Christmas Memories

Always remember, heat rises, and a Christmas record that still stands

By Sherie Berg

Even though I have spent the last two-thirds of my life in Indiana, where weather is concerned I am still a California girl.

My first 23 years were in San Diego, where, before global warming, the average temperature didn’t vary 10 degrees, day to night, winter to summer. The Garden of Eden.

In 1983, a longtime friend was coming from San Diego to Indianapolis to spend Christmas with me and my family. He had lived all but a year or two of his life in southern California so, like me, he was a bit of a weather wimp.

Californians like to point out that the weather in Bethlehem was more like that of San Diego than the American Midwest, but my friend said he was looking forward to a Currier and Ives Christmas. And when we picked him up from the airport a few days before Christmas, there was indeed some snow on the ground, not much, but some.

As Christmas approached, the weather forecast became grim. Cold was coming. Bone-chilling cold. Bob Gregory, the weatherman, was saying to open the cabinet doors and leave water running in the faucet. You know the drill. Of all the years to have a really cold Christmas, it had to be the one when we had a guest from San Diego.

My friend was looking forward to Christmas midnight Mass at our parish church, St. Joan of Arc [in Indianapolis]. I had told him how beautiful the church was, and he loved traditional church architecture.

Getting ready for Mass, we all bundled up, layers of clothes, hats, gloves, scarves. We even took blankets with us. Old churches may be beautiful, but not warm.

Before we left for church, we listened to the forecast. Temperatures were dropping below zero. Church services were being canceled. Cars wouldn’t start. It was “cold,” but we didn’t know how cold until we entered the church. It became quite clear that the principle that heat rises is all too true.

St. Joan of Arc has high ceilings, very high. Any heat that old boiler was putting out was up there with the clerestory windows, not down there where we were. And to prove it, right there at the back of the church the holy water was frozen.

The few, the hardy few, who had made it to midnight Mass that Christmas of ’83 huddled together to share their joy and warmth with frosty breath.

Christmas morning, the weather report confirmed what we thought: Indianapolis had broken a low temperature record for December 25—15 below zero. That record still stands.
 

(Sherie Berg is a member of St. Joan of Arc Parish in Indianapolis.) †