TulaneLSU's Top 10 weather memories

Dear Friends,

Our most earnest supplications continue for the safety and well being of our brothers and sisters, our dearest friends, in all parts Louisiana not in the southeast, except those in Gulf-facing coastal regions, like Grand Isle. If Mother or I can do anything for you, please email me and I will do everything possible to ensure help arrives. I am breathing a sign of relief that stout survived, as did his social club in Lacassine.

Weather drives more than our wardrobe. It drives fishing success, fowl migratory patterns, energy consumption, travel, foliage, and the need for a cracking fire on Christmas Eve. Weather leaves a mark on much more of our lives than many realize. Weather often is memorable because it is destructive. Many in Louisiana know this firsthand, as the ravages of hurricanes have interrupted our lives and destroyed what we have built. But weather also can bring us some of our most cherished days. I still recall a cool front passing through south Louisiana in July of 1994. It was one of the most refreshing and unexpected days of outdoor fun I ever had, all thanks to a stiff north breeze.

One weather day without a specific date but with a decidedly important place in the hearts of New Orleanians is the first cold front Saturday each year, usually in early to mid October. This dry and cool reprieve from four to five months of what Bob Breck called, "The Muggies," was always the distant hope finally attained. It was cause for celebration. It also coincided, often, with volleyball and soccer seasons, and was soon followed by the trifecta of great holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Mardi Gras. Some might also include Halloween. I cannot wait for this day, what Mother calls, "Front Day," and which she celebrates with the first cup of hot chocolate of the season. I can feel that it will be an early Front Day this year. Four of the last five Front Days have been quite late in the season, so I predict September 28! We shall see.

Everyone has vivid memories of the weather, good and bad. I have hundreds of weather memories, including being in a small tornado while driving Mother’s car sometime in July of 2010. We were driving on I-10 westbound when the traffic suddenly stopped. A sheet of water rained down. It was a white squall on the highway. We were at a standstill when suddenly, Mother’s Mercedes S500 began moving sideways, blown by a stiff south wind. And as soon as it arrived, it was gone, and we were on our way to the AMC theater at Clearview.

My hope is that you might reflect on how weather has changed your life, perhaps even make a list of the top ten weather memories of your life. I would cherish your words and memories. For now, I would like to share my ten most memorable weather memories.

10. Tropical Storm Bill, 2003



Whenever I recall Bill in friendly conversation, no one remembers it. Perhaps the lack of memories is due to the storm’s innoble name. Had he been William its fate may have changed. This storm was all that is forgettable about a tropical system. Lots of hoopla ahead, because no one seems to have figured out storm strength predictions. We praise the NHC and computer models for getting tracks close 48 hours out now, all the while with the same tongue lashing against people like Dr. Fauci and the CDC for missing death projections months out. I digress.

It was the summer after high school graduation. Typical of June, the Gulf spit out a rainmaker. Thankfully, it moves quickly through the area. As was the case for all tropical systems, Mother and Uncle evacuated. Father worked through it. And I was left to fend for myself, as I have never had a desire to evacuate for a storm. Gratefully, my cousin who lives in north Kenner allowed me to ride out this storm in their home. They now live on Loyola, but at the time they lived in Chateau Estates.

Most of the day was a typical stormy summer day. A gust or two of 30 MPH winds occasionally joined the leaden skies, which gave free water to Grandfather’s beautiful tomato plants that day. By five in the evening, the skies cleared just a little. Looking on radar, I could see that the center of the storm, an eye, if you will, was crossing Lake Pontchartrain, from southwest to northeast.

Without asking for permission, I commandeered cousin’s Torelli and made my way to the lake. I had to sneak past the security gate at one of those Tonti apartment complexes on Sunset Blvd, or maybe it was called Yenni, not the underwear guy, by that time. The sun was beginning to dip to the west, but in the disturbed yet calm leeward south shore, I peered and saw the storm’s center about five miles wide perhaps ten miles offshore. I watched as its light shone through the clouds and into the water. It moved fairly quickly, but it was unmistakably the storm’s heart and soul that brooded over those troubled Pontchartrain waters. I stood in awe.


9. January 5 Flood, 1998



It was January 5, 1998, the first Monday back in middle school after the Christmas holiday. Mother had me ready for bus pickup to go to that Jefferson Parish school, which I only attended for one half year. It was a chilly and rainy morning. I was wearing my black galoshes from LL Bean and a children’s raincoat from M. Goldberg’s. It was bright yellow, like the bus, for protection. By the time we turned on South Claiborne from Broadway, the road was no longer road but river. The bus stalled and we were stuck.

Our bus driver was not the brightest driver. Instead of telling us to wait onboard, she assumed the flood waters would wash away the bus. She panicked. She yelled, “Everyone off the bus! Get in the Time Saver! So here we are in the dead of winter, a whole tribe of reject affluent Uptowners sloshing through shin deep water, trying to make our way to the convenience store refuge. It was frigid, so there was no one else struggling through the flood, nor any looters. We made it in the store, where the bus driver pleaded with the clerk to allow us to call our parents.

It was finally my turn. “Mother, the bus has flooded. We are at the Time Saver. Please save me from this place and bring me my warm wool outfit from Scotland.” Mother said she would rush. I have always assumed, though I have never confirmed, that she too was delayed by the flood waters. It took her three hours before she was able to retrieve me. By that time, I had been forced to eat a orange cheese-like product from a spray can, something I have never done before or since. I still refuse to eat Philly cheesesteaks that have that disgusting disgrace for cheese on them.


8. December snow, 2008



As some of you who have attended our family’s Christmas parties know, this was the impetus for the naming of our famous snowdrops These powdery Christmas treats were once only called snowdrops, but on that eleventh of December, it all changed thanks to a family ride through the snow on the streetcar. I was bedridden with le coeur brise’, but I was so overcome by joy knowing that the family shared with Joe, a fellow conductor, in hot cocoa, snowdrops, and snow. What a day it must have been. The cookie was christened as St. Charles Avneue snowdrops!