WEATHER
The universal interest in the weather, which makes it the most common
topic of conversation, is due to its effect upon health, business,
and pleasure. Official forecasts of the weather are given a place
of prominence on the front page of most papers, and are read with
interest by most readers. The business man, the farmer, the shopper,
the pleasure-seeker, all are concerned with the state of the weather
and the predictions regarding it. Besides the official reports, there
is opportunity for weather stories of various kinds. The change of
the seasons, extremes of heat and cold, storms, and unusual weather
of any sort serve as subjects for weather stories. Two stories of an
eclipse of the sun have been included in this division, although, of
course, such phenomena should be classed as astronomical rather than
meteorological.
Although the purely informative type of story is the usual one for
weather, the subject may be treated in a lighter vein. There is often a
chance for life and color whether the treatment be informative or more
or less humorous.
* * * * *
FIRST WINTER WEATHER
_Boston Transcript_
Start up the furnace fire and begin the inroads on
that well-stocked coal bin (if it is well stocked),
for winter has come. The Old Man of the North put
in appearance this morning, long enough to register
officially at the Weather Bureau with a few flakes
of snow. There was a welcome rainstorm during the
night, and the snowflakes were just a tail-end
contribution from the storm, a few raindrops turned
into frozen particles when struck with the chill
wind that blew in from the northwest.
The forecast says: “Fair, continued cold tonight
and Wednesday; freezing tonight.” The forecaster’s
official verdict will be believed readily enough by
all those who have been out during the day. When
the temperature reading is only 41° in the middle
of the day, as was the case today, it is a sure
enough sign that winter is approaching, especially
when a strong northwest wind is doing its best to
find all the cracks and crevices in the buildings
of the community, so that it will know where to
locate them later in the year without wasting time
in the search.
It was colder at eleven o’clock this morning, by
thirteen degrees, than it was at midnight, while
the lowest temperature reading of the morning was
between eight and nine o’clock, 39. That is not the
lowest of the season, however, for nearly a month
ago, Sept. 29 to be exact, there was a reading of
34°. Forecaster Smith thinks that mark will be
passed tonight; in fact, he would not be at all
surprised if the minimum between now and tomorrow
morning were around 28 to 30°. After tomorrow there
will be a shift back to weather warmer than normal,
or at least it looks so now.
Today’s brand of weather is much nearer the normal
than what the month of October has previously
brought forth. Up to today there has been an
accumulated excess of 156 degrees in heat, or an
average of about six degrees a day.
* * * * *
SNOW STORM
_Springfield Republican_
Boisterous storms which broke over the whole
eastern and southern quarters of the United States
yesterday prepared the first “white Easter” this
land has experienced in years. The snowy tumult
swept in across the Atlantic from the south and
east late Friday night and all day yesterday,
bringing a considerable quantity of wet ocean with
it, which was distributed high above tide levels
along the whole sea coast from Maine to Florida,
drowning out business in some cities and driving
street car and automobile patrons to boats. Coastal
shipping was paralyzed, rail traffic in many salt
water districts was halted and wire lines were
prostrated throughout the southern coast states.
Louisiana and Texas saw the first scums of ice that
have ever been frozen in those states in April.
Hardy New England refused to be daunted by the
large rough patches of “weather” flung down here.
Rails and wires stood up well under the strain of
blustery winds and snow ranging in depth from six
inches to more than a foot. But the storm was no
fun.
All Western Massachusetts and Connecticut gasped
and floundered yesterday afternoon and last night.
The wind and flurries of snow presaging trouble
were here before noon, but the real snowfall did
not start until about 1 o’clock. Then a continuous
fall with swirling gusts whisked through city
streets and over country hills, drifting always
where drifts were not desirable. Around Springfield
the snow was about eight inches deep on the level
and heavy drifts formed all over town. The
railroads out of this city managed to keep within
half an hour of schedule time, however.
The snow was hardly soggy enough to put a serious
crimp into traffic, and trains contrived to do
their own drift-bucking, though the old reliable
snowplows stood ready in the yards with dabs of
axle grease on their snouts ready for quick calls
to battle. Trolly lines about the city were open
all afternoon and night, thanks to eight plows
and a couple of sanders, with cars running as
near schedule as possible. The Feeding Hills line
was tied up two hours early in the evening when
snow-choked switches refused to slide, and two cars
were bounced off on the ground.
