Yesterday, I tromped across Broad to purchase two shovels and a jug of ice melt. (“Won’t harm plants!” the label exclaims.) One of the shovels has a great ergonomic bend in its handle that makes shoving it less onerous and scraping up ice less of an aching chore. I also got just a regular metal snow shovel for bashing at ice.

I figured that since we’re now relatively prepared for whatever Old Man Winter can toss at Colonial Avenue, nothing will happen. It’ll turn 75 degrees and the ladies will wear sundresses.

Maybe my attempt to psych out Mother Nature partially worked. As I write this, there are fleeting bursts of sunshine, and while it's clearly not shoulder-baring sundress weather, ice pellets aren’t rapping my hat brim, either. The Friday forecast is now for rain, though Saturday still seems destined for a bit of snow — it’ll be too warm for it to stay long. So, looks like that trip to Pleasants was a great investment for me and for Richmond.

But it’s been interesting riding the bus. Bundled commuters standing out on bus-stop ice floes slowly move toward the bus when it hoves near the curve. Their arms raised for balance, and their movement somewhat erratic, they — we — resemble mass transit-riding zombies.

Last night, as the “wintry mix” began clunking against the bus bench by Pleasants, I stood with my two shovels and my jug of ice melt. The exact right bus showed up in less than five minutes. I clambered on and found my fellow riders to be an interesting assortment, made bulky and Michelin-man-like by their winter gear. The riders were quick to notice my shovels: “There’s a man ready for anything,” said a fellow traveler in the back.

We chuckled about our predicament. I explained my reasoning for stocking up at Pleasants. I’d tried to go on Monday but was advised that the Tuesday truck would bring more supplies.

A young woman sitting nearby just happened to work at the hardware store, and she piped up, “Yeah, that’s the Tuesday restock,” and she told me how the recent storm swept clean their shelves of wintry needs from shovels to toboggans. Pleasants had all that equipment, then, suddenly, it didn’t. She had today off, she said, and didn’t miss the frenzy.

A young man with what sounded like a Central European accent asked me, “You think that bent one will do good in the snow?”

“It can’t do any worse for me than when I was trying to use my neighbor’s. I can do bad all by myself.”

The Pleasants clerk, some other ladies and the driver all laughed. European Man didn’t apparently get my feeble effort at humor. He said, “I might have to try one of those.”

So, now my winter defense is on the front porch, ready for use. Maybe none of us will have a need for these particular tools. This time. Last year, of course, our only real snow came in March.

My profession, outside of state, corporate or academic venues, doesn’t often call “snow days.” So the joy I read on Facebook and the blogs isn’t shared. The Fourth Estate trudges wearily on, even though I don’t really have a decent pair of foul-weather shoes or boots.

I got passed by the bus today, and in trying to catch up, I looked like a cartoon character: feet flailing in air without gaining any traction. Fortunately, I didn’t face-plant.

My weekend shoveling efforts with the neighbor’s borrowed snow shovel were pathetic. My wife, Amie, though she's from the Deep South, attended grad school in Ohio. She somehow has a knack for scooping up the stuff adering to the walk that I simply don’t possess. What I did get was a backache.

But I’ve decided that wide metal shovels work best. The new neighbor across the street made short work of his encased porch and sidewalk, and he dug out his car. Hello, Pleasants! You’re right across the street from my office.

If I buy one, of course, it’ll never snow again. Perhaps for the good of the city, then, I should make the purchase.

Having said all that, seeing Richmond’s old streets shrouded in fluffy white was quite wonderful. The enforced stillness, too, was remarkable when the low bellow of a train whistle was almost the only ambient noise. Watching finches strut about on the mound of snow that piled up on the window planter, where my wife put a hanging bird feeder, was pleasant. We were also amused by watching Flannery the cat poising to leap at the window ledge, glued to the activity just outside, like a kitty version of reality television.

But, all in all, that’s enough for me. It’s pretty and crisp for a day, then it’s cold, wet and annoying.

So, if you got a snow day, enjoy it. I’m buying that shovel, to keep you safe.

The program was well attended by an enthusiastic group of old-house huggers, and somehow, HRF’s Mary Jane Hogue was prescient enough to arrange it so that the event was held prior to the snow.

The bulk of the presentation was based on a November 1997 article I wrote for the magazine entitled “City Saviors: And Why We Should Thank Each and Every One of Them.”

I was distressed to learn that A. Howe Todd, one of the subjects of this retrospective, died on Jan 12. The memorial service was this past weekend.

Todd was a rare individual, and, though he was from the city government, he really was here to help. 

Below is the section of the story I wrote about Todd and his efforts to jump-start riverfront revitalization, and in particular, the James River & Kanawha Canal:

“A. Howe Todd downplays his role in the early James River & Kanawha Canal preservation movement. A veteran of Richmond city planning, he worked in 1970-1971 with Reynolds Metals executive Paul A. Murphy and factory chief Dale Wiley (both of whom later wrote about the canal) to solve the problems of building a packaging plant over a series of locks between 12th and 13th streets. It was a happy meeting of like-minded people.

"Marcellus Wright and Partners designed the buildings to allow for the park-like preservation of the two canal locks on the property using period materials.

"Shortly after Todd retired from city service in 1986, 'Paul [Murphy] summoned me to his table at the Commonwealth Club to discuss the future of the canal,' Todd recalls good-naturedly. The original plan was to restore, insofar as possible, the canal’s western run.

“ 'We worked a year to prove to ourselves that the canal could be placed through downtown Richmond, a very difficult thing to do,' Todd says. Land-use disagreements forced the canal committee of the Historic Richmond Foundation to turn its attention eastward."

An aside: This is a slight massage of what Todd told me in 1997. The administration of the mid-1980s Ethyl Corp. (now NewMarket) adamantly refused to have the restored canal travel across its property. The main reason: It smelled and was dirty. Nevermind that the company’s founder, Floyd Dewey Gottwald Sr., personally saved the tottering wreckage of Tredegar Iron Works that became the linchpin of ongoing riverfront enhancement. And Tredegar’s former might was fed by the river and canal. Had this western course gotten supported, by now there might be a weekend canal cruise to Hollywood Cemetery, Maymont Park and Tuckahoe Plantation.

Todd from 1997 resumes:

“ 'We went to the other end, studied first how to go through all that overhead stuff and pipes underground, then formed a special subcommittee to restore the Great Shiplock.'

"Todd cites the influence of Murphy, Wiley, and historian and bateau enthusiast [William Trout III].

“ 'Bill would come into my office, he’d always be in one of his historic costumes, and beat me over the head about things — he’s a great guy.' ” He also credits Marc Hirth and Brent Halsey of James River Paper for the recent evolutions of the canal. The floodwall is a legacy that includes a kick-out panel allowing for passage of the canal. ‘The thing of it is, [the canal] has to look old — that’s what people want.' ”