When I was a little rugrunner back in the ‘70s, I thought that it was really cool when the lights went out. Now, in those prehistoric days when brightly-colored polyester daisies ruled the world, things were not quite as dependent upon power grids as they now are. Central air wasn’t yet ubiquitous; nobody had a personal computer and everybody still had something in the house that was just a radio with no extraneous functions. Many people had radios that worked on batteries. I’ve found that in the past ten years, if anyone has a battery-operated radio at all, it’s probably the unused part of his Walkman. And people actually relied on newspapers for information—which they should do still, given the laughable incompleteness of television news.
My parents did not seem amused by the power outages, which were frequent in suburban Baltimore of the mid-‘70s. I didn’t understand why; they had a windup alarm clock and we always had plenty of candles. Even in those days when people actually still sat outside in the summertime and visited with neighbors, it was always a social event when electricity decided to go on vacation.
It finally occurred to me that perhaps my parents and the other grownups were freaked out by power outages because of what had happened a few short years before in the giant blackouts of the late ‘60s. In the wake of that destruction, I’m sure that my mother was probably imagining looting and lawlessness on Lexington street every time the lights flickered.
Interestingly, now that I live in a house much older than any that my parents ever owned, and in a much older section of the metropolis, the lights go out only on the rarest occasions. The last time I can remember was about five years ago. Since Baltimore Gas and Electric is operating on ancient systems and serves a city full of decrepit old wiring, this is pretty amazing.
I realize now that in the ‘70s, it’s quite likely that BG&E was frantically trying to keep the city itself lit to avoid the horrors that had befallen other cities—thus, our little suburban enclave got short shrift. Natch, the TV news programs these days never fail to interview a suburbanite from some far-flung corner, irate that his PlayStation is incapacitated. Sorry, bub, but when it comes between keeping your McMansion air-conditioned and keeping the lights on at the Hotel Lord Baltimore, you just kinda lose.
I’m thankful that I maintain such an anachronistic household that I never have to really worry about such things. I can even be the center of the neighborhood if the lights DO fail; with a manually-operated phonograph and a foot-pumped Pianola, I’m the only one for blocks with entertainment. Still, I think the only blackout problem that ever really worries people around here is the potential lack of cold mixers.
Congratulations to New York and Detroit for not imploding when the lights went out. Perhaps some of the unpleasant events of the last two years have convinced people that small inconveniences are exactly that.
My parents did not seem amused by the power outages, which were frequent in suburban Baltimore of the mid-‘70s. I didn’t understand why; they had a windup alarm clock and we always had plenty of candles. Even in those days when people actually still sat outside in the summertime and visited with neighbors, it was always a social event when electricity decided to go on vacation.
It finally occurred to me that perhaps my parents and the other grownups were freaked out by power outages because of what had happened a few short years before in the giant blackouts of the late ‘60s. In the wake of that destruction, I’m sure that my mother was probably imagining looting and lawlessness on Lexington street every time the lights flickered.
Interestingly, now that I live in a house much older than any that my parents ever owned, and in a much older section of the metropolis, the lights go out only on the rarest occasions. The last time I can remember was about five years ago. Since Baltimore Gas and Electric is operating on ancient systems and serves a city full of decrepit old wiring, this is pretty amazing.
I realize now that in the ‘70s, it’s quite likely that BG&E was frantically trying to keep the city itself lit to avoid the horrors that had befallen other cities—thus, our little suburban enclave got short shrift. Natch, the TV news programs these days never fail to interview a suburbanite from some far-flung corner, irate that his PlayStation is incapacitated. Sorry, bub, but when it comes between keeping your McMansion air-conditioned and keeping the lights on at the Hotel Lord Baltimore, you just kinda lose.
I’m thankful that I maintain such an anachronistic household that I never have to really worry about such things. I can even be the center of the neighborhood if the lights DO fail; with a manually-operated phonograph and a foot-pumped Pianola, I’m the only one for blocks with entertainment. Still, I think the only blackout problem that ever really worries people around here is the potential lack of cold mixers.
Congratulations to New York and Detroit for not imploding when the lights went out. Perhaps some of the unpleasant events of the last two years have convinced people that small inconveniences are exactly that.
posted by Daniel | 11:22 PM
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