Seasons change in a flash sometimes, and on this occasion, it was a flash of lighting with a twist of possible tornado by day’s end.
By David Stone
It was sunny as temperatures rose quickly into the low 60s in Midtown Manhattan. You could forget it was November, walking around.
Falling leaves but no gloves or heavy coats as skaters circled Bryant Park’s rink and vendors worked packed crowds of seasonal shoppers.
Winds picked up a little and clouds increased, but the temperature kept rising.
After a trip from Maryland, a 79 foot Norway spruce raised up to full height in Rockefeller Center. Over the next two weeks, decorations will herald the holiday season. But what’s already present but hard to see are men working inside the tree. Scaling the trunk, they carefully remove protective covers applied to limbs for the ride.
But seasons change, and they change fast…
By early afternoon, near black clouds thickened over New Jersey, creeping east toward Manhattan. Lighter gray puffs from the Atlantic scurried west to reinforce the storm.
And then it came, seasons changing with a nod to summer. A strong November thunderstorm swept over the city. But after a few minutes of blinding rain, it was over in Manhattan. Less lucky place, like Long Island, got ripped by winds after a tornado warning.
Before it was all over, though, something was gone, that last strain of summer blown away. Temperatures fall as the seasons change, and in Manhattan they hit the 30s before the next day’s dawn.
Seeming out of season, just a day before, Bryant Park skaters and strollers in Rockefeller Center catch the first clear taste of winter. And it’s now officially a long way from spring.
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Susan Rosenthal, a Sacrificial Lamb?*
After Susan Rosenthal was fired, David Kraut would talk about almost anything except Susan. This was unusual because David could discuss a subject long after everyone else had exhausted both the subject and the available oxygen. When her name entered the conversation, however, he became careful. At first I mistook that restraint for discretion; later, I began to recognize guilt.
