The Hail That Moved the Town Hall Meeting
A public meeting on land use was held under a tent, until a hailstorm moved it, item by item, into the volunteer fire station.
The county planned an open meeting one June evening on a matter of land use, the sort of gathering where people stand up with printed statements and talk about easements for six minutes at a time. About ninety of us showed up. The courthouse was being repainted, so the commissioners had set up a big white rental tent on the lawn, with folding chairs, a microphone, and a table with a pitcher of ice water. It was a lovely evening for the first twenty minutes.
I was the fourth speaker. I had my notes and I had my hat, and I had walked to the front when the sky on the horizon went the color of a bruise. The county judge, who is not a man to be rushed, glanced up and said that we would continue, as the matter was important. The clerk reminded him that a tent has no roof worth the name. He said the tent was fine. Then the first hailstone hit the canvas with a sound like a pistol shot, and he said, in a different voice, that we were adjourned for a short recess.
Ninety people dashed for the volunteer fire station across the street. We arrived soaked and breathless and found the big truck bay open and the engines parked inside. Someone moved a fire truck. Someone else brought the chairs. In four minutes, with a speed I have never seen applied to any government matter before or since, the whole meeting had been reassembled on the concrete floor, with the microphone clipped to the front bumper of a pumper. The judge stood on a step stool and called us back to order.
It was the most efficient meeting in the history of the county. The roof drummed so loudly that people kept their remarks to a sentence or two. The land use matter was settled in forty minutes, and I will tell you that everyone went home satisfied. A neighbor said afterward that the hail did more for county government than any reform. I have since read the safety tips on Ready.gov about severe weather and I agree with every word. The firefighters, being generous, let us leave the chairs, and the pumper still has the microphone clip. Our whole story is archived in the farm.FM news section, under the category of Acts of God and Acts of the County.