February 13, 2006
Snowstorm-Schmoestorm Posted by John Steele Gordon at 10:45 AM EST For once the approaching storm was under hyped: 6 to 12 inches in the city, 5 to 9 in the northern suburbs, they told us. Only when it was almost upon New York City did the various weather forecasters begin to push the numbers up. And even then they were too low. By the time the storm headed farther up the coast, 26.9 inches had fallen in Central Park, an all-time record. The old record, 26.4 inches, had stood for 58 years, since December 26 to 27, 1947. Both these storms produced far more snow than the legendary Blizzard of 1888, which dumped a mere 21 inches on the city and ranks only third on the list of New York snowfalls. Why would a snowstorm that happened long before anyone living was born be so much a part of the folk memory of New York City today? In fact, that storm was far, far worse than the two that have surpassed it in total accumulation. One reason was meteorological, the rest were technological. First, the Blizzard of ’88 was a true blizzard, with howling winds for hour after hour that swept the streets clear in some areas and piled up drifts yards high in others. People who ventured outside for any length of time were in mortal peril, and many died as a result of exposure. Yesterday’s snowstorm, while accompanied by a good deal of blowing, had nothing approaching the sustained killer winds of 1888, and no one, at least as reported so far, has died from it. Second, the Blizzard of 1888 was totally unexpected. The weather forecast for March 12 called for “warmer, light to fresh southwesterly winds, except brisk along the coast, threatening weather, followed by rain.” Third, there were no snowplows in 1888. Horses can only pull, not push, so there were only two means of snow removal available: shovels and springtime. The streets and elevated railway lines (the mass transit of the late nineteenth century) were blocked for days, and neither people nor freight could move. “Chaos reigned,” the New York Tribune reported, “and the proud metropolis was reduced to the condition of a primitive settlement.” Most businesses couldn’t even open, of course, but P.T. Barnum’s circus did open that night in the original Madison Square Garden, with an audience of no more than fifty, including, at least according to family legend, my great grandfather, who lived nearby on Lexington Avenue. Fourth, most streets were still gas lit in 1888, and the winds extinguished the lamps in short order, producing a near total blackout. Fifth, communications completely failed. The telegraph and telephone lines in 1888 were strung on poles with as many as fifty crossbars, creating an intricate (not to mention hideous) cat’s cradle above the streets. The city had ordered them put underground, but the companies had been dragging their feet. When the blizzard struck, the wires all came down. So people were isolated in their dwellings, businesses dependent on them ground to a halt, and newspapers could not get news to print, as the wires to other cities were also down. The greatest city in the Western Hemisphere was as isolated as if it had been on the northern prairies. (The mayor of St. Paul, Minnesota, couldn’t resist a little Midwestern schadenfreude and smugly offered financial assistance in a telegram to the mayor of New York, noting that the weather in St. Paul had been “mild and beautiful.”) The Blizzard of 1888 changed New York and thus other American cities. The telephone and telegraph companies hastened to put the wires underground, and they were largely gone in a few years. The blizzard also gave a great impetus to building subways, which would be able to operate in the worst of weather. And the city moved to replace the old gas streetlights with electric ones. Thanks to the great blizzard, American cities became modern sooner than they otherwise might have. So today New Yorkers can watch an even greater snowfall with equanimity, get the latest news on television as the wind howls outside, talk to friends on cellphones as they make their way to the nearest subway station, and get to work. Life in the great metropolis goes on nearly as usual.
|
