February 1, 2024
Just Saying…
Warming the Cockles of the Heart
By Q.C. Jones
Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, allow me to place a public service weather report. January was cold. As I sit shivering, fighting hypothermia, frostbite, and brain freeze, I can hear the furnace of my circa-1870 hovel of an office struggle. Looking down from my windy high bluff vantage point, I can see our Mighty Mississippi struggle to flow on down south to meet up with its warmer kin languishing in the Gulf of Mexico.
Average temperatures can be misleading. My friends at weatherspark.com tell us the average daily high in the QCA during January is a balmy 31 F. Not too bad until you consider that each of those nice 50-degree days of previous years must be offset with a bone-chiller sometime in the future. The future is now.
With this mood in full swing, allow me to chronicle my first winter in Iowa.
I moved to the QCA on July 5th, 1978. My first impression was that Iowa was a beautiful sight. The corn was tall, the trees covered with splendid leaves, and on a moonlit night one could sit back, and literally taste life in the air. Everything was butterflies and rainbows, but I had an uneasy feeling about winters.
The Quad Cities were further north than I ever wanted to live. As a young man, I dreamed of life in what they billed at the time as “the new south.” My stop in the QCA was to be but a steppingstone in a glorious corporate career. I can remember asking my new boss, Tom Howard, about QCA winters. After 45 years, I still remember his answer:
“Well, you have to remember, the whole Davenport area is protected from winter extremes by the Mississippi basin. Weather skips over the area and our climate is closer to what you would expect in Saint Louis and further south.”
Your pal QC Jones was a bit skeptical, but Tom was my boss and authority figure. I’m not saying I bought the story “hook, line and sinker,” but I do recall repeating the story to several friends who questioned the wisdom of living in Iowa. I discovered the skipping over part was bunk.
My wife and I were in the early stages of our courtship. I sold her on traveling from Ames to Davenport using the lure of skiing in Dubuque and the Mexican food of long defunct Martinez Taco House (which used to be on Harrison Street) and Rudy’s in the Village. Back in the “old days” Mexican food was a Midwest rarity. My sales pitch worked, and she agreed to come over the weekend following Thanksgiving.
The first of many major snowstorms passed through that weekend. She braved a five-hour white knuckle trip. Our friends told us it was a fluke, but things went downhill from there.
The winter of 78-79 turned brutal. Snow was nearly a daily occurrence, and the temperatures barely broke the zero mark. According to the public servants running the National Weather Service who track and forecast weather for the Government, January 1979 was the coldest on record for the QCA with an average high temperature of 6 degrees. And January wasn’t the only cold month. The entire winter, which according to the Weather Service is December through February, hovered just above 14 degrees. Never trust averages.
As cold-hearted and cruel as this winter sounds, your pal QC Jones survived and prospered in these North Pole-like conditions. I learned how to quickly shovel a path to my car each morning dressed in a cheap business suit and discovered that Carhartt made artic coveralls. I found a repair shop who could install an electric heater so my car would start.
And I found the love of my life. My wife, who had just been promoted to girl-friend status, was Oklahoma born and raised. Unaccustomed to driving in snow of any sort, she somehow believed a car with snow tires could go anywhere. Armed with false confidence and new tires, she drove headlong into a 10-foot snow drift on US 18 near Algona, Iowa on Valentine’s Day.
We were going to have dinner that night, but she ended up spending two days stranded at a farmhouse. Being a warm-hearted romantic with cheapskate tendencies, I decided to buy her the biggest heart shaped Valentine’s candy available. Since it was the day after the holiday, the local Target Store had everything marked 75 percent off.
When she finally returned to civilization, I presented her with this gigantic red and lace covered heart and a nice card. She was very impressed. Or at least impressed until her sister mentioned that I bought it on sale – the day after Valentine’s Day.
Besides winter survival, I learned two things that year: Number one, never trust your wife’s sister. Secondly, it’s the thought that counts, unless the thought came at a huge discount. Happy Thanksgiving, I mean Valentines Day, dang it’s cold
…. Just saying. QC Jones
