reservoirs that impact people’s property, we really do try to work with citizens to keep their waterside towns and cities safe.”
The room’s undercurrent of noise got slightly louder.
Lundford banged the gavel again.
Colonel Genovese waited patiently as the room grew quiet.
“We are not here to tell you what to do with your town’s water resources, at least not at this point,” he said. “But you should be aware of the changes that have occurred over the past ten years that are beginning to show some threat to the safety of the eastern side of your town.”
He turned to the younger man sitting beside him.
“This is Sergeant Alex Crandell Evans, a brilliant young civilian engineer from your area—he was born in Newcomb, just north of here—who serves our nation once a month in the uniform of the Army National Guard, currently stationed in Saranac Lake.
“In addition to those duties, Sergeant Evans, who works for the engineering firm of Speziale, Prince, and Foster in Saratoga, where he lives, spends a good deal of his time at the Water Management offices in Buffalo and New York City, lending his engineering expertise to the Corps. He is, as you can imagine, completely familiar with the Adirondack Park, its dams, reservoirs, and waterways, and is a specialist in the control of the flow of the Hudson River. I asked him here tonight to speak to you because of his connection to and knowledge of this area. Sergeant Evans?”
The young man rose as the Colonel passed the microphone and the remote to him. He cleared his throat and turned to the crowd.
“Good evening,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Alex Crandell Evans, but I usually go by ‘Ace’—it helps me remember my initials. I grew up in Newcomb, so it’s exciting to be here tonight in the Big City of Obergrande.”
Some of the attendees chuckled or snorted; even though Obergrande was a very small city, by comparison to the tiny, dying mining town of Newcomb, it was enormous.
“Like Colonel Genovese, I am not here to make recommendations at this point about what Obergrande should do in regard to the building of a larger, hydroelectric dam—”
“That’s good, since we’ve already decided, again, at the ballot box,” a gruff voice called from the back of the room where people were standing.
Bob Lundford banged the gavel and glared into the thickening crowd.
Sergeant Evans did not seem bothered by the interruption.
“I think it’s important to be clear on what this spring could hold for Obergrande from a water-control perspective,” he said seriously, turning to the projector. He hit the button on the remote.
The screen cleared. Then the word SNOWFALL appeared.
“This year the Adirondack region experienced a record snowfall,” he said, standing remarkably straight, Lucy noted dryly; a military bearing. “An average of one hundred and ninety-one inches of snow fell this fall and winter, considerably higher than the one hundred three, which is the average. This is already showing signs of being a heavier melt than the soils of the region can absorb. In case anyone missed it on the way in, there is also a higher-than-usual amount of precipitation for spring, which is not helping with that.”
As if to punctuate his sentence, a crash of thunder rolled overhead.
“Nice timing on the sound effects,” remarked Mayor Tibedeau wryly.
“Thank you, sir,” the young sergeant said politely. “We spared no expense for this presentation. There will be an open bar with hors d’oeuvres at the end.”
A small part of the crowd snickered again.
“Really?” asked Hannah Adams, a gullible young woman from West Obergrande.
“No, ma’am. Just teasing. Sorry.” Sergeant Evans’ voice was respectful.
He clicked the remote. The screen now read PRECIPITATION .
“In addition to somewhat relentless rain over most of the spring season and particularly in the last few weeks, we are also looking to take a hit from the edge rains of Hurricane
The room’s undercurrent of noise got slightly louder.
Lundford banged the gavel again.
Colonel Genovese waited patiently as the room grew quiet.
“We are not here to tell you what to do with your town’s water resources, at least not at this point,” he said. “But you should be aware of the changes that have occurred over the past ten years that are beginning to show some threat to the safety of the eastern side of your town.”
He turned to the younger man sitting beside him.
“This is Sergeant Alex Crandell Evans, a brilliant young civilian engineer from your area—he was born in Newcomb, just north of here—who serves our nation once a month in the uniform of the Army National Guard, currently stationed in Saranac Lake.
“In addition to those duties, Sergeant Evans, who works for the engineering firm of Speziale, Prince, and Foster in Saratoga, where he lives, spends a good deal of his time at the Water Management offices in Buffalo and New York City, lending his engineering expertise to the Corps. He is, as you can imagine, completely familiar with the Adirondack Park, its dams, reservoirs, and waterways, and is a specialist in the control of the flow of the Hudson River. I asked him here tonight to speak to you because of his connection to and knowledge of this area. Sergeant Evans?”
The young man rose as the Colonel passed the microphone and the remote to him. He cleared his throat and turned to the crowd.
“Good evening,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Alex Crandell Evans, but I usually go by ‘Ace’—it helps me remember my initials. I grew up in Newcomb, so it’s exciting to be here tonight in the Big City of Obergrande.”
Some of the attendees chuckled or snorted; even though Obergrande was a very small city, by comparison to the tiny, dying mining town of Newcomb, it was enormous.
“Like Colonel Genovese, I am not here to make recommendations at this point about what Obergrande should do in regard to the building of a larger, hydroelectric dam—”
“That’s good, since we’ve already decided, again, at the ballot box,” a gruff voice called from the back of the room where people were standing.
Bob Lundford banged the gavel and glared into the thickening crowd.
Sergeant Evans did not seem bothered by the interruption.
“I think it’s important to be clear on what this spring could hold for Obergrande from a water-control perspective,” he said seriously, turning to the projector. He hit the button on the remote.
The screen cleared. Then the word SNOWFALL appeared.
“This year the Adirondack region experienced a record snowfall,” he said, standing remarkably straight, Lucy noted dryly; a military bearing. “An average of one hundred and ninety-one inches of snow fell this fall and winter, considerably higher than the one hundred three, which is the average. This is already showing signs of being a heavier melt than the soils of the region can absorb. In case anyone missed it on the way in, there is also a higher-than-usual amount of precipitation for spring, which is not helping with that.”
As if to punctuate his sentence, a crash of thunder rolled overhead.
“Nice timing on the sound effects,” remarked Mayor Tibedeau wryly.
“Thank you, sir,” the young sergeant said politely. “We spared no expense for this presentation. There will be an open bar with hors d’oeuvres at the end.”
A small part of the crowd snickered again.
“Really?” asked Hannah Adams, a gullible young woman from West Obergrande.
“No, ma’am. Just teasing. Sorry.” Sergeant Evans’ voice was respectful.
He clicked the remote. The screen now read PRECIPITATION .
“In addition to somewhat relentless rain over most of the spring season and particularly in the last few weeks, we are also looking to take a hit from the edge rains of Hurricane
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