Actually, yes. And we thought it would last year, too. Every year Washingtonians brace themselves for the cold months with this neat bit of logic: Southern cities have mild winters. Washington is a Southern city. Therefore, Washington will have a mild winter. Trouble is, like so many other examples of capital reasoning, this one defies the truth: it snows here.
At first there was something pleasantly anachronistic about the ability of mere weather to mock the determination of a city so concerned with getting to the office. The feeling didn’t last long. Four days after the storm, 80 percent of the city’s 1,100 miles of roads hadn’t been plowed, A week after, you could still ski Pennsylvania Avenue. Residential streets were arctic preserves.
Mayor Marion Barry went on television to assure everyone that the District had plenty of equipment to get the job done. He tooled around in a plow, mugging for the cameras. (Barry could afford to be jolly; his street was cleared as soon as the snow stopped.) In fact, there wasn’t nearly enough equipment. Four years ago, the District owned 100 plows and had contracts with private companies for an additional 240. By this winter, with the District broke and in federal receivership, the fleet had atrophied to a mere 50 street scrapers. Eight others stood in a downtown garage, waiting for minor parts the city hadn’t ordered. To make up the shortfall, the city signed contracts with 50 private plow drivers. Barry wanted to hire more, but couldn’t find any takers. No one else believed the District government would ever get around to paying them. No fools, they. In a few days the city’s $2.1 million snow-removal budget was sapped. At the weekend, the mayor was begging for help.
The police, at least, could get around. The National Guard provided them with Humvees to cruise in, and at least a few cops didn’t want to give them back. Not so ambulance drivers, who had to tromp for blocks through two-foot snow to retrieve the sick and injured. Firefighters had their own troubles. The hydrants were buried. Until a few years ago, a rookie fire-snuffer was required to memorize the location of every hydrant in his district. That requirement was waived; now only the old-timers know where to drag the hose.
It is hardly an exaggeration to say that in the capital of the United States of America last week, it was not possible to buy a loaf of bread. Local news stations were reduced to reading off the names of the few markets that still had milk. Surly shoppers suspiciously eyed the contents of their neighbors’ carts, and made grisly jokes about getting invited to a Donner party in Georgetown.
From the darkness and chaos, however, there emerged two gratifying truths to which Washingtonians could cling. First, that violent crime in the city dropped off in the week after the storm; and second, that next year, like this one, will be a winter without snow.
