At the first sign of snow, Madison Parkers have always known what to do: make a call to work and sound as distressed as anyone would be with 9 feet of snow on the ground (that Madison Street hill was impassable). This notion was bound to get you off the hook with the hill that had a slightly less elevation than the Matterhorn.
Before cell phones, throngs of people waited to use the phone booth by the drugstore as they rehearsed their lines to company heads. Others skiied by, saying, "See you at the pub!"
The Madison hill has provided many a day off through the years. Meeting people on the Ave as though we haven't seen each other for years is just one way to keep composure during a storm.
Making light of snow
I recall some doozies in the late '40s. During one snow storm, we had to walk home from Edmund Meany Junior High to Madison Park in 2 feet of snow. When I got home, my mom and friends laughed hysterically as the snow had frozen to my face, making me look like a little, old man.
To get into the business of enjoying the only thing snow is good for we found waxed boxes used for produce, plastics of all kinds, as well as garbage-can lids with the handles pounded flat, then rubbed with candle wax, and we prepared for some major sledding action.
One of my friends said he saw that the back gate of Broadmoor, north of J.J. McGilvra school, was left open and that people were skiing the golf course.
We joined in, although we weren't donning fashionable ski outfits nor were we traveling at quite the same speed as the skiers. They complained that we were creating moguls as they sped by. None of us knew what that meant.
Acting like kids
A great storm in the early '50s covered Madison Park in knee-deep snow. To endure this forced holiday, we met at the old Attic and commiserated. The inevitable inebriation put us in singing mode, so out blurted the Austrian ditty "Roll Your Leg Over" almost in harmony.
Between verses, a friend announced he had a 20-foot long ladder that he had covered the beveled front end with tin, looking very much like a great long sled.
We brought in empty gallon jugs and bought gallons of beer poured from the tap called a "buck nine" or a "gallon-to-go."
We then piled onto the ladder, yelling happily as he towed us through the streets with his car.
The cops stopped and reprimanded him for having kids on the street past bedtime, not realizing our huddled forms around beer containers were actually of the 20-year-plus variety.
Young and old were going up to the top of Madison Street and sliding down as though it were Mount Ev-erest, screeching with gusto and fearlessness. At the bottom, we engaged in snowman building and snowball fights.
When the Budweiser delivery truck showed up, everyone cheered as it was a miracle a truck had actually made the treacherous journey.
About the fourth day into the weather ordeal, the water lines froze, which didn't make us quite so happy.
Frozen
The bay between Laurelhurst and Madison Park froze over once, and in the '60s, Green Lake became a skating rink with actual skaters on it.
The arboretum froze over in an unusual ice storm in the early '70s. We ventured carefully through it, laughing at ducks and geese attempting to land on ice-covered ponds.
The funny critters skimmed the cold, hard surface awkwardly, with legs upright in the air and wings flapping, only stopping because their finale was blocked by cattails.
The snow of 1985 was another biggie. That November presented a freak storm dumping at least 6 inches in Madison Park.
No one made it over the hill, but several made it to the neighborhood pubs per ritual as it was snowing hard and glorious.
The Red Onion tavern hosted all who felt the need for camaraderie. The fire invited more and more folks to come in, and some even did so by cross-country skis.
This was really getting exciting as the forecast was for even more snow.
Lake Lehman?
The recent storm in December promised the same ferocity as the one in 1962.
After three days of discomfort, the power exploded on at 5 a.m., scaring the you-know-what out of all of us. We never were so happily scared; this was a good sound.
We were thankful it wasn't raining during this power outage as the sump pump in our basement would never have handled the deluge, and we would once again have Lake Lehman.
It has been a wakeup call for all of us to prepare for disasters and plan alternate drainage and power sources.
The crews who worked day and night deserve kudos and many thanks for triumphing over this natural disaster.
Richard Carl Lehman can be reached mptimes@nwlink.com.
[[In-content Ad]]
