With his car buried behind 5 feet of snow, I told him it was impossible. He bit his gums, and shrugged.
Lastly, I’ll remember the entire crew of Sam’s Services — Frank, Mark, Jimmy, Gene, my dad, and me — in our parking lot surrounded by every pickup, sander, and loader we owned, their engines running and yellow strobe lights flashing as the dawn of a new day broke Sunday.
Was it as bad as 1978, I asked the veterans?
“Oh, no,” scolded my cousin Gene. “You gotta remember, 10 days before the Blizzard of ‘78 we had 20 inches of wet snow.”
“This was absolutely one quarter of that,” my dad concurred, with a chuckle.
“Absolute piece of cake.”
I rolled my eyes and hit the road once more.