A Day in the Life...

 January 20, 1993… a day that will live in infamy. Iowa basketball star Chris Street had died tragically the evening before, and the accident was the topic of conversation at work that morning. We barely gave a thought to the weather; however, as noon approached, the talk had turned to words like, “warnings,” “ice” and those two words every working mother dreads to hear, “early dismissal.”

At that time in my life at Cornell, I only worked until noon – and as the Chapel bell chimed twelve, I was on my way to a very interesting trip to my Mount Vernon home, nine tenths of a mile from campus. I believe school had let out at 11:30, so I was a bit surprised to see a Mount Vernon school bus at the bottom of 5th Ave. and College Blvd. obviously not going anywhere. I took the opportunity to dodge that obstacle by turning left (east) onto 3rd Street. Immediately I realized that my Aerostar van was no match for the ice-covered pavement beneath it. I slid one way and then another, fortunate that there were no cars parked along the street. By the time I got to the next block – I had managed to get my front tires up against the curb on the left side of the street. There, some leaves in the gutter emerged from the ice, giving me enough traction to move slowly… and courage to continue cautiously.

That’s when I saw her. A college student - trying (unsuccessfully) to walk, or even stand – on the ice covered sidewalk to my left. She was crying hysterically and as we got closer to one another, I came to a complete stop. Up she would get and down she would fall. When she was just even with me, there was a cement driveway she slid down, at which point she became pinned between the front of my car, and the incline of the parkway. I managed to get out of the van and help her up. She shouted, “I’ll never live in Iowa again”. I hated to tell her, but at that point, I was considering a move myself. I helped her up, tried to calm her and encouraged her to walk on the snow back to campus. I had asked her her name and was surprised later to find out, she was from Colorado. I mean, people in Iowa pay big bucks to go to Colorado to fall down, I thought.

I again got into my van, fully aware of the fact that the navy blue flats I was wearing were highly hazardous to my well being on the van’s outside. The thought that I could have hit that girl also alarmed me, to the point that I decided I had best get rid of the potential weapon I was driving. I carefully negotiated the next left turn and slid into Lyn Hylbak’s driveway. I followed my own advice and “took the snow” up to her door, where she met me with a “What are doing out in this weather?” I explained and asked if I could leave my van there. She said of course, and then offered me a pair of boots. (God bless that dear woman.) I bid her adieu and went back outside where I again heard the sounds of crying – but this time, it was children. A small boy and girl were trying to ascend 3rd Ave. and all I could do was be grateful I was no longer in the van, sliding every direction. The “mother” in me called to them – and as we met up together, I realized it was Mary and Eric Shook. They were trying to get to the MV Bank where their mother was working. I assured them we’d get there together. We stayed in the snow where possible, and crawled on our hands and knees across the streets. We would recite, “I think I can, I think I can” as we crawled. I was grateful for Lyn’s boots but was totally irritated that I had chosen… of all days… this one, to wear my good, long, red, wool coat. I don’t know as it gave me any additional traction as I crawled on the ice. The short distance to the Bank was the longest I ever remember, and after stopping only long enough to deposit the children with their mother – I again hit the icy trail toward my home on Lisbon Road. I met one of “Mount Vernon’s Finest” in front of the Pizza Palace, who told me the city men were out of town, “getting sand” for the streets. I actually laughed.

The remaining trip to my house was slow, steady, and uneventful. Once there, I flung open the door at 1:00 p.m. expecting my three sons to rejoice at my safe arrival. My middle schooler had been home sick that day, and the two elementary boys were excitedly telling me about their trip home from school, “On a snow-plow!! Can you beat that Mom?”

“No way,” I said. No, you couldn’t beat us all being home - safe and warm from the rage of nature outside. I didn’t even care that Bill Clinton was taking office that day… but what does disturb me now, 9 ½ years later… that long, red, wool number is still my “good coat!”