All over town the going was treacherous enough to
send many a smoothshod pedestrian to sudden and
sometimes ignominious downfall. On one Main-street
corner a perfectly respectable old gentleman went
the “zip-bang!” route, as the sporting writers
would have it, and startled passers-by with dark
blue language when he spied his shiny Easter hat
whiff hastily across the street and cave in against
an adamant store front. On a busy corner at the
evening rush hour, a swarthy, well-dressed young
man went to the pavement all spraddled out, and
tripped a woman with a potted lily in her arms. The
lily pot collapsed with the well-known dull thud.
The woman was outraged when the young man hopped
up, looked frightened and dived into a nearby
lunch-room, without a word. The manager of the
lunch-room, who has to be an interpreter in order
to hold his job, said that the swarthy, who was
his assistant chef, had not tarried to apologize
because he didn’t know how to do it in English.
When the snow began to fall in the afternoon, the
street department made a few desultory attempts
with sweepers to keep it confined to the gutters,
but the storm became too persistent for that.
Drifts filled the crossings in spite of gangs of
shovelers and traffic of all sorts was enfeebled
though not halted. Traffic officers and drivers
were blinded by the fine flurries at times and
the police consider the day a lucky one because
only one slight crash occurred. Harry Edwards,
driving N. L. Byron’s undertaking car, failed to
see the warning palm of the officer at the corner
of Main and State streets soon enough, and with
wheels locked his machine skidded into a broadside
collision with a Fiberloid company’s truck. The
Byron car came off with a crushed fender and a few
scratches.
Easter week business in hats and Sunday trumpery
was badly handicapped. The storm yesterday did all
the crimping left undone by the trolly strike,
which kept folks at home Wednesday and Thursday; so
that practically all of the downtown store owners
admitted last night that their week’s business was
ruined. The Forbes & Wallace, the Steiger, the
Kinsman-Campbell and a few other of the larger
store managements were irked at the sight of their
sales staffs standing around idle last night, and
closed a half-hour early. The flower stores, too,
were badly hit by the storm, some of them having
perishable stocks left on their hands last night,
which will have to spoil for want of a market.
The weather conditions yesterday caused a big
rush of business for the telephone company, extra
girls being called in and kept going at top speed
all day. During the rush hours the service was
especially heavy, being about double that of an
ordinary day, and the exchange boards were a blaze
of lights. In spite of the demand the company
responded well, giving fine service. Ordinarily
about 110,000 local calls are handled each day,
but the number went far in excess of that figure
yesterday. But in spite of all there were large
feelings of thankfulness in many bosoms yesterday
when the street cars were observed going about
their regular business. Had the trollymen’s strike
not been called off Thursday evening, the city
would have been utterly paralyzed. The strike
occurred on two days when the weather was fine.
Apparently the gods did a little charitable
figuring before the week’s program was arranged.
However much people may have been surprised by
April snow, yesterday’s fall was not unprecedented.
Springfield has been almost snowed under several
times during the month of April, light falls having
been seen here frequently. A few of the heaviest
snows recorded were as follows:--
April 19, 1821, two feet.
April 6, 1852, tremendous storm. Snow a foot deep
on the level.
April 17, 1854, heavy storm, with two-foot drifts
and good sleighing.
April 3, 1861, deep drifts, traffic suspended.
April 2, 1862, over a foot of snow.
April 7, 1868, seven inches of snow.
April 1, 1872, a six-inch fall.
April 25 and 26, 1874, severe storm with 18-inches
of snow.
April 5, 1876, heaviest snowstorm of the winter,
two feet on the level.
April 8 and 9, 1907, about seven inches on the
level.
* * * * *
FIRST DAYS OF SPRING
_New York Herald_
Central Park was filled yesterday with throngs of
visitors out to enjoy the balmy air of a spring
day. Automobiles, victorias and other smart
equipages passed in continuous procession along the
drives. Fifth avenue stages unloaded hundreds who
streamed through the park and joined the throng
already there. The new life of springtime was
manifest on every side.
