Publisher's Perspective: A fortunate stroll

I had a ten o' clock interview Tuesday morning. About twenty minutes into it I observed the interviewee gazing out the window behind me.  I turned and noticed that the snow was coming down hard. "We'd better get you out of here."

She went on her way and I made a quick assessment with my staff. I immediately dismissed them for the day. I wished that I had paid a little more attention before I began that interview. I could have given everyone a head start.

I felt my car slide as soon as I pulled out of the parking lot. Should I just stop here? Can I even make it down the hill in Office Park? There are plenty cars on Cahaba Road.  Surely there is strength in numbers.

A long hour and fifteen minutes later, I passed under Highway 280 traveling a speed that makes snails seem aggressive. I'd traveled one half mile.

I spied a parking space near the Luckie Building then wondered if Five Guys was open. I parked the car and gladly walked down the middle of Lakeshore. Traffic was bumper to bumper and going nowhere. I casually walked across the road and strode triumphantly into Brio.  I hugged the gentleman at the hostess stand upon arrival.

I enjoyed grilled salmon atop angel hair pasta followed by a chocolate lava cake. I bragged of my crisis management via Facebook. Other patrons who walked through the door seemed as elated as I to be there. I texted with members of my staff and still felt the whole thing to be not much more than an interesting snow day.

One of my staff members who was still at the office commented that he would just hang out for a little while longer and then cruise home at the usual end of his workday. I noticed that I wasn’t quite sure exactly how all of these cars were going to get out of his way.

My wife Alison finished a speaking engagement in Tuscaloosa. She was on her way home, taking a secret back way.

Our sales manager, Matthew Allen, had picked up his seven-month old daughter and three-year old son from day care. They were in his car downtown, in route to Hoover. Our creative director had returned to the office. I sure wished I'd sent everyone earlier.

I exited Brio and took a nice three-mile stroll home. Walking down the Lakeshore trail in the snow was lovely, ­­reminiscent of a scene from a Robert Frost poem.

Some loony runner passed me, in shorts.

Once at home, the situations of my sales manager and my wife seemed to be a little more serious.

Alison was moving slow and not handling it well. I implored her to be strong, because crying wouldn't help anyone. If she could possibly see a hotel, go to it.

She was able to make it to the interstate near Bessemer. We hatched a plan for her to get through Bessemer, then to Lakeshore Drive mostly avoiding the interstate the whole way.

Matthew, on the other hand now had been about five and a half hours in the car with his children. He was not yet to the Greensprings  Highway exit. I told him that I knew that he could make it to the Oxmoor Road exit and our house. He commented that he could not night spend the night in the car with the kids. "Certainly not," I thought.

I decided to walk up to I-65 and assess the situation. As I stood in the interstate and looked north, I saw about three cars coming. I knew that hundreds more must be stuck on the other side of the hill. I texted a photo to Matthew. "Well, that's encouraging," was the reply.

Fortunately he was able to turn back and find someone with a four-wheel drive to carry him and his children home.

Alison made it within a mile or so of the house before she had to park her car. As she walked home, Jamie Vella, who attended Homewood High in her era picked her up in his Jeep and drove her the rest of the way.

Later that night, we walked up to the interstate again to see how we could help. By this time, there were many, many, cars and trucks stacked bumper to bumper and we couldn't fathom how we could possibly help them.

We walked home, stopping along the way to check on someone who appeared to be asleep in his car at Waffle House. There was a parking permit from a high school hanging on the mirror. My wife, a high school teacher, wanted to make sure it wasn't a child. It turned out to be a father whose family was inside the restaurant. He assured us that they had a hotel room nearby and were fine.

When we walked into our home, safe and warm that night, we spoke of how we are infinitely blessed in many ways, not the least of which was to be together at home on this night. I commented that I felt guilty and wished that I could do more to help those who needed it.

The next morning we had breakfast at The Homewood Diner. A couple walked in and sat down at the table beside  us. They looked at the television that was on in front of them. "I don't want to watch the news of that," said the husband disgustedly.

"You've been in your car all night, haven't you," I asked them. They told me of how they had gotten in the car at Valleydale Road at eleven a.m. the previous day. They had yet to eat anything since they had planned to eat lunch later in the day. Twenty-two hours later, they exited at Oxmoor Road  ­­­—a trip that usually takes ten minutes.

The couple went on to recount their experience with the kind of fervor that only comes from surviving uniquely trying situations. They told of sitting in the exact same spot for fifteen hours without moving an inch, of receiving a Krispy Kreme doughnut from a stranger and having nothing to drink with it. They were Smith Lake residents and would not be able to make it home this day. We offered them our guest room.

Refusing our offer, they said they would rather be alone. They had called a hotel and gotten a room.

We bid them farewell and once again counted our blessings.