When the National Weather Service began naming hurricanes back in the '40s, it chose exclusively female monikers. The rationale was that hurricanes were dangerous and unpredictable. In those non-enlightened times, that meant female names. I recall Hurricanes Hazel, Connie, and Diane wreaking havoc in the '50s.
By the politically-correct '70s, the NWS began alternating male and female names. Hurricanes were no less dangerous and unpredictable, but somehow Hurricane Bob seemed less threatening than Hurricane Hazel.
Today, Hurricane Earl is working its way up the East Coast. Will it be as strong and vicious as football hall-of-famer Earl Campbell? Will it be as devastating as an Earl "The Pearl" Monroe drive to the basket? Or will it be as mild and meek as Earl Miller?
Earl Miller was a fellow staffer with me at Boy Scout Camp in 1964. In the immortal words of Alan Sherman's "Hello, Muddah; Hello Faddah", "All the counselors hate the waiters. And the lake has alligators." Earl was a waiter, or more correctly, a kitchen drudge, peeling and chopping, cleaning and scrubbing, all summer long for the princely sum of $60. Yet, Earl never complained. Earl was never envious of us counselors out there in the fresh air and sunshine while he cleaned the grease trap.
In fact, every Earl I've known has been a mild-mannered David Banner and never an enraged Incredible Hulk. It must be in the name.
I predict that Hurricane Earl will be a non-event. Had it been Hurricane Lady GaGa, I'd be boarding up the windows and retreating to the storm cellar right now.
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