It started as a typical Friday in the city. You know the vibe—people rushing to get home for the weekend, the "L" trains humming, and the usual January chill biting at everyone’s coat collars. But by the time Monday rolled around, Chicago wasn’t just "snowy." It was broken. The Chicago snowstorm of 1979 wasn't just a weather event; it was a political guillotine that fundamentally altered how this city functions.
Twenty-one inches.
That sounds like a lot, sure, but Chicagoans are tough. We handle snow. However, this wasn't just about the depth; it was about the timing and a city government that completely tripped over its own feet. If you ask any old-timer who lived through it, they won't talk about the beauty of the drifts. They'll talk about the fury of waiting for a bus that never came and a Mayor who seemed more interested in excuses than snowplows.
Why the Chicago Snowstorm of 1979 Was a Perfect Storm
Most people think the disaster happened all at once. It didn't. The groundwork was laid by a previous blizzard just after New Year's, which had already left roughly 7 to 10 inches of icy crust on the ground. When the main event hit on January 13th and 14th, 1979, the new snow had nowhere to go. It just piled on top of the old stuff, creating a concrete-like mass that laughed at standard residential plows.
The National Weather Service recorded 18.8 inches at O'Hare, but some neighborhoods saw way more. Winds were gusting up to 35 mph. Visibility? Basically zero.
The city's response was, quite frankly, a disaster. Mayor Michael Bilandic, who had inherited the "City That Works" mantle from the legendary Richard J. Daley, found out the hard way that the Machine only works if the streets are clear.
The "L" Train Fiasco
Here is where it gets really ugly. Because the rail yards were buried, the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) made a fateful decision. They decided to skip stops in Black and lower-income neighborhoods on the South and West Sides to keep the trains moving faster toward the Loop. Imagine standing in sub-zero temperatures, watching a half-empty train blast past your station because the city decided your neighborhood wasn't a priority.
People were livid. Rightfully so.
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It wasn't just a logistics failure; it was a moral one. This specific choice by the CTA is often cited by historians like Paul Green as the moment Bilandic lost the black vote, which had been a cornerstone of the Democratic Machine for decades.
The Politics of Plowing
Bilandic tried to look in control. He went on TV. He told everyone the streets were being cleared. But Chicagoans have eyes. They could see their cars buried under six-foot drifts. They could see the "Main 21" routes—the primary streets—looking like icy goat paths.
Then came the "Snow Greed."
The city hired private contractors to help, but many of them were just political cronies with no experience. Some were reportedly seen plowing snow into intersections or just driving around with their blades up to collect an hourly check. Bilandic’s administration even tried to claim the media was "exaggerating" the snow. You can’t gaslight a guy who has been digging his Buick out for four hours.
- The city’s official tally of plows was found to be wildly inflated.
- Garbage pickup stopped for weeks.
- Schools stayed closed, but parents couldn't get to work to feed their kids.
- The O'Hare airport—the world's busiest at the time—was shut down for nearly 48 hours.
Enter Jane Byrne
Before the Chicago snowstorm of 1979, Jane Byrne was a political underdog with almost no chance of winning the upcoming mayoral primary. She was a former Daley protégé who had been fired by Bilandic. She was running a "lonely" campaign.
Then the snow fell.
Byrne didn't even have to do much. She just stood in the snow and pointed at it. She became the symbol of every frustrated commuter. Her campaign ads were simple and devastating, highlighting the incompetence of the current administration. When the primary rolled around in February, the city was still digging out. The piles of gray, soot-covered snow were still there, serving as a constant reminder of Bilandic's failure.
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She won. It was one of the biggest upsets in American municipal history. She became the first female mayor of Chicago, and the "Machine" felt its first real crack.
Technical Failures: Why 1979 Was Different from 1967
People often compare '79 to the Big One in 1967. In '67, it was 23 inches in 29 hours. It was more snow, technically. But in '67, the city was prepared for a fight. In '79, the equipment was aging, the budget was tight, and the leadership was arrogant.
The 1979 storm taught the city a very expensive lesson about "Snow Emergency Routes." Before this storm, parking rules were loosely enforced. After '79, Chicago became a beast about towing cars on main arteries. If there's more than two inches of snow today, your car is gone. That's a direct legacy of the '79 chaos.
The Economic Toll
It’s hard to wrap your head around the numbers from back then. It cost the city an estimated $50 million in 1979 dollars to clear the streets—that's nearly $200 million today. Retailers lost millions because nobody could get to the stores. The "L" system alone suffered millions in equipment damage as the fine, powdery snow got sucked into the traction motors of the rail cars, causing them to short out and catch fire.
What We Can Learn Today
Honestly, the Chicago snowstorm of 1979 is a case study in crisis management failure. It proves that a "business as usual" approach doesn't work when the environment changes. Bilandic tried to use 1950s tactics on a 1970s problem.
If you're a city planner or just someone who lives in a cold climate, there are real takeaways here.
1. Logistics Over Optics
Don't tell people the streets are clear when they aren't. Transparency wins over "looking tough" every time. If the CTA had communicated better and distributed the burden of the snow more equitably, the political fallout might have been survivable.
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2. The "Last Mile" Problem
Clearing the main streets (like Western Ave or Lake Shore Drive) is great, but if people can't get out of their side streets, the city is still paralyzed. The 1979 storm forced Chicago to rethink how it uses smaller "bobcat" style plows for residential alleys.
3. Equipment Redundancy
You can't wait for the storm to buy the gear. After 1979, the city invested heavily in winter-ready transit. Modern CTA cars have "snow bleeder" systems to prevent the motor shorts that killed the fleet in '79.
4. Accountability of Contractors
The "crony plowing" of 1979 led to much stricter oversight on how private companies are billed and tracked during emergencies. Today, GPS tracking on plows (the "Plugged In" trackers we use now) is the direct descendant of the 1979 corruption.
The Chicago snowstorm of 1979 ended up being more than just a weather report. It was a cultural touchstone. It changed who led the city, how we park our cars, and how we hold our leaders accountable for the basic services we often take for granted—until they're buried under two feet of white powder.
If you want to dive deeper into the political side of this, look up "The 1979 Primary" in the Chicago Tribune archives. The photos of the "L" platforms packed with frozen, angry Chicagoans tell the story better than any spreadsheet ever could.
Next time it starts snowing in the city, look at the plows. They move fast because the ghosts of 1979 are still chasing them.
To better understand modern winter preparedness, check your local municipality's "Snow Removal Map" to see how they prioritize your specific street—it's a system built on the failures of the past. If you live in an area prone to heavy snowfall, ensure your vehicle is equipped with a recovery kit including a collapsible shovel and traction mats, as even the best city response can't be everywhere at once during a record-breaking event.