THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, February 15, 1996 TAG: 9602130093
SECTION: NORFOLK COMPASS PAGE: 12 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Joan Stanus
LENGTH: Long : 110 lines
Initially, the power outage was an adventure.
Caught up in the romance of the ice storm, the neighbors on our block who lost electricity bundled together in front of a cozy fireplace, listening to icy pines crashing down around us and snacking on roasted marshmallows. We even sent for takeout.
After several hours, we ventured outside to check the damage, dazzled by the size of the broken branches that teetered on power lines, that lined the streets and littered our yards. A few of the more burly types threw their chain saws in the back of pickups and spread throughout the neighborhood, working for hours removing branches that blocked traffic. A school bus, filled with children just returning home, had to detour around the block to avoid a downed line. Kids finally scrambled off, into the waiting arms of anxious parents.
Although we had no power, the phone lines remained intact, and the Dewberrys became command central. Within minutes, we knew who had power and who didn't, who needed more wood, who had the most limbs down. A skylight was broken, a fence was down. We got the news as it happened, not via Tom Randalls or Terry Zahn, but by neighborhood gossip.
As dark descended that first night, bored and restless and getting cold, we decided to seek warmth and entertainment. Six of us - seniors, children and parents - crammed into a Toyota Camry. We didn't have to go far to find a movie theater that still had power.
But after a two-hour cry-fest, watching Mr. Holland create an opus, we discovered nature had been wreaking havoc during our tears. The roads, the parking lot, the sidewalks, the cars were now covered in a crystal icy sheath. Nervous and scared, we silently slid our way down Military Highway, arriving home, white-knuckled but safe.
Starved, we hysterically decided to call out for pizza, but, not surprisingly, it was almost impossible to find someone willing to deliver. Finally, one brave company promised two large supremes within a hour. When the frozen driver arrived, he gave us a harrowing account of the road conditions and the crazy customers who wanted to return the cold pies. We tipped him big, thankful for his stories and the pepperoni.
That night, trying to sleep huddled in blankets and sleeping bags around our neighbors' fireplace, we were still enthralled with the adventure.
``We're having a pajama party,'' one of the kids exclaimed with excitement.
But Saturday morning, we awoke to the harsh reality of an icy house, chilled bones and a gloomy prognosis for reconnection. There wasn't any coffee, either. The adventure was no longer so much fun.
We decided to split up to find warmth. Some went to relatives, some to motels, some to friends. Several of the neighborhood's long-time residents refused to budge from their homes, insistent on keeping the fireplace going at all costs.
One of the original residents of our 45-year-old neighborhood, Mr. Cherry (no one calls him anything else), 86 and still mulching lawns and working on cars, managed to get his living room a toasty 70 degrees. He even cooked meals over the hearth. Around the corner, Betty Dewberry stoked the fires day after day to keep her pipes and cats from freezing. Another resident set up a makeshift generator; and a few lucky homeowners at the south end of the neighborhood who still had electricity ran extension cords down the street to get heat to an elderly couple.
My family moved in with an old friend who had power, a giant-screen TV and lots of rooms, just perfect for the 4- and 6-year-old to stretch their cabin-fevered legs. We figured we'd be bunking there only the night.
We were wrong. Sunday we awoke to a blanket of snow, a stark reminder that Virginia Power had its hands full and we were no priority. A check with the neighbors gave us the dreary news, still no power. With predictions of record low temperatures, we became worried about the pipes, the house plants and the defrosting food in the refrigerator.
My son, already a worrywart of major portions, looked at the snow and asked: ``Mom, whose house are we going to sleep in tonight?'' Our friend Pearl assured him we were all staying put.
Originally, Sunday had been planned as a Mother-Daughter Day. Lucy and I had tickets to the opera. Confident that the matinee would be canceled, I called the VOA. ``The show must go on,'' the woman on the recording announced.
Despite the dangerous road conditions, we decided to go, joining dozens of others - including a busload of fans from Williamsburg - who braved the elements to see the final presentation of ``The Flying Dutchman.'' The fashion statements were impressive among the crowd. Sequins and furs were matched with galoshes and snow boots.
The singing was dazzling, the production impressive, the opera house ... well, warm. As we left, mimicking the Wagnerian opera we had just heard, Lucy and I began betting on whether we had electricity.
We didn't. Sunday turned to Monday, and still no electricity. The kids were doing doughnuts at our friend's home, she and my mother were chain smoking and card-playing, and I worried about the house.
Despite frolicking in the snow, by Monday the kids needed an added energy release. We went to lunch at a local McDonald's with an inside playground. The place was mobbed with weary parents and screaming kids.
On the way back to Pearl's we passed my daughter's school. The parking lot was still packed with snow, a grim reminder that school would not open anytime soon.
Finally, at 8 o'clock Monday night, the phone rang at Pearl's, just as I was settling the kids down for our fourth night away from home. ``Come home,'' a friend literally hollered over the phone. ``We've got juice.''
Knowing that the house would be cold most of the night, we decided to wait until the next morning to go home. After 93 hours, on Tuesday morning we returned home.
My neighborhood was fairly lucky during the storm. A few suffered some damage, a couple had busted pipes. My home, luckily, escaped winter's wrath.
But those days away from home taught me some real lessons about neighborliness, friendship and familial strength.
I also learned that I don't ever want to be without electricity again.
KEYWORDS: WINTER STORM by CNB