Warm Wishes for Blizzard-Bound Pals

On the nightly news, there was no escaping it. The worst snowstorm in God knows how many years had paralyzed Washington and New York and points in between. In some places, three feet of snow had fallen in 24 hours. The wind chill factor was way below zero.

“Blizzard Slams Into East, Killing 20 People” the headline said Monday morning.

And here I was, wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the mercury in the 80s and not a cloud in the sky. Naturally, I felt worry for friends back East.

Thank goodness the blizzard hadn’t knocked out the phone lines. I was able to reach Paul and Debbie in Morrisville, Pa., and Pete in his Baltimore suburb and Tony in Manhattan. I wanted them to know my thoughts were with them--that I’m not just a fair-weather friend.

Pete had just come in from shoveling two feet of snow off the deck. He was worried it might collapse. I thought about reminding him how often people tend to collapse with coronaries while shoveling snow, but I caught myself. He knew the risk, of course. To mention it would be like rubbing it in. So instead I talked about the weather here, to take his mind off his troubles.

When I caught up with Paul, he was just about to tramp out in knee-deep snow and walk to the pharmacy. By the governor’s decree, only emergency vehicles and those delivering oil and milk were allowed on the roadways. Paul said this hadn’t kept 7-year-old Molly from climbing on the mogul in the driveway in hopes of finding the Saturn underneath.

So Paul didn’t make it to work. But Tony did. In Manhattan, “the snowdrifts are taller than I am,” he reported. But with the subways running, it was still possible to get around. Some people, he said, seized the opportunity to go cross-country skiing down Broadway.

Now, skiing down Broadway sounds like fun. But that Winter Wonderland stuff gets old fast.

I tried to cheer up Paul and Tony the same way I cheered up Pete. They didn’t seem appreciative. I told Paul that the temperature here was in the mid-80s. He suggested that, due to the wind-chill, “it probably feels like 78.” I simply wanted to remind my friends that, like all bad things, this too shall pass. In a few short months, maybe five or six, winter will be over and they too will be basking in warm weather. (Of course, the humidity back East is miserable, but it would have been cruel to mention that.)

I couldn’t figure out why, but Paul’s wife, Debbie, didn’t seem to think I was calling out of concern. She didn’t put it this way, but she seemed to think I was indulging in Schadenfreude--glee in the misfortune of others.

“Yeah,” she sneered when I mentioned upcoming golf plans, “but your housing prices stink. I read the other day that 5% of the people in Southern California owe more on their houses than what they’re worth. That made me feel better . . . I put it up on the refrigerator.”

Cabin fever brings out the worst in some people. Here we endure rioting, wildfires, droughts, floods and earthquakes--and now we’ve got Mrs. Schadenfreude snickering over our economic troubles. Debbie and Paul used to live here, you see, and got out just before the home values went south.

Poor Deb. I let her vent. The stress must have been getting to her. You see, Paul and Debbie have four kids and that refrigerator is just about empty. In their years living outside Philadelphia, they’ve witnessed a winter ritual: Every forecast of a major snowstorm inspired a run on the grocery store. Then, inevitably, the storm would deliver a piddling four inches.

So when forecasters predicted this blizzard, Paul said, “We didn’t fall for that. So we’re out of food . . . I think Debbie’s going to make Jell-O for dinner. . . . At least when we look inside the refrigerator, we can say there’s no negative equity in there either.”

Maybe Paul found some junk food at the pharmacy. “If they have any sense of social responsibility, they’ll be open.” He was thinking of trying the local mini-mart. He figures that it might be open: There’s a good chance the blizzard trapped the clerks inside.

Wherever he ends up, Paul’s also hoping to pick up some film for the camera. He wants to record this historic event. In the worst-case scenario, Paul figures he can leave behind a chronicle of his family, growing ever more emaciated in the Blizzard of ’96.

Paul, however, might not envy Pete. His family has provisions, but the in-laws are visiting. They were supposed to fly out today, but the blizzard canceled their flight. How long will it be before the in-laws leave?

And Pete is worried, too, about another storm forecast for Friday. He’s supposed to fly out here Monday for business, but another blizzard could cancel it. That would screw up our plans. Pete’s supposed to bring his clubs. We’re supposed to sneak out for nine holes, maybe 18, if we’re sneaky enough.

Inviting someone else to fill out the foursome would be a sad chore. If I had my druthers, I’d invite Paul, though he has no plans to visit and would probably be snowed in as well.

It’s wishful thinking, but I’m sure Paul appreciates the sentiment. After all, as we said our goodbyes, he had similar words for me.

“I wish you were here, Scott. I mean that sincerely.”

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth 91311. Please include a phone number.