As I remember, it was a brilliant, cloudless spring day years ago when I came in from my wilting backyard to take a call from the White House.
“The situation is becoming quite severe,” the caller began. I could tell from his quaver he was on the very edge of desperation.
“Yes sir,” I replied. “I’ve read the morning papers and I wish I could help the country without creating consequential damages to the East Coast and, of course, to your next election possibilities.”
“Please reconsider,” he said. This is one of the worst droughts in our nation’s history. It’s beginning to outrank the terrible Oklahoma “Dustbowl” period. Eastern farmers are becoming desperate and, for some reason, they’ve started blaming me ! My advisors tell me you might be our very last hope.”
“Mr. President, I am at the service of you and the entire East Coast, but I must warn you again, I will have no control over the final results. As I’ve already explained to the Secretary of Agriculture and the TEMA staff, this can only be considered a drastic measure.”
“I understand that, Mr. Newman. Please tell me, what is your plan of action and when do you expect results?”
“I will begin simply by starting the sprinkler on my yellowing lawn. Then I will wash both our family cars. This afternoon I will call a rental agent in Seaside Heights, a shore resort community, and place a large deposit on a two-week bungalow stay starting next Saturday.”
There was quiet on the other end and I suspected the President was having second thoughts. “Do you need financial assistance?” he asked.
“Thank you, no, Mr. President. It wouldn’t work that way, and if you’re thinking about a grateful nation, please let me remain anonymous. In another week or so there will be an angry mob of vacationers and worried farmers. I’d feel better if they didn’t know about my part in this. “
The following two weeks are a wet, muddy blur in my memory, but the crops were saved and major forest fires prevented. Some day, a scholar or a journalist, studying the Presidential Papers, will dig deeper and reveal my part in creating what’s been called, ” The Northeast’s Deluge”.
I’ve been aware of my unintentional . power to cause prolonged cloudbursts for years. My boyhood vacations were soggy events. It took me years to realize beach umbrellas were meant to provide shade rather than to fend off downpours.
Others have begun to recognize my curse. If I wash my car or mention my plans for an upcoming camping trip to the Poconos, all my neighbors will take in their lawn furniture. Some will drag out sandbags to place around their foundations.
Imagine That 