In mid-afternoon, under the warming influence of
the sun, couples seated on the benches began boldly
to hold hands. The Mall was peopled by thousands
who walked or travelled on cars from all parts of
the city. There were long rows of family parties.
At every avenue of approach were venders of
balloons and whirligigs displaying their wares to
children.
The space on the walks not covered by pedestrians
was taken up by perambulators and go-carts. Even
the squirrels seemed to be surprised by the
outpouring of visitors and the increase in the
peanut supply.
Boats splashed in the lakes and streams bearing
happy couples and shouting, happy faced youngsters.
Along the railings overlooking the bridle paths
stood thousands watching the smartly dressed
equestrians gallop by.
The menagerie was the magnet that drew and held the
largest crowds; fully fifty thousand viewed the
animals. For the first time many of them saw the
new members of the zoological family that arrived
during the winter. James Conway, the veteran
shepherd of the park flocks, had twenty brand new
lambs to show, and it was with a great sense of
pride that he displayed them upon the hillside.
In addition to a new staff he had at his side the
beautiful collie Jack, recently presented to him by
Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan.
Warmed by a soft breeze from the south, Coney
Island had a spring festival. Fifty thousand
persons, responding to the invitation of the vernal
equinox, spent the afternoon at the resort by the
sea. The Brooklyn Rapid Transit Company had to put
on extra trains. Automobiles were out in great
number.
Coney Island has awakened from its winter sleep
earlier than usual this season. The roller coaster
railways and many merry-go-rounds already open were
augmented yesterday by the opening of the “loop
the loop.” The horse race feature of Steeplechase
Park will open next Sunday, and the whole park will
begin its season on the following Sunday.
Dreamland Park will open on May 14. Work of getting
the park in shape will begin this week. Luna Park
will open, as usual, about the first week of
May. It was reported yesterday that a well known
Manhattan restaurateur will open an establishment
next month adjoining the New Brighton Theatre.
Isaac Stein, a merchant in Surf avenue, Coney
Island, asserts that he is the first man to don
a straw hat for the 1910 season. He put one on
yesterday and sat for two hours on his porch.
* * * * *
COLD SUMMER WEATHER
_New York Evening Post_
June has carried off the year’s honors in weather
record-breaking, with the cold winds of last night
and to-day. At six o’clock this morning the Weather
Bureau’s thermometer registered 48 degrees. Since
1871, when the tabulations of the Weather Bureau
began, no such temperature has been noted after
June 9. There have been one or two days of chillier
weather in past Junes, with 45 degrees as the
record for low temperature, but none of these have
come so late in the month.
New Yorkers who woke up in the cold June dawn
and went groping into bottoms of trunks for the
blankets of January may take some malicious
pleasure in the fact that it was colder in some
places in the State. The most uncomfortable
community in New York appears to have been Camden,
in the north, near the St. Lawrence, where the
mercury slid down to 36 degrees. Rochester was
in little better condition, with a frigid summer
morning’s air at 40 degrees, and Syracuse shivered
over its cereal and cream in a hardly more cheerful
atmosphere at 42 degrees. A prevailing, if not
popular, temperature in many places was 44 degrees,
which chilled Albany, Binghamton, Buffalo, and
Scranton, Pa. Over the line in Vermont, Northfield
was delighting in a temperature of 40 degrees.
The explanation of all these rare days in June
for those who are not content with knowing that
it is too cold for comfort at this time of year,
is that there has been an area of high barometric
pressure hovering around the Canadian Northwest
recently, and that it has been moving eastward and
down over a part of the United States on its way
out to sea. Everywhere it has been accompanied by
drops in temperature of from 14 to 20 degrees,
so that New York is no worse off than any other
State. Yesterday this area was over northern
Minnesota, and last night it was over Lake Huron.
It is still with us in New York, and is likely to
be with us to-night, the weather experts say, so
that housewives may as well keep their blankets on
the beds, now that they are out. Just how far the
thermometer may drop to-night cannot be predicted.
The weather man thinks there may be frost in the
country districts to-night.
A serious side to the prospect of frost is the
danger of damage to fruit trees and gardens.
Last night, fortunately, frosts were prevented by
the rain which fell early in the night and which
left the trees and crops safe as the sky cleared
later. Tonight, however, different conditions are
to be faced and farmers will have to protect their
produce as far as they can. There were damaging
frosts on one or two of the cold nights of last
week.
