Editor’s Note: This is a story from the Wednesday, Jan. 11, 1962, Edition of The Alabama Courier. The story was provided courtesy of the Limestone County Archives.

“Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves….”

That’s what Courier & Democrat Publisher Steele McGrew found himself doing on a cold, snow-covered Wednesday morning as staff members phoned that their southern autos refused to cooperate in this Yankee weather.

THE BOSS ARRIVED in his trusty rear-engine driven compact and was immediately dispatched to various parts of Limestone county to pick up stranded employees.

The news, like the mail, must go through, and it was decided that since a temperature of eight degrees below zero was forecast for the next day, the Courier, normally published on Thursday, would go to press on Wednesday.

Thus, “all hands on deck.”

The somewhat late trek to the office began with Editor Bailey Leopard who bummed a ride with Bill Holt after the motor of his black limousine failed to hit a lick. Then came Barry Hooie, the falling photographer, who walked the five blocks from his home on Coleman Hill. (He made it without falling, but went down later on his way to shoot a series of snow pictures).

A moment later, Society Editor Lola Orr and Circulation Manager Edna Brackeen made the scene along with Reporter Jackie Pannell.

Then came the printers Billy Hall and Jackie McAllister, walking from the Coleman Hill section.

WHILE THE PHONE started ringing with voices begging rescue, (or was there a hope none would be necessary?) Advertising Manager Bill Nelson came in bringing with him Plant Superintendent Zane Nixson, whose car wouldn’t start.

The Boss, taking Hooie with him in case they found a good photo (or was it to push in case he got stuck?), began his mission of mercy.

First, William Smith was rescued from his Sixth Avenue home, along with Clark Gregg, who had spent the night with Smith because he was afraid he couldn’t get his car started next morning.

But, alas, Clark’s brother Ralph was at home, some five or six miles from Athens on the Elkmont Road and couldn’t get his car out of a steep, slick driveway.

He’s the linotype operator—the fellow who sets type you are reading.

A count of heads showed everybody had finally made it and there was press-day activity on a miserable Wednesday.

So here’s the paper.