On July 13, 1977 the lights went
out in New York City. I had already moved upstate, but my newly widowed mom AND
my newly widowed mother-in-law lived in the Bronx; we made the trek into the
city to do whatever we could for each of them. Both ladies were fiercely
independent and had everything under control, they didn’t need any rescuing —
as a matter of fact my mom, disabled and all, let the other tenants of the
building she lived in know that she had a fresh, large box of Shabbos candles
and anyone who needed to light their way only had to knock on her door. She
even had a semi-party going having made a full pot of coffee and inviting
several neighbors in.
I do remember the Northeast
Blackout of 1965 very vividly; it was a Tuesday afternoon in November, the Cold
War was everyone’s great fear and the Cuban missile crisis was still a recent
memory. I was running an errand for my mom and I stopped in at the local candy
store for a newspaper when the lights blinked and then went out. Leaving the
dark store behind me I noticed frantic neighbors running on the block. One of
the women was crying and lamenting aloud that the Russians must be attacking.
Another was convinced the UFOs would soon appear. In everyone’s mind we were in
imminent danger. At 11-years of age I wasn’t panicked until I started listening
to the adults around me, then I got scared; I ran home and up three flights of
stairs to be with my mom.
She was calm. She had already
pulled out a battery operated radio and was listening intently to the new
reports — the blackout had affected most of the northeast and all the way up to
Canada down to the Jersey shore and as far west as Pennsylvania. Ever the
planner she had already pulled out her Shabbos candles and had them ready
through the apartment as soon as the sun went down. My sister came home from
high school (by bus) and soon my dad, working in New Jersey, traversed his way
home as well. Daddy was a member of the local Civil Defense unit (precursor to
the NYC Auxiliary Police) and, after assuring that his wife and daughters were
okay, he went to the local police precinct for assignment. While my dad was
part of a team rescuing commuters from stalled trains, Mommy had my sister and
me going door to door in our building and handing out Shabbos candles to anyone
who needed. Not really aware of food spoilage, we enjoyed peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches for dinner and rested after delivering candles and relaying
the news reports throughout our building.
In August 2003 the lights went out
again during another widespread Northeast blackout. I had been working at a
county library and WAS preparing for a musical show we were hosting (needless
to say that was postponed). After helping to shut down the library branch and
trying unsuccessfully to reach my 19-year old son who was having a blast at a
south New Jersey amusement park which apparently had its own emergency
generator, I drove home rather nervously without the comfort of traffic lights.
Hubby and daughter also made it home only to head out again with our local
ambulance corps on mutual aid into New York City; several corps sent rigs to
the city when they asked for help and drove caravan style on the Jersey
Turnpike to the George Washington Bridge (and got stopped by a State Trooper
for speeding!). Meanwhile the son made it home without incident, he did however
notice that all the lights were out when he and his friends left the amusement
park.
While all of this was going on I
was checking with all of my neighbors to make sure that they all had, you
guessed it, Shabbos candles to light their way through the night.
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| Vintage Philco Transistor Radio photo by Joe Haupt |
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