So far there has been an interesting weather
contest between months this year. May furnished
the hottest weather on its 26th and 27th that
had been recorded for that month in 34 years,
with temperatures of 89 and 91 degrees. June has
outclassed May and made it impossible for any other
month to better her record, by outdoing all known
feats. With to-morrow, June 21, the summer solstice
and the longest day of the year, the official
beginning of the supposedly hot season is expected
to usher in a period of normally settled weather.
* * * * *
HIGH WIND
_New York Times_
Wind, which seemed never to be of remarkable
velocity, but which blew in gusts that whipped a
fine rain into stinging particles, blinding to
pedestrians and to drivers of vehicles, caused
the death of two men yesterday and injury to many
others, and did damage to property in Manhattan
and Brooklyn that threatened many other lives. One
of the victims of the storm was run down by an
automobile; the other was blown into the bay and
drowned.
A derrick was blown from a six-story building
and fell into the roof of a moving-picture house
adjoining, four stories below. In Brooklyn, the
front wall, 100 feet long, of a grain elevator
crashed into the street, and the spire of St.
Paul’s Roman Catholic Church was partly blown to
pieces.
It was in Columbia Street, between Pacific and
Amity Streets, Brooklyn, that the greatest damage
was done. There are the buildings of the Dow
Stores and Grain Elevator Company. One of the
buildings, more than 80 feet in height, runs for
100 feet along Columbia Street. Its front wall was
of brick, windowless and blank above the street
floor. Behind it ran wooden bins, in which grain
was stored, and between it and the bins were no
cross-beams or supports. It was this that fell.
Tons of brick crashed into the street just after 8
o’clock, carrying down the trolley poles and lines
of the crosstown line of surface cars and smashing
against the walls opposite. Like the wrecked
building, however, these were storehouses and
factories, and little damage was done to them.
The roar of the falling wall sounded like an
explosion, and Policeman Guthrie of the Amity
Street Station and the crowd which rushed to
Columbia Street thought a bomb had been exploded.
The whole wall, 100 feet long, had fallen into the
street from the roof to a point twenty feet above
the sidewalk.
John Snackenberg, an Inspector in the Building
Department, said that grain stored in the building
might have exploded by spontaneous combustion or
the accumulation of years which had dropped between
the bins and the outer wall might have swollen and
forced the brick wall out. He would not say that
either of these things had happened, however, and
it was generally believed that the wind had started
the wall swaying until it had toppled over.
John Callahan and his three-year-old son, John,
Jr., were on their way home to 81 Congress Street
when the wall fell, and they were cut and bruised
by bricks. John Sullivan of 100 Baltic Street was
hurt in the same way, and all were treated by Dr.
Lee of the Long Island College Hospital.
The crowds returning to their homes from the
place were warned away from the corner of Court
and Congress Street. There a big piece of copper
about fifty feet long was swaying from the tip of
St. Paul’s spire. The church, which is the oldest
Catholic Church in Brooklyn, since the renovation
of St. James’s Pro-Cathedral, in Jay Street, has a
spire covered with slate and protected along the
edges with strips of copper.
The wind detached one of these, twenty-five feet
long, and blew it across the street to the roof of
a tenement at 196 Court Street, where it smashed
through the skylight and put the tenants in a
panic, though none was hurt. The second strip, only
partly detached, blew to and fro like the pendulum
of a huge clock, occasionally knocking pieces of
slate into the street as it banged against the
spire. The police blocked off the corner with red
lanterns and prevented pedestrians or vehicles from
passing.
In Manhattan the wind blew a 300-pound derrick
from the roof of a six-story building at 801 Third
Avenue, near Fiftieth Street. It fell on the roof
of the two-story building adjoining, and the crash
startled the 200 occupants of a moving picture
house on the floor beneath. They hustled for
the doors, and women’s dresses were torn in the
struggle. None was hurt, however.
James Costello, a retired policeman and special
watchman in a bank in Williams Street, and Charles
Smith, employed on a barge moored to the end of
Long Dock, in Erie Basin, were the storm’s victims.
