Puhleeze, Mr. Postman!

In the interest of full disclosure; one of my uncles was, for many years, employed by the U S Post Office, the government-run mail-delivery service superseded in recent years by, among other things, the U S Postal Service, private delivery services, cheaper phone rates, the Internet, ...well, you get the idea. The point is, the Postal Service has fallen on hard times [I imagine a similar crisis ran through the whale-oil industry, once electricity became commonplace in American homes]. Still, I can't come up with a sane explanation for the story I'm about to tell [a true one, by all accounts. You can't make this stuff up, and frankly, given the state of Earth just now, why bother?]

The U S Postal Service has a noble heritage; born as the Post Office, in the earliest days of the Republic, it strives to live up to the words of ancient Greek historian and traveller Herodotus: "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds". This matter refers to that first impediment - snow. I have spent every one of my 51 winters in a snowy climate; most of them spent here in Western New York state. I point this out to demonstrate that, based on experience, I know snow [despite having a reasonably successful pro hockey team, an active basketball scene, skiing, snowboarding, tubing, as well as the defending champions of the National Lacrosse League, the true winter sport in Western New York is "trying to live as normal a life as possible despite all this snow, wind, and cold". And baby, we are the champions!].

Anyway, as winters go, the current one has been a little on the harsh side: very cold, lots of ice on the sidewalks and streets, and a good deal of snow. In areas where snow falls, usually property owners are responsible for clearing the hazard from sidewalks, either themselves, or by hire. Lawns, as you'd probably guess, are not required to be cleared. What, then, to make of the case of a U S Postal Service postman, who received a written reprimand from his superiors for using shovelled sidewalks during his route, instead of cutting across unshovelled [and snow-laden] lawns?

It's not that the unnamed postal employee [somehow, I suspect there's a statue somewhere with that name] was failing to deliver mail, or excluding homes that hadn't shovelled their walks. Apparently, the Postal Service wants its delivery persons to do their routes as quickly as possible, so that one person can do the work, say, of one-and-a-half, at the same rate. A supervisor watched our mailman in secret, then issued the rebuke.

The union that has jurisdiction over postal carriers is, well, disgruntled, claiming that the whole thing is nothing more than pressure tactics by management. Residents in the area this mailman serves [suburban Buffalo] think he's done nothing wrong, noting that they would do the same in his position. Indeed, given the eight-to-nine-inch tall snow drifts covering many lawns in the neighborhood, what else could he do?

Yes, I know the Postal Service is scrambling for every buck it can find. But when common sense gets thrown down the mail chute, into the bottom of the mail sack, you kind of wonder what the point of saving a small amount comes down to. No wonder these people "go postal"! (By the way, does that kind of thing happen in other countries? I can think of a few examples of it happening here, but not elsewhere. If anyone knows of a "postal employee going postal" story from outside the US, please let us known in the "Comments" section) I'd like to think that my uncle, who worked his way up the ladder from mail sorter to postal inspector, wouldn't get himself involved in such a mess...

-Mike Riley

Oh, The Weather Outside Is Frightful...

I don't know where you are as you read this, but here in Western New York, we are in the midst of Snow season. Considering all the jokes you hear about us on TV this time of year, you'd expect that we were experts at this, and you'd be right. The plows are out, the salt trucks are excreting their burdens, and most of the drivers are demonstrating proper Winter Driving Skills, well-honed from LOTS of experience.

The main reason we became experts at all this began 30 years ago yesterday: the infamous [or legendary, depending on your view of living through an historic event] Blizzard Of '77. The local office of the National Weather Service put together a meteorologic-ally oriented account ten years ago that stands as a good summary of events; http://www.wbuf.noaa.gov/bzpns.htm. USA Today has a more general summary in its archives: http://www.usatoday.com/weather/wbufbliz.htm. But, as in any historic events, the best accounts are from those who went through it. Or, in the following story, a certain Craven Little Coward who managed to get out...

In the Winter of 1977, I was a sophomore at Gannon College [now Gannon University], in Erie, Pennsylvania. I'd come home for January Break, which had passed, for the most part, without any incident. I was planning to head back Sunday the 29Th for the resumption of classes the following day. Friday, however, I began to wonder if my plans would have to change. I'd felt cold. I'd seen snow. But nobody had ever seen anything like this.

