The Major

The weather in Philadelphia during February seldom produces expressions of joy from the city’s inhabitants. Philadelphia in February can be an ordeal. It is a terrible ordeal for Major Nathaniel Peabody (USA, ret.). This climate-induced distress is grossly magnified when he is unable to find temporary relief by undertaking a hunting trip to someplace where the sun shines mightily and overcoats are unknown. Unfortunately, the Major’s mismanagement of his Spendthrift Trust remittances often requires him to spend February in Philadelphia.
    It was nearing the end of that month. I knew Peabody had frittered away his funds and, as a result, had been apartment-bound for nearly four weeks. Moreover, it had been an unreasonably cold, cold February. From my window in the Smythe, Hauser, Engals & Tauchen law offices, I looked down at a street scene of frigid wind and snow. I knew how the Major would react to a cold and icy month in Philadelphia’s gray and melancholy midwinter. He would be miserable. He would be despondent. He would be dejected. He would be in desperate need of cheering up.
    Spending an evening with Major Peabody when he is in a foul mood is to be avoided at all cost. Nevertheless, I felt a powerful urge to lift his spirits and invite him to an evening of conversation, good food and libation. My common sense demanded I immediately and completely disregard that impulse, but Peabody needed support. I decided to do my best to transform his attitude from dark dejection to one of rosy optimism—even though I knew I probably would be in for a painful evening.
    I phoned the Major and, trying to be cheerful and upbeat, extended the invitation. Our brief conversation confirmed my assessment of his state of mind. The tone of his voice and every word he spoke showed him to be despondent, dejected and desperately in need of cheering up. Later that afternoon when I drove to Peabody’s apartment building, I expected to find him somber of feature, sour of temperament and an irritable dinner companion. Nevertheless, my spirits were lifted by the knowledge that I was engaged in the charitable and benevolent undertaking of helping a friend overcome depression. It made me feel good.
    I was not prepared for what ensued.
    A smiling and animated Major Peabody met me at the door. He showed not the slightest sign of the grim melancholia he had exuded during my telephone call. “Come in, come in, counselor,” he bubbled. “So glad to see you. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
    Beautiful day? It was freezing. The wind was blowing. The snow was piling up in drifts. It may have been praiseworthy trying to raise his spirits, but it was beginning to lower mine.
    “You seem to be in a jovial mood,” I ventured.
    “I am, indeed,” he answered. “I have just finished watching a fascinating program on television. What an inspirational event.”
    Aha, I thought. He’s been watching one of those hunting programs. Undoubtedly, it already has pulled him out of his February brown study. My mission has been accomplished. All I have to do is reinforce his current enthusiasm. Then I can cancel the dinner invitation and go home.
    “Television is often a vast intellectual wasteland,” I said. “Those marvelous hunting programs are welcome exceptions. Which one were you watching? Tell me about it. Are you planning a hunting trip?”
    “No,” he answered in lively tones. “I find it painful to watch someone hunting in his shirtsleeves in some sun-drenched field while I am enduring this damnable weather. I turned on the TV simply for the companionship of unintelligible background noise. My attention was captured by an engrossing exposition of the unavoidable effects of global warming.” His eyes widened as he exclaimed: “A profound enlightenment. It opened my mind. What fantastic potential. Bless the environmental so-called scientists. Bless them all. Bless global warming.”
    Bless global warming? I couldn’t believe my ears. It was the coldest day on record and Peabody was enthusing about global warming? I began to think the stress of February in Philadelphia had affected his mind. I considered calling Doctor Carmichael for immediate assistance in having him committed.
    “You’re sure you’re not confusing global warming with global cooling?” I asked, hoping to gently nudge him back to reality.   “The NASA people have been studying the temperature of Earth,” I continued. “They claim it has been cooling, not warming. Qualified scientists report that this past year has been the coldest one in a decade. It’s certainly very cold out there right now.”
    Peabody completely ignored my comment. He brushed it off, calling it nothing more than an inconvenient truth.
    “That TV program claimed the ice cap will soon melt completely,” he said. “All the water now trapped in polar ice and snow will be released and will pour into the Atlantic and Pacific. Ocean currents will change, and this means rainfall patterns will change. The Midwest will become as drought-ridden as it was in the l930s.”
    This was distressing news. I considered the dreadful consequences of such a climatic change. Droughts would cause worldwide crop failures. Hunger would stalk the entire world. Aloud I exclaimed, “Millions of people will starve to death.”
The Major smiled and vigorously nodded his head. “Yes,” he agreed, “you are correct. Starvation will kill millions. All by itself, global warming will solve the world’s terrible overpopulation problem. But that’s not the only advantage of the meltdown. Ocean levels will rise dramatically. San Francisco and Los Angeles will be submerged. So will the East Coast.”
    It was obvious that these terrifying prospects didn’t bother Peabody. He seemed to revel in them. For my part, global warming represented catastrophe. Worldwide starvation was not my only concern. The floods would cause Philadelphians to leave the city for higher ground. My clientele would scatter. My practice would be ruined.
    I interrupted Peabody, planning to state my displeasure at his apparently gleeful forecasts of drought and the submerging of large cities. “I know you think there are too many people in the world,” I began, “and I know you’ve always wanted the West Coast to slide under the Pacific . . . .” I didn’t get a chance to finish my thought. Peabody interrupted my interruption.
    “Yes, yes,” he said, “but consider the more significant effect of global warming. With drought in the Midwest, there will be no water for migrating ducks. They will have to abandon their Central Flyway.” The Major’s smile brightened his entire face and, emphasizing each word, he said: “They will move east. There will be more ducks migrating down the Atlantic Flyway.
    “The rising water will force people to abandon the cities on the East Coast. Factories will rust away. Millions of automobiles will disappear beneath the water. Cities will be completely submerged.
    “This means smoke will no longer fill the air, and none of mankind’s offensive effluvia will pump into the lakes and oceans. Free from the polluting effects of overpopulation, a new coastline will develop. Wild rice and duck potato will reappear in profusion. The new shore will become prime habitat for ducks. The hunting will be excellent. Just think of it.”
    I couldn’t think of it. I was preoccupied with thoughts of inescapable disaster. As predicted, it had turned out to be a miserable evening. The future looked grim, and I could find no way to alleviate my sense of foreboding. I made my excuses and left as quickly as I could.
    I drove back to my apartment enveloped in clouds of gloom and doom. The prospect of global warming weighed heavily upon me. I was miserable. I was despondent. I was dejected. I was in desperate need of cheering up.

Galen Winter’s favorite Major stories have been collected and anthologized in The Best of the Major, available for $25 (plus shipping) from 800-685-7962; www.shootingsportsman.com.