Half a Century On: A Veteran Photographer’s Journey Through the Lens of the ‘Storm of a Century’

Retired photojournalist Ed Porter cherished the unpredictability of his profession with the Sioux City Journal.

“You could never anticipate what was ahead,” Porter noted.

What occurred 50 years ago unleashed havoc in various regions of Iowa. A blizzard, referred to as the “Storm of the Century,” took the lives of 58 individuals in the Midwest, with 15 casualties in Iowa. It paralyzed the western and northwestern parts of the state between Jan. 10-11, 1975. Some locations received up to 16 inches of snow, accompanied by 60 mph winds that generated 20-foot-tall snowdrifts.

The National Weather Service described it as one of the most severe winter storms ever recorded.

“We found ourselves waist-deep capturing images of the massive plow approaching us, and slipping wasn’t an option — and your car was likely trapped somewhere,” Porter shared. “I can’t fathom why people were attempting to dig out. There was nowhere to go since the snow towered as high as the roof of the vehicle. Perhaps they were seeking some exercise?”

Documenting the storm from above

After the winds subsided, Porter ascended into the sky in a small yellow Piper Cub aircraft outfitted with skis — and without a door. What he witnessed seemed to defy the laws of nature.

“The pilot would soar above and angle the plane about 90 degrees, allowing me to gaze straight down,” Porter recalled. “We were so cold on the return that we struggled to move. They had to release me from the seatbelt because I was nearly completely frozen. We were donned in snowmobile suits — and that didn’t even begin to counteract the cold.”

Due to the harsh circumstances, Porter was unable to switch his lens or re-load his film. He depended solely on 36 shots during each flight.

“It was an endless expanse of white, save for the occasional bump indicating a vehicle trapped, or a train with a plow at the front completely stuck — along with the livestock and various other occurrences,” Porter explained.

What Porter was unable to observe from above — the deceased livestock. More than 100,000 farm animals perished amid the storm, and the repercussions lasted for several days.

“I even took a flight with an Air National Guard helicopter a few days afterward, assisting in delivering coal and hay bales to the farmers in need,” Porter stated.

Enduring the storm was part of the job

Within the office, many staff members of the Sioux City Journal braved the storm — keeping away from the elements.

“They simply cleared their desks and slept there overnight,” Porter remarked. “The pressmen found places to sleep on the floor or anywhere they could, as they couldn’t exit the building.”

Porter and his spouse, a nurse at the now-defunct St. Vincent Hospital, lodged at a downtown hotel to maintain their essential roles.

Tim Hynds

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Sioux City Journal

Alexis Jimenez

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National Weather Service/Des Moines

“It was a small room equipped with a single bed, and the bathrooms were located at the opposite end,” he recalled. “I do remember the

The bar remained open. Thus, rather than resting, individuals merely gathered at the bar and sipped drinks throughout the night. That was predominantly enjoyable.”

Porter was accustomed to natural calamities. He commenced his career at the newspaper in 1957 after snapping photos of significant flooding along the Big Sioux River in the dead of night.

“They were attempting to clear debris from the river when a crane toppled into the water — that resulted in even greater destruction,” he stated. “I was just fooling around. They featured it on the front page!”

Someone proposed that Porter should receive compensation for his photograph.

“The managing editor instead inquired, ‘Would you like a position?’ I replied, ‘Yes, that would be rather nice.’ And he asked, ‘Can you type?’ and I fabricated,” Porter reminisced.

Porter resigned from his role in the film room of a local photography studio to embark on a 42-year journey as a news photographer.

Numerous events remain imprinted in his recollection: a fire that claimed the lives of six children on Christmas Eve in 1980, the emergency landing of Flight 232 on July 19, 1989, and the reporting on various presidents including Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, and Harry S. Truman.

“The former president was delivering a talk at the University of South Dakota, and someone called up and said, ‘Hey, Truman’s over here at the Warrior Hotel.’ So, I headed over there and captured images of him, and he remarked, ‘Oh, you don’t need my picture,'” Porter recounted.

Porter mentioned that Truman appeared approachable and even called a taxi for a journey to the train station from Sioux City to Vermillion, S.D., for his appearance.

For Porter, his most unforgettable experiences in journalism were the images he chose not to take to safeguard the privacy of individuals in distressing situations. He prioritized ethics over headlines.

“At times what I witnessed wasn’t suitable for capture. So, you turn your back and walk away,” he remarked. “Once, an elderly lady was strolling down the street without any clothes. This young officer arrived — took off his jacket, draped it over her, and assisted in locating her caretaker.”

As Porter contemplated an assignment from fifty years ago, he confessed to being too occupied to grasp the enormity of what unfolded before him.

“Yeah, I don’t believe we realized at the moment we had a record breaker until people were able to assess it afterward,” he said. “Blizzards of that magnitude weren’t particularly uncommon back then — but circumstances have transformed.”