briefly tempted with a good time by a disgruntled driver with a baseball bat, who was quickly shooed away by police officers in attendance. With fat lips and shoes filled with snow, many students went to bed unsuspecting of their imminent good fortune.
The news did not hit immediately that Friday morning due to the lack of campus-wide email. The President’s Office declared a snow day, but it was only through telephone that the official word could be spread. Eventually, through landline or word of mouth, campus was faced with unbelievable freedom. The day was one of elation.
Bea Westigard ’95 reported that “the snow was a gift from God. My assignments weren’t done and all Thursday I ran around saying ‘this should be a Friday.’”
Melissa Roberts ’94, no doubt suffering from an excess of fun during the North-South snowball fight, awoke relieved.
“I had slept through my 9:30 [class], so when I found out at 11:30 that it was a snow day, I was orgasmic.”
Not everyone was so passionate. Many used this once-in a lifetime natural wonder to catch up on homework. Seth Sadofsky ’95, “studied–at a relaxed pace.”
Former Macalester College Student Government President and son of Sadofsky ’95, Joel Sadofsky ’25 said “That sounds probably true,” in a message to The Mac Weekly.
The always-committed photo editor of The Mac Weekly staff, Alex McDowell ’92 heard the news and “went right to bed because I had been up all night for the newspaper. When I got up I spent the whole day doing laundry.”
History is truly a riveting field.
All things considered, the day went about as you’d expect. The true extent of the excess is poorly recorded, but we can easily imagine how we modern students would act if stranded by a similar weather crisis. Those unending drifts and ever-tumbling flakes can inspire feelings of cabin fever, which lead to more extravagant shenanigans, and the blizzard of ’91 was definitely not the first example.
20 years before the great snow, the students of Macalester were inspired by the threat of professor layoffs and the chilly December wind to host the now-legendary teacher-student snowball fight and fundraiser.
Motivated by the stirring movements played by Doty Hall’s very own Howdy Doty Kazoo Band, over 70 students pelted seven professors without mercy. The snow-fight, being a fundraiser, also included an auction of novelty items which time has stripped of much novelty. Raking in over $5.50 was the cape of the “Incredible Horny Man:” a writer of romantic classifieds who was picked up as a running joke in an early ’70s advice column. Their status as a folk-hero warranted at least five mentions throughout the history of this publication. For all we know, the Incredible Horny Man graduated and now leads a somewhat successful life. They are likely at least 73 years old. Nobody can say if they participated in the great teacher-student snowball fight, merely a spectator or was entirely absent.
Winter brings out the silly in us college students. In recent years, the Great Lawn has continued to be the sight of snowy joy during class cancellations and as the temperature drops and the seasons change, the trend shall continue as current students honor this legacy with genuine winter-weather fun.