In another entry, I've noted that Western New Yorkers normally need at least a foot of snow dropped on us, and the records at the Airport weather office state that only about 12 inches fell during the entire four days. But this snow didn't stay on the ground. It swirled. It blew in every direction, including straight up. With the winds, it became dangerously cold outdoors. It was impossible to get anywhere by car (remember, this was before the SUV, when virtually the only four-wheel-drive vehicles were Jeep runabouts), and very difficult to travel on foot.

Saturday morning, with all the neighborhood stores closed, my father (God rest him!) and I set off on foot for the nearest supermarket, about three-quarters of a mile away. We dragged my childhood sled behind us, figuring [correctly, as it turned out] that the store wasn't going to hassle anyone using anything to help bring groceries home. I don't remember what, if anything, my father and I talked about on the way. There was no point asking him if he had ever experienced anything like this: no one in memory had. We got home without incident, and with a sled-full of groceries.

Sunday, the Bishop of Buffalo excused Catholics from services [in fact, he basically encouraged them to stay home], a first in recent memory. With the morning cleared out of obligations, talk soon turned to my plans. Conditions were worst to the south of Buffalo and, while things were not wonderful, by any means, some roads had actually been plowed (miraculously including the one we lived on).I'd like to think I tried to talk my father out of what seemed like an insane trip: from our home, on the edges of South Buffalo, to the bus station (which locals will remember was then located on Main Street).

But my father was insistent. In retrospect, I think he wanted to prove that he was tougher than any storm. Or maybe he was just getting antsy from Cabin Fever. Anyway, with the help of a couple of neighbors, who dug us out of a monstrously high snow drift, we got our car (a station wagon he'd bought at a city auction, it had formerly been used by a Fire Battalion Captain. The dashboard was full of covered-over spaces, labelled with words like: "Siren", "Lights", etc. It was painted Fire Engine Red which, I suppose, would have made it easy to find in case we did end up in a snow bank) moving, and we were on our way. Some roads were still unplowed, of course, but my father, whose knowledge of Buffalo had been honed by a couple of stints as a cab driver, somehow kept us moving, and somehow got us to the bus station.

As you'd expect, the scene at the bus station was chaotic. Travellers from everywhere who'd gotten as far as Buffalo were desperately trying to get out. I scrambled through the mass of humanity, asked if the bus to Erie was still running, and was told it was still scheduled. Just before it was time to board, the PA announcer came on. He said that Greyhound would make no guarantees to get passengers out of the area [given the weather, probably a fair thing to note]. and that any tickets used, even for a failed trip, were non-refundable. After a brief discussion, my father decided that it was worth a try.

I remember telling him to be careful on the drive home, and to stay inside during the rest of the storm [he ended up going into work the next night, at the VA Hospital, crossing most of the snow-buried city in the process. He was frequently tougher than he let on...]. He told me to be careful, and to call if the trip was a failure. The first part of the ride, as far as the nearby lake port of Fredonia, was a nightmare. For once I kept the light off, giving up my chance to read, so that I could see how far this storm was ranging. I was sadly to be disappointed. By the time the bus reached Fredonia, we were looking at damp, but snow-free, pavement! The rest of the trip passed without incident and, if memory serves me right, we were only ten minutes or so late.

Thus my memories of the Blizzard are roughly the same as most people outside the area, based on TV accounts I saw at school. My family got through the storm without incident, building up a backlog of stories that still come up from time to time.Me? All I got from it was a story about bailing out before things really got bad.

What did Buffalo get from it all? Well, it was the first snowstorm that brought out a Federal State Of Emergency declaration. It also gave most municipalities an attitude of "Never again." No one could control the weather. But I don't think any area is better prepared for snow storms. Now the streets are cleared early. The airport's snow clearing crews are so efficient, their activities are video-taped and watched by crews in other cities as an example of How To Do It when the snows come to those places. Don't get me wrong: we love our Sabres. We're thrilled when the Bills put on a great show in freezing Ralph Wilson Stadium. But the real winter sport of choice in this area is Survival. No, it's doing what we want to do despite the weather. The number of "Bunker Hunkerers" in this region is surprisingly small.

Make sure you dress warmly this morning. You never know...