Fieldnotes on the Edge - Eyes on Joplin

    This weekend, Joplin got a foot of snow and a full dose of irony. Main roads were cleared. Neighborhoods? Not so much.   Joplin’s snow removal policy leaves residents stuck literally. Satire meets civic frustration in this snowy showdown. Welcome to the City of Joplin’s Winter Strategy™ : “If you live near a hospital, good luck.” “If you live on a hill, build a sled.” “If you’re elderly, the winter survival guide is basically: groceries, blankets, and patience. Lots of patience. The streets will melt eventually.” Our neighborhood close to Freeman Hospital turned into a live-action obstacle course. Cars spun like figure skaters. Nurses tried to reach their shifts like contestants on American Ninja Warrior: Snow Edition . Families visiting loved ones got stuck in snowbank's deeper than the city’s sense of responsibility. Neighbors  have "hometown values" city leaders not so much And who saved them? Not the city. It was Bob in his pickup. It was ...

  If you’ve lived in Joplin long enough, you know our weather loves to stir up drama. But this January, the forecast went full Broadway. As a 28‑year Joplin resident , I should’ve known better than to let the local news hype me into survival‑mode shopping but there I was, clutching my grocery list like it was a treasure map and preparing for the “Winter Storm of 2026.” This is my firsthand account of the Joplin snowstorm panic , complete with cart races, empty shelves, and a blizzard that ultimately ghosted us.   The Forecast That Started the Frenzy Early in the week, meteorologists warned of blizzard conditions , 15 inches of snow , dangerous ice , and wind chills near –20°F . Every news station repeated the same message: “Prepare now. This could be the worst winter storm of the season.” Cue the collective meltdown. By Thursday, Joplin residents were out in full force, prepping for what sounded like the next Ice Age. The winter storm warning had officially trigge...

    In the winter of 1908, the heart of Joplin pulsed with a kind of opulence rarely seen in small mining towns. At the corner of Fourth and Main, the newly opened  Connor Hotel  stood like a palace—nine stories of Beaux-Arts splendor, built at a staggering cost of  $723,000  (equivalent to over  $23 million today ). It was a hotel beyond its means, a statement of ambition in a city still dusted with chat piles and mining grit.   At the time,  Joplin’s population hovered around 26,000 , a boomtown swollen by the promise of lead and zinc. The Tri-State Mining District spanning parts of Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma was responsible for  half the world’s lead  and  10% of its zinc  during peak production. Joplin was the business district for this industrial engine, and the Connor was its crown jewel.   The Arrival On Christmas Eve, the hotel’s grand dining room shimmered beneath stained-glass skylights and chandeli...