The summer of 1940 gave way to a remarkably beautiful autumn. The weather was mild, and even into early November, the temperatures were averaging in the 50s. “Shirtsleeves weather” some were calling it. Across the Midwest on Nov. 7, folks began their days like any other, unaware of what the next several days would bring. Along the Mississippi River, many Minnesota duck hunters were enjoying the hunting season, hoping the warm weather would hold out for a few days more. Other fowl in the state, millions of turkeys, were being fattened up for the quickly approaching Thanksgiving. On the Great Lakes, industry was booming as usual. Iron ore, grains and lumber were being transported across the superhighway of water.
In Tacoma, Washington, the newly built Tacoma Narrows Bridge was carrying fairly light morning traffic. It had only been open for five months, but already held the title of the third longest suspension bridge in the world. Likewise, it had already gained a peculiar nickname - “Galloping Gertie” - for the, at times, unpredictable way it would occasionally undulate in the wind. It was difficult to discern what exactly caused the swaying motion, as it could stand firm against strong winds, but would wend like a snake in a light 4 mph breeze. Precautions were taken to solidify the architectural and engineering marvel, with the engineer of New York City’s Washington Bridge performing tests and giving recommendations just five days earlier.
Close to 10 a.m. on Nov. 7, strong winds blew through the Puget Sound, causing the bridge to begin its swaying. Nothing out of the ordinary, many thought, and traffic proceeded as usual. Then the winds reached 40 mph and the bridge began to twist. In all its 5-month infancy and throughout the tests conducted, this twisting motion had never been seen. The violent motion took two vehicles on the bridge at this time and began to throw them side to side, making any further driving to escape the bridge’s clutches impossible. The drivers abandoned their vehicles and fled on foot. One driver, Leonard Coatsworth, exited his car and made to retrieve his daughter’s three-legged Cocker Spaniel, Tubby, from the backseat, but he was thrown to the ground and had to crawl on hands and knees some 500 feet to safety. All around, Leonard could hear concrete cracking and steel groaning.
The bridge twisted for an hour, drawing a sizable crowd. Two spectators, Barney Elliot and Harbine Monroe, owners of a camera shop in Tacoma, filmed the ordeal, including the attempted rescue of Tubby by newspaper photographer Howard Clifford. Several angles of the bridge’s twisting were caught on (the now infamous) film, as well as the moment the bridge finally crumbled in the center and crashed into the water below. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge and the unfortunate Tubby were the first victims of the storm system that, only days later, barreled through the Midwest and claimed 145 lives in the infamous Armistice Day Blizzard of 1940.
Though the blizzard’s destruction was far-reaching, its impact was witnessed to a devastating degree along the stretch of shoreline between Little and Big Sable Points. This shallow bay, known geographically as a “bite,” is notable for the influence it has over storm conditions. In researching this storm and its impacts, I’ve drawn quite a lot of research from Brendon Baillod’s self-published book “Ghosts of the Oceana Coast,” and he puts perfectly how the geography of the two Sable Points affects the lake: “[The bite] combined with Lake Michigan’s natural currents and predominant wind directions, creates a perilous confluence of reverberatory waves in the area during storm conditions, causing confused seas and amplified wave heights.” These conditions sank many ships before 1940, and the Armistice Day Blizzard was no exception.
The low-pressure storm system that took down the Tacoma Narrows Bridge marinated in the Pacific for another 24 hours before moving east. Usually the Rocky Mountains break up major storm systems moving in from the Pacific Northwest, but the system barreled past and would leave an icy trail behind as it crossed the Great Plains.
At the time, Chicago was the major hub from which weather reports were collected and predictions distributed, and it only operated for half the day. In articles recollecting the storm, the National Weather Service admits that their reports were “brief and general.” Information was spread through the quickest mode at the time - telegraph. Even then, the methods and equipment used to predict the weather were nowhere near as advanced as they are today. Even with such advancement, weather remains unpredictable.
All this to say, when that low-pressure cold front hit the warm and moist air that had set across the Mississippi Valley on Nov. 11, no one was prepared for the horror awaiting them.
