Off and on, throughout the day yesterday, I thought about folks in Minnesota, Chicago and other parts of the country who are victim to winter storm Jaden. I can’t begin to imagine negotiating the conditions in which they find themselves.
Yesterday it was -70 degrees in Ely, Minnesota. The expression “The Big Chill” doesn’t seem to fit will temperatures like that. I’d go with “Deep Freeze”.
When I was a kid growing up, the U.S. Post Office had the reputation of mail delivery despite snow, rain, heat or gloom. At “Deep Freeze” temperatures, the U.S. Post Office has temporarily suspended mail service in certain locations to protect the safety of their workers.
In Chicago, a city remembered for the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 that destroyed thousands of buildings and killed 300 people is throwing caution to the wind. Even with the reputation of being the Windy City, crews had no alternative but to set train tracks on fire to stop them from separating in sub-zero temperatures. It was also a way to keep the tracks from freezing over.
Consequently, it sounds like wimpy whining on my part to mention that it was uncomfortably COLD in Washington, D.C. yesterday. The government permitted a 3-hour delay for workers to make it to the office. Schools delayed school openings and there wasn’t a lot of activity taking place in the city. Initially, I thought that meant the meetings scheduled on Capitol Hill probably would not take place yesterday morning. However, by reputation, legislative staffers are required to be in their place regardless of weather. Consequently, I wasn’t going to miss an appointment on the outside chance that part of the government was open. Fortunately, none of my appointments were a no-show.
The walk from the hotel to the DuPont Metro Station yesterday morning was chilly, but in contrast to other parts of the country, it was simply uncomfortable. It didn’t represent life-threatening conditions. The picture associated to today’s blog is a large photograph framed and hanging on the wall in the hall just outside my hotel room.
There are two entrances to the DuPont Metro Station. Inscribed on the curving granite wall of the north exit of the DuPont station is a quote from Walt Whitman. In his book Drum-Taps, published in 1865, Whitman writes: “Thus in silence in dreams’ projections,Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,I sit by the restless all the dark night — some are so young;Some suffer so much — I recall the experience sweet and sad . . .”
Whitman’s poem entitled “The Dresser” and later retitled by Whitman as “The Wounded Dresser” – begins with an elderly narrator answering the question: What did you do in the war, grandpa?” The narrator leads the listener through a hospital for the war-wounded. It was autobiographical. In 1862, Whitman, in search of his brother George, who had been wounded in the Civil War fighting for the Union was found alive at a camp across from Fredericks-burg. Instead of returning to New York, the poet remained to volunteer in the makeshift hospitals that had been set up to care for wounded soldiers.
The inscription of the poem inscribed at the entrance to the DuPont Metro Station seemed a perfect fit for its intent. In 2006, in an effort to honor the caregivers who had nursed the sick in the earliest days of the city’s HIV crisis, the inscription from Whitman’s Civil War- era poem seemed doubly appropriate.
As it turned out, I had a bitterly cold long walk from the DuPont Metro station to my hotel at the end of the day yesterday. I mistakenly, took the wrong exit from the station and was as lost as a goose when I was greeted by the cold wind blowing in my face. Call me directional challenged if you want, I’ll own it.
My compass of sorts is the map application on my iPhone. As luck would have it (bad luck that is), the battery was totally gone. I was on my own. Like Abraham, I started out now knowing, but was confident that when I reached Connecticut Avenue it would only be a short distance. The problem is, I didn’t’ immediately reach Connecticut Avenue. In fact, before my hour long walk was over (I’m not joking), I wasn’t sure I’d ever see Connecticut Avenue again.
I’m not generally known for asking for directions, but it was really cold so I acquiesced and determined to say calf rope. I walked into a storefront 7-Eleven located in the middle of a row of businesses. Actually, I looked twice to make sure I had read the signage properly. I’ve never seen a 7-Eleven in the middle of a city block.
At any rate, I told the clerk that I was trying to find the Hilton Hotel. He replied, “Do you mean the Hinckley Hilton?” Call me clueless. I responded: “Actually, I think it is the Washington Hilton”. He smiled and said: “If your talking about the big Hilton Hotel, is known here as the Hinckley Hilton. It is where President Reagan was shot in the attempted assassination.” Wow! Could that be right?
Twenty-five minutes later when I stumbled through the revolving door of the Hinckley Hilton on the brink of hypothermia, I went first to my room to take off my shoes. My feet were killing me. A hot shower was next in order. Before day’s end, I did confirm that the Washington Hilton and the Hinkley Hilton are one and the same.
By the way, at 6:52 a.m. it is currently 9 degrees in Washington. Throw in the chill factor and I can assure you I won’t duplicate the mistakes from yesterday. I’ll be taking a taxi to Capitol Hill.
All My Best!
Don