EDUCATION/POLITICS

Before 1/6, There Was 1/6

This date lived in infamy prior to the U.S. Capitol insurrection

Before there was January 6, there was January 6.

Before the insurrection at the U.S. Capitol stamped this date on our collective national conscience, the misplaced managing style of a nearby school district literally froze 1/6 in many of our memories.

While a big-time loser tried to use the events of 1/6 to stay in office into perpetuity, a surprise snowstorm set in motion events that went viral across the globe — and not in a good way.

This is a tale of teachers traversing snow-choked roads; bus drivers slip-sliding into icy ditches; students wandering into empty classrooms — all because the morons in charge failed to signal a snow day.

Like the events that terrified us all one year ago this week, 1/6/2015 transpired because of incompetence, stupidity and hubris — egos so inflated, those in charge just couldn’t bring themselves to admit that they were wrong.

Unlike 1/6/2021, however, we were confused and scared for awhile, yes, but ended up laughing at those who first put us in danger before we realized the joke was on them after all.

Like last year’s insurrection, we made memes; but unlike the chaos of 2021, we found a way to make fun of what we went through. My long-time classroom, Room 215, was memorialized in a tweet heard ’round the world — quite literally.

But first a little background.

The D.C. area is no stranger to surprise storms; did you read about U.S. Senator Tim Kaine’s commute from Richmond on Monday, into Tuesday afternoon? Hillary Clinton’s running mate was stuck with thousands of good folks on I-95 this week, about 45 miles south of Washington. He finally arrived back at the U.S. Capitol after being frozen at a literal standstill as a surprise storm dumped a foot of snow and ice around him and his fellow motorists. Senator Kaine estimates he spent 27 hours negotiating his normally two-hour commute.

Back to 1/6/2015. Like most public school districts, we have a system for closing buildings because of bad weather. This went into effect on Monday of this week, when Senator Kaine was embarking on his Commute from Hell. There’s an online alert system; a Twitter account that announces closings, and local TV also carries school closing news. Most “snow days” are called around 4 a.m. It takes time to get an 187,000-student/13,000-teacher school district either on the road or to keep them in their beds.

On the January 6 in question, I readied myself to face the day. No online alert, no Weather Dude’s ominous forecast, no hint at all of what was to come. I put my Bean Boots in the car just in case — never say never during a D.C. January — backed out of my driveway and headed to the highway.

I had just merged onto the Capital Beltway — the 64-mile, 10-lane Interstate that hugs the City of Washington like a belt — when the unexpected Snow Gods struck. Rain, then sleet, then ice, then snow — not necessarily in that order, and alternating quickly from one to the other, then back again.

Precipitation of the frozen variety started piling up, until I couldn’t see much except for the single lane on the highway carved by commuters, like me, who’d been certain enough when they launched their own journeys. A couple hundred thousand vehicles travel the Beltway per day, so you can do the math.

I had a few choices. Pull over, and with my Texas sensibilities about driving in the snow/ice, get stuck for an eternity. Take the next exit, then wait out the storm, or turn around and try to make it back home. I decided to keep going, because, well, teachers don’t get paid all that much and get in hella hot water when they don’t show up.

OK, I did my due diligence by calling the school and leaving a message explaining my predicament. And I soldiered on. Remember, though — much like politicians, never-say-never to the possibility of moronic decision-making by school administrators.

And I wanted to see what fresh hell would greet me on the other end of my commute. The snow started to come down in earnest, and I kept up my slippery slog to school.

I guess you can guess what I — and my fellow educators who showed up — found. A mostly empty school, with an assistant principal wandering around in an apparent daze. I ran into her on the staircase as I approached Room 215.

“Did they close schools today?”

“Nope.”

“Are they considering closing schools today?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who’s here?”

“I don’t know. And I’m starting to think, at this point, that I don’t care.”

I had a 1st-period class, so opened my classroom door, turned on the lights, and waited.

We didn’t start AP Nelson on time that day; we didn’t have any class at all. One student came in about 10 minutes after I did, with quite a story to tell. A couple of other kids straggled in a few minutes after her. Their adventures in snow-plagued travel matched or surpassed mine, for sure.

I ended up with six high school juniors in class that morning. A few more in my next class, and a smattering more in the class after that. But I never had anything close to a full roster that day.

I learned a lot, though. Mostly about the mammoth incompetence of those in charge and the crazy things that happen when one tries to show up on time while battling the elements.

If this is starting to sound like 1/6/2021 with a different outcome, you’re correct.

The superintendent of our district apologized to all of us that day. Can you imagine what it would be like if The Former Guy had apologized for his misdeeds on 1/6? Nah, I can’t, either.

“It is clear that our decision to keep schools open today was the wrong call given the intensity of this weather system,” the superintendent said in a district-wide email.

Ya think?

And then there was the virus that caught hold that day. Back then, I wasn’t all that familiar with the phenomenon of “going viral”. Room 215 and a few of its occupants — OK, my student who went outside in the storm to take the photo above and the two who are featured in it, gazing forlornly out of my classroom window —blew up the Internet, and it was a hoot-and-a-half, as my Nana would say.

Take a gander at the two kids and their signs, which read, “SOS” and “#Close FCPS”. That digital snap indeed went viral on January 6, 2015, and helped to publicize our plight, and convince the superintendent and her henchmen to grant us a free “day off” later in the year to make up for our trouble.

I’m pretty sure if you do a little digging online with the tag #CloseFCPS, you’ll still find this pic around, most recently from this week’s storm. Our plight seven years ago even was featured in Urban Dictionary. And this 7-minute video is certainly worth your time and attention.

As a long-time D.C. resident, this week’s commemoration makes me beyond sad. I wish they’d just close Congress on the first anniversary of our most recent 1/6 scare. There’s snow in the D.C. forecast, after all.