Costello was run down by an automobile in front of
7,210 Fourteenth Avenue, Brooklyn, when he tried
to cross the street, his vision shielded by an
umbrella, which the wind forced him to hold over
his face.
Smith, with Edward Jurgeson, was crossing on a
plank between the end of the pier and his barge
when a gust of wind blew him off. Jurgeson
stretched out a hand and caught Smith’s arm. He
could not hold him and was pulled into the water.
Other bargemen, hearing them yell, threw ropes, and
Jurgeson caught one. He was hauled into the barge,
but Smith was lost. His body was recovered.
Three fourteen-year-old boys were hurt in Paterson,
N. J., when the wind blew down a barn at 80 Plum
Street, in which they had taken refuge from the
rain. They were Louis Krager of 6, Frank Carman of
71, and Louis Rose of 34 Plum Street.
The boys were buried in the wreckage of the
building until firemen dug them out. Then it was
found that Krager had his right arm and left leg
broken and both the others probably had fractured
skulls. Young Krager was caught beneath several
heavy beams and could not be moved until firemen
had rigged a block and falls and lifted the beams.
The youngsters were taken to St. Joseph’s Hospital.
According to the weather forecast, the wind, which
blew from the northeast yesterday, will haul to the
northwest to-day, and may blow even more heavily.
* * * * *
NOTE--_In the next two stories the facts about the
same eclipse are given in different ways._
ECLIPSE OF SUN
(1)
_Washington Herald_
That feeling of awe inspired by the shutting off
of the sun’s light was prevalent in Washington
yesterday morning for about three hours.
All over the city groups of men, women, and
children were formed to view the phenomenon through
smoked glasses. Those who had not been informed of
the eclipse, or who had neglected to ascertain the
time of the sun’s darkening, mistook the appearance
of things as foreboding rain.
The darkness was not like the darkness of night. It
was a gloomy blackness, and seemed to carry a chill
with it as it passed over the earth.
At the Naval Observatory, on Georgetown Heights, a
corps of five astronomers were making observations
of the spectacle, and photographs were taken by a
forty-foot photo-heliograph.
Under the direction of Prof. W. S. Eichelberger,
the observers recorded the first contact of the sun
and moon at thirty-five minutes and twenty-eight
seconds after 9 o’clock, just ten seconds before
the predicted time. The sun was in partial eclipse
until forty-nine minutes and two seconds after 12
o’clock.
Photographs were taken at different intervals of
the moon’s transit by Prof. George H. Peters.
Those who assisted in making the observations were
Profs. F. B. Littell and G. A. Hill, assistant
astronomers, Mat Frederickson and C. W. Frederick.
According to the astronomers, only about 75 per
cent of the sun’s face was darkened, but the
eclipse was total in Florida and Mexico.
This was the second eclipse of the year, the other
having occurred on January 3. As the sun yesterday
was not completely hidden, the phenomenon of the
“corona” was not visible. The shadow was visible,
however, over the whole of North America, the
northern portion of South America, the southwestern
part of Europe, the northwest corner of Africa, and
the Northern Atlantic and Pacific oceans.
The spectacle was regarded by astronomers at the
observatory as highly instructive, many crescent
images being seen.
Last evening, immediately after sunset, Jupiter,
Mercury, Mars, Neptune, and Venus were noticeable,
grouped together in the West. These stars,
according to astronomers, will not be seen again in
such proximity for several hundred years.
In other days, the combination of two such
phenomena, the grouping of large planets, and
an eclipse of the sun, would start all sorts
of forebodings, but with the general spread of
astronomical knowledge, events like these are
accepted as part of the workings of the great law
that rules the universe, and have ceased to strike
terror.
* * * * *
(2)
_Washington Post_
Sooty nose tips were quite the fashion in the
National Capital yesterday forenoon. People got
them by squinting through bits of smoked glass at
the sun and moon. Our Lady of the Night, instead of
being decently abed with her star children in the
celestial nursery, was up and abroad in the full
glare of the June morning, and had the astronomical
rudeness to cast a shadow on Sabbath newspapers by
passing between their readers and the light.
