Many memorable events in world history occurred on the sixth of June, but for our family we all remember June 6, 1974, thirty four years ago. We were living in Laramie Wyoming where I had spent the previous nine years on the faculty of the University of Wyoming, the institution from which I had graduated in 1953. Two events were scheduled for that day. One, the funeral of a long-time family friend, and two, we were hosting the Golden Wedding reception of my wife's parents at our home on that day.
The only problem was, at least three feet of snow fell during the previous night and early morning. I was a pallbearer at the funeral, and I remember that assignment was not an easy one as the six of us struggled through the deep snow at the cemetery. By evening, the streets had been reasonably well plowed, enough so that people could get around, and the Golden Wedding festivities came off as planned without a hitch.
Three feet of snow is a lot for January, but for the sixth of June? I remember coming in to Laramie on the bus on the Fourth of July in a snowstorm when I was a student at the University. Many sayings abound in Laramie about the weather, such as "Summer comes on a weekend, so make sure you don't miss it." Most days disappear into thin air about as quickly as they come, but June 6, 1974 is a day our family has long remembered in the most explicit of memories.