As we suffered through another in a never-ending series of snowstorms here in northeast New Jersey, I was reminded that we just celebrated the 45th anniversary of the Great Snowstorm of February 9, 1969, also known as—for reasons that will be explained later—“The Lindsay Storm.” As bad as it has been around here this winter, that storm was worse. Much worse….
“Snow Rapidly Turning to Rain”
When I was a kid (I was 15 in 1969), I loved the weather, especially snow storms. I haven’t changed as I close in on my 60th birthday. Problem was, I lived in Douglaston, in northeast Queens, New York. The proximity to the relatively milder Atlantic Ocean meant that many a snowstorm became a rainstorm. I hated that, and often wished that—just once—the dreaded rain/snow line would halt its inexorable northward march just south of Douglaston. I later learned you have to be careful what you ask for.
The forecast was for snow rapidly mixing with and changing to rain, with highway and urban flooding. My friend Gene—another weather guy—and I were disappointed and annoyed as usual. I should point out that Gene is my only childhood friend who actually grew up to become what he said he would become: a weather forecaster. He retired a few years ago after a long career at the National Weather Service and was and is the best forecaster ever. I planned on becoming an astronaut but—spoiler alert—that didn’t happen. He’s also the only childhood friend with whom I’ve stayed in close contact. Yup, those weather bonds are durable. Even though he’s on the west coast, we still get on the phone to talk about approaching storms. Gene saw something in the weather maps most professionals didn’t. The day before the storm was to hit, he said, “I’m not so convinced it’s going to turn to rain. If that’s the case, watch out!” WABC weatherman “Tex” Antoine had similar reservations and doubts. Said he on Saturday night (the storm started Sunday morning), “It may be dicey north of 125th Street. I’ll be back with my apologies on Monday.”
Rain? What Rain?
Sunday dawned cloudy and gray. It started sleeting and raining at daybreak, which annoyed me greatly. But then, miracle of miracles, the rain/snow line shifted south, and it turned to snow. Lots of snow. Hours and hours and hours of wind-driven snow. The City (that’s what New Yorkers call Manhattan) officially recorded 15 inches of snow. Not Douglaston. It is the highest natural point in New York City—about 260 feet above sea level, and is also the easternmost point in New York City. That combination gave us—ready—30 inches of snow! That’s right, 2.5 feet. The drifts were incredible, six feet in some places.
The Aftermath: Lindsay’s Folly
Somebody evidently forgot to tell then-Mayor John V. Lindsay that Queens was part of New York City. We didn’t see a snowplow for days, and we had no school for a solid week. Food supplies vanished. Residents were furious, thus the storm’s moniker, “The Lindsay Storm.” As an industrious teen, I sprang into action with my friends. Normally, we got $3-$5 to shovel a walk and driveway. For this storm the price was $10-$15 (come on—it was 30 inches and drifts). Adjusted for inflation, that’s about $65- $100, a ton of money for a 15-year-old. My Mom made us do elderly neighbors for free, but they ended up tipping nicely. And when the shul’s custodian and snow shoveling service didn’t show up, we did that one for free, too. She said Hashem would reward us for the mitzvah. And indeed He has, many times over.
After a while, a city plow showed up, but it got stuck in the snow. They dispatched another plow to pull it out of the drifts, but the towing chain broke and then that plow got stuck, too. We got to know the drivers, Eddie and Bill. People let them stay warm in their homes, use the facilities, and eat a meal. But after several days, the roads were still impassable and the grocery stores started running out of food. My parents dispatched my brother, me, and some friends to hike to the Bohack’s supermarket on Northern Boulevard (about a mile away) where, rumor had it, a supply truck had made it through. Today, word would be spread instantly by social media and iPhone apps; back then it spread through phone trees.
We loaded up on milk, bread, eggs, and cereal and trudged back with our mother lode. We heard stories about price gouging by enterprising teens, but we just charged face value to our neighbors. But folks were really grateful, and we got crazy tips, as much as $5 (over $30 today)! Speaking of enterprising teens, we heard on the radio that motorists were stranded on the Long Island Expressway, a few blocks from our house. We also heard about price gouging: $1 for a plain bagel ($6.50 with inflation), which at the time cost pennies. This really annoyed me, so off I went with friends to the bagel store which was one of the few places open. We bought a ton of bagels, the owner threw in free cream cheese, and off we went to the LIE, where we gave out the bagels for free. But again, folks were grateful and we got tips galore, even though we tried not to take them. My Mom insisted we put part of the tip money in the tzedakah box. We also got a bunch of requests for coffee, so for hours we went back and forth delivering hot coffee.
Lessons Learned
Eventually, spring came and the snow melted. The life lessons learned, however, have endured. First and foremost, you have to be careful what you wish for. Second, it’s not always about money; you just have to do what’s right and let the chips fall where they may. Third, listen to your Mom. She knows what she’s talking about. Last, don’t trust the so-called experts. Better to place your trust in Hashem, which, of course, is actually Lesson Number 1.
George Friedman and his wife Ellen are members of Congregation Beth Aaron. They have lived in Teaneck for 37 years. He never did become an astronaut. His parents still live in Douglaston and his mother, Gloria, still tells the author what to do.
By George Friedman
