When my first wife and I lived in Virginia, I was employed as a Civil Service clerk at the U.S. Army Records Center in Alexandria; just outside of Washington, D.C. It was a 30-40 mile drive, and I expended a total of well over an hour per day in my commute. And it may be helpful to you to know that Stafford County was, at least at that time, very rural in nature, and more susceptible to contingences of the weather than the D.C. area.
It was the winter of 1973, possibly 1974, and our television weatherman was predicting 8-10 inches of snow in and about Stafford County. And true to his prediction, we woke up to an impressive blanket of white surrounding our mobile home, and the hundred or so other aging mobile homes which lined the streets of our trailer park.
And I suddenly realized how woefully unprepared I was. Not only did I lack snow tires (and/or chains), but our mobile home park was absolutely snowed in, and no arrangements had been made this winter, (nor any winters preceding it) for a snow plow.
Pt. 2
Well, as you might imagine, as soon as 9am rolled around, I called my supervisor, Miss Elizabeth Brown, and made her aware of my inability to report to work that day. No doubt, she questioned my lack of preparation, but dear reader, I could only report what I just reported to you.
However, since no additional snow was scheduled for the next couple of days, I surmised that the accumulation of white stuff would soon melt, and I would be able to make it to my job the following morning. (Can we say, “Below average temperatures?” Can we say, “No such luck?” Can we say, “Fat chance”)?
Well, my dear friends, not only did the snow fail to melt that day, but when I awoke the following morning, the level of the white stuff against the picket fence which bordered my mobile home seemed not to have decreased one iota. And as I had done the day before, I spun the dial of my rotary phone, (for cell phones were still only a twinkle) and anxiously awaited the subsequent “Army Records Center. Corps of Engineers. This is Miss Betty Brown” greeting of my immediate supervisor.
Her matronly greeting was not long coming.
To say the elderly lady was displeased with my inability to report to work two days in succession would be “next door” to saying she was disappointed with having lost her right foot to gangrene. I mean, she was ‘ticked.’
“What do you mean, Bill? The streets are clear here. I simply don’t understand. I hope you can make it to work tomorrow!”
I realized I was left with only one option. I set off on foot, and soon found myself walking down Route 1, South towards the quaint Civil War town of Fredericksburg; approximately ten miles distant. Having walked a short distance, I stuck out my thumb, and hoped some passerby would take pity on me.
Pt. 3
Sadly, (at least for me) I cannot tell you I received an immediate lift, nor can I report that anyone so much as slowed down to look at me during the course of the first hour. Eventually, however, an old Chevy pickup truck pulled off the road, and I jogged the 15 or 20 yards which separated my person from the vehicle. Arriving alongside the truck I threw open the passenger door, stepped ine, and thanked my earthly savior for the courtesy he had chosen to extend towards me.
No doubt, as the miles accumulated, (much faster than they had done when I was on foot) my momentary friend and I chatted about the historic snow storm just past, and the reason behind my journey. As we passed through Falmouth, and crossed the Potomac River, I asked my ‘chauffeur’ to drop me off at a car parts store.
Exiting the vehicle, I thanked the man, and went in and asked the clerk whether his fine establishment carried snow chains; to which I received an affirmative response. Of course, he inquired about the make and model of my vehicle, and before much time elapsed, I walked out of the store with the requisite hardware.
At this point, my journey continued in reverse. For whatever reason the trip forward has proven to be more memorable than the trip backwards, but I surmise I walked an interminable distance, and eventually someone responded to my right thumb. Whatever the case, by the time I walked through the entrance of the (illustrious) “Stafford Mobile Home Park” the sun was low on the horizon.
And it was then I realized, how utterly different the landscape now appeared in contrast to its appearance when I began my southward trek. I was almost disappointed to realize that the lovely blanket of virgin white snow was all but gone now, and the black asphalt of “Virginia Drive” and its muddy parallel shoulders had, by now, risen up to greet my return.
Given the karma which seemed to pursue me on this particular day, I thought it not strange that the hard-won snow chains which I so valiantly labored to retrieve
…were the wrong size!
(I am happy to report I made it to work the next day).
Afterward
Did I mention that at various times and seasons in our lives, we’ve all experienced ‘stuff’ which provided plenty of fodder about which we might have complained, (and probably did) but which, given enough “water under the bridge” can only be recounted with a “wink and a grin,” …(or perhaps peals of uproarious laughter)?
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 33. Copyright pending
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