It took her 3 hours, 13 minutes, and 34 seconds, to
a dot, to march across the sun, and all Washington
flocked into the front yard to gaze on the lady’s
transit. They bore gingerly in their fingers small
pieces of glass darkened by wick smoke, and such
as in their innocence yielded to the promptings
of mischief-minded folk to “Hold it closer, dear,
closer, so you can see,” reaped the reward of the
unsophisticated in smudged noses and gay shouts of
ribaldry at their cost.
It was 35 minutes and 28 seconds past 9 o’clock,
standard time, when the partial eclipse began.
At that instant occurred what astronomers call
the first contact, when the windward edge of
the roistering moon impinged on the sun’s
periphery. Get it? Periphery--circumference--rim.
(Representing the difference between the Naval
Observatory, Connecticut avenue and South
Washington. All the same, but seconds different.)
It was 1 hour 36 minutes and 47 seconds later, or
11:12:15 a. m., when the Pale Orb of Night (phrase
borrowed) reached the half-way point in her morning
stroll across the perpendicular path of the light
dispenser, and achieved the casting of a shadow
on the world that, if it didn’t send the birds to
roost, at least fooled some lazy folk into turning
over with a happy sigh of surprise for a longer
snooze.
It was 29 minutes and 2 seconds past the hour
of high noon when her ladyship blew off to bed,
scandalous jade, and the smoked-glass gazers went
to lunch.
At the Naval Observatory, on Wisconsin avenue
Heights, during the eclipse Prof. W. S.
Eichelberger and his full staff were as busy as 97
eggs in an incubator at hatching time.
“The eclipse,” added the professor, “arrived ten
seconds ahead of the predicted time and lasted
thirteen seconds less than the predicted period.
Five observers noted the times of contact--Prof.
F. B. Littell, U. S. N., Assistant Astronomers
G. A. Hill, J. C. Hammond, Matt Frederickson,
C. W. Frederick, and myself--who directed the
observations. A photograph of the maximum eclipse
was taken by Assistant George H. Peters, and a
print was obtained through the courtesy of Capt.
W. J. Barnett, U. S. N., superintendent of the
observatory.
“The photograph was taken with the 40-foot
photoheliograph installed at the observatory. All
other official observations were made by equatorial
telescopes. The day was fine for observations.
The image of the sun was very steady at the first
contact, but somewhat less steady at the last.”
The photoheliograph is a photographic camera, forty
feet long, mounted horizontally. Within two feet of
the front end of the forty-foot tube (or bellows,
to borrow a photographical term) is the telescope
lens. Two feet in front of it is a wedge-shaped
piece of unsilvered glass, called the mirror. This
mirror receives the sun’s rays direct, diverts the
major portion of the light, and reflects the small
remainder upon the lens, which in turn imprints the
image upon the sensitive plate at the near end of
the tube.
This near end--earth end, it might be called--is
inserted in one wall of a square, dark room, within
which the photographer stands. A vertical slit,
one-sixteenth of an inch wide, in the near end
of the tube, admits the light from the lens. At
the precise moment the photographer, by a quick,
strong pull on a lever, shoots the sensitive
plate across this slit, thereby accomplishing an
“exposure” of about one one-hundredth of a second
in duration. In that infinitesimal fraction of time
the desired image of the eclipse is--and yesterday
was--imprinted upon the photographer’s plate.
In case of a total eclipse the operation is
different. On account of the complete obscuration
of the luminary by the moon, a time exposure of
about two minutes is required, and to achieve this
a clock mechanism turns the camera tube so as to
keep the heavenly object always centered on the
lens.
The diameter of the sun is 800,000 miles. The
diameter of the moon is 4,000 miles. But the sun
is 92,500,000 miles away from the earth, and the
moon is only 24,000 miles away. So, upon the ocular
principle that the nearer an object is the bigger
it looks, the moon, when it passed between the sun
and the earth yesterday, had an apparent diameter
as great as the actual diameter of the sun. That
is why, when there is a total eclipse, the moon
is big enough, looked at from the earth, to all
but completely hide the sun, though the sun is 200
times as large as the moon. Otherwise there could
not be such a thing as a total eclipse.
So yesterday in Florida and Mexico, where the
eclipse was central, at the moment of the maximum
eclipse all that the people could see of the sun
was a brilliant ring around the circumference of
the moon, like a molten circlet.