Snowballs and Hades

So it got to 40 degrees or so today here in Cleveland, with lots of sunshine. The melting has commenced. While outside rejoicing, I started to think of snowballs. This is great weather for them, "good packing snow," as we used to say. Used to, because I can't remember the last time I threw a real snowball. By real I mean intentionally at someone or something with the intention to do some minor damage. As a boy, of course, snow = snowballs, period. I still envy my late elementary school classmate Joe Gaul's ability to throw a snowball with more lethal power than a kid should have a right to muster. He was a southpaw, so I always chalked up his prowess to that. Snowball throwing and snowball fights are kind of impromtu; one never really has a pick-up snowball fight, but if we ever did, Joe would have always been the first one picked.

My favorite recent snowball story: A couple years ago I was driving during rush hour on a day much like today. Stopped at a light behind some cars, including one that had cut me off a half mile up the road, I noticed some kids walking on the sidewalk starting to pack some good snowballs. Sure enough, as the light turned, they pelted the car I was already mad at. I smiled a nostalgic smile, thinking about what one of Joe Gaul's supersonic snowballs would have done to today's cheap car paneling. Then, so predictably, the car's brake lights went on, and I could see the driver undo the seatbelt and start to get out of the car. Come on, I thought, just drive. They didn't break a window, they're just kids, etc. Then, surprise surprise--because I hadn't noticed she was the one who had cut me off--out of the car stepped a woman I know. She looked down the street at the now running away kids, as horns blared because of the stopped traffic, and screeched, "Assssssshhhhhoooooooooolllllllessssssss!" She then got back in the car, buckled her seatbelt, and drove off. Half as satisfied, I hope, as I was by the entire show.

So I've been thinking about snowballs all day. In any snowy climate, snowballs are legendary among kids, so it comes as a surprise to me when I tried to round up all the famous snowballs in cultural history. I didn't find many, and I would appreciate anyone chiming in with any I forgot. As far as visual art, which I don't know all that well, I can think of nothing. Same goes for movies, though I know there must be some. Anybody? In literature I can think of a couple great examples. Philip Roth's disturbing recent novel, Indignation, has an epic snowball fight take place on the campus of Ohio's (fictional) college campus, Winesburg College. There's also a pretty good snowball fight in A Separate Peace by John Knowles. Roberston Davies kicks off his tremendous Deptford Trilogy with an errant, "loaded" snowball thrown at hero Dunstan Ramsay by one Percy Boyd Staunton. Dunstan ducks and the snowball hits the pregnant minister's wife, Mary Dempster, and from there all sorts of things ensue in Fifth Business. My favorite literary snowball, though, is the one Holden Caulfield doesn't throw because everything looks too snowy beautiful to mar in The Catcher in the Rye. Great books, great snowballs, but that is it, as far as I can remember. And music, well, unless Mozart has a snowball symphony I'm unfamiliar with, I can't think of anything. Why this dearth of snowball art? Where's the great snowball ballet/mural/sonnet/sculpture?

And then there's the old snowball in hell phrase, which is too pedestrian for me to do much with, as vivid an image as it is. Of course, Hell's been on my mind today, too, after hearing the wacky Pat Robertson expound on Haiti's current problems. One hopes his job in the next world is to be the snowball maker and preserver in Hell. On my drive home today, a caller on talk radio had to clarify that some previous caller was referring to Hades, not Haiti's. So, today's been all melting snow and hell, leaving me once again glad to live where I do, where snow and cold are about as bad as it gets, and there's always a few days a year with good packing snow. I wonder, if I summon up the spirit of Joe Gaul, if I can reach Pat Robertson's goofy noggin with a snowy missive launched from my driveway.

Curt Kirkwood-Snow