Hating The Weathermen
At the end of the sixties, I came back from living abroad to find the entire nation furious at the Weathermen. In Chicago that word alone was enough to elicit a sputtering and incoherent rage from most adults. For weeks I wondered what the meteorologists could have done to deserve to be hated. Finally someone told me some fantastic story about protestors who set off bombs in department stores. I found it hard to believe what I was hearing. I had just returned from living in Israel where tales of bombs in department stores might have sounded unfortunately credible. This was Chicago. Chicago was in America--quiet, safe, secure America--not a place for explosions in public buildings. In the years that followed I sometimes told the story of my confusion to illustrate culture shock. It was a light and easy laugh on me. Lately I've aged into someone who actually is growing to hate the weathermen and this time it is the meteorologists I'm talking about. I'm aging into so...