Happy birthday to you-u-u-u, happy birthday to you-u-u-u, happy birthday dear non-nukes, happy birthday to you-u-u-u-u.
While you spent the summer working or lounging or trying to coax your lawn back to life, three communities in Maryland celebrated (or prepared to celebrate) their 20th birthdays as "nuclear-free zones."
The main goal in Takoma Park was to prevent the city government from doing business with the makers of nuclear weapons. The Takoma Park initiative also bans the production, storage, transport or activation of nukes in the small city, which sits along the northeastern border of Washington.
In Garrett Park (central Montgomery County) and Sykesville (Carroll County), the idea was to tell all nuclear bombs -- and countries that might drop them -- to go elsewhere.
Of course, that hope was more than slightly laughable, given the Cold War that still gripped the globe at the time. If the Russians wanted to bomb Garrett Park or Sykesville, both of which lie within 45 miles of the White House, would a non-nuke resolution deter them?
No one in either community thought so. Neither did late-night TV comedians. Two decades later, the non-nuke resolutions are gathering dust -- but still drawing giggles.
"It was a symbolic thing, without any real implications," said Sykesville's town manager, Matthew Candland. "It's the kind of thing we would joke around about.
"But we don't give it any real attention anymore. It is probably still on the books, because we haven't repealed it. I haven't heard anything recently about starting up interest in it again."
Garrett Park, a 123-acre incorporated town nestled between Kensington and Rockville, declared itself nuclear-free out of international concern. Some residents were worried that weapons proliferation was getting out of hand.
"It's time to stop and think about what the hell we're doing," declared Barbara Shidler, Garrett Park's historian, during the 1982 hearings that led to the non-nuke designation.
Garrett Park is not snickering over its declaration, even though it obviously hasn't played much of a part in big-axis politics.
"What was done in 1982 was evidence of the spirit and enthusiasm of the community," said Nancy Floreen, the mayor. "What it has done is made us memorable in people's minds and has shown that a little community can speak its mind and be heard." Garrett Park is considering "some sort of a commemorative event" this year, Nancy said.
In Takoma Park -- widely known as an unconventional community -- residents went a step further.
"Most cities in Maryland just passed resolutions," said Jay Levy, chairman of the Nuclear Free Takoma Park Committee. "But without an ordinance, there's no teeth. That makes Takoma Park different.
"The city of Takoma Park sees its ordinance as still very valuable," Jay said. Reason: "I think things are worse than ever before.
"At this moment, there are 4,000 nuclear weapons on hair-trigger alert -- 2,000 in the U.S., 2,000 in Russia. . . . We have 3,300 tactical weapons. And now the U.S. is looking to develop much smaller nuclear bombs. So the threat hasn't gone away."
And what about the shipping of nuclear waste? "We can't prohibit interstate commerce, but we can do quite a bit to make sure it is as secure as possible, and that's what we're looking into," Jay said.
Twenty years of non-nuclear principle has been worth all the giggles, officials of the three towns agree.
"It was a tribute to the deep spirit of the residents," said Nancy Floreen. When you consider the possibilities of war with Iraq, and perhaps other countries, "I think the ordinance is more important than ever," Jay Levy said.
The amount of grief dumped on New Jersey would probably cover Montana. The latest grief-causer: Jersey barriers, those cloddish hunks of concrete that have become so common around here since Sept. 11.
Martin Wells, a transplant from Newark who now lives in Fairfax, asked me whether they're called "Jersey barriers" because they're ugly. He was all ready to be offended if the answer was yes. But, dear sir, the answer is no.
"Jersey barriers" carry the name because they were introduced in the Garden State, in the 1940s.
Their looks were neither a plus nor a minus. The state of New Jersey bought the first batch because JBs absorb energy. If a vehicle crashes into one of them, the JB absorbs the impact and the vehicle. The errant car or truck won't bounce back into traffic.
Soon after, California bought its first JBs, Martin. Within 10 years, JBs were standard around the world. So was the name.
"Kind of the way a New York minute means a big hurry?" Martin asked. "Exactly so," I said.
The standard JB is 32 inches high and two feet wide at the bottom. It tapers softly to a width of six inches across the top.
But please don't try to move a JB with your bare hands -- or with two, or with six. The average JB weighs about a ton and wholesales for $500.
Are they ugly? Well, Martin, they could certainly stand a coat of paint. But I kind of like that soft parabolic swoop. Reminds me of the shoreline around Asbury Park, or the outer edge of a blackjack table in Atlantic City. Maybe JBs have that Jersey name for a reason.
301.263.6982
Service Areas
