The Midwinter Recess Lives

(Originally published on 2/23/18)

While wandering around the neighborhood and snapping pictures this past week, I acknowledged the time of year. This inspired me to, later, check out the website of my high school alma mater. I wanted to see if the “Midwinter Recess” of my youth endured. For those of us who loathed the high school experience with a passion, this week off—even if it was technically past midwinter—was very welcome indeed. If this revered holiday did in fact endure, I suspected it would be the week—as always—of George Washington’s Birthday.

I am happy to report that the Midwinter Recess has stood the test of time, but not recognition of the Father of Our Country’s natal anniversary, which is now widely known as Presidents’ Day on calendars, in department store promotions, and—sadly—in the public consciousness. It’s the third Monday in February, a federal holiday, which theoretically honors Washington and his forty-plus predecessors, most of whom deserve no such fête.

Anyway, for those of us lucky enough to participate in this year’s Midwinter Recess in New York City, a couple of days therein felt more like late spring weather. The thermometer reached 78 degrees on February 21st, a record breaker not only for the day but for the entire month as well. It was no-jacket-required time, for sure, with many locals donning their summer shorts and footwear. Being overdressed while wearing a light windbreaker in February is downright unnatural. Sweating in lieu of shivering at this time of year is a strange feeling. I don’t much like the cold of winter anymore. April in February I can appreciate, but June in February just strikes an ill-sounding chord.

Plucked now from the recesses of my mind are recollections of past Midwinter Recesses, which were invariably cold and stark—but reassuringly so. It was a bona fide pleasure not to have to arise early on five consecutive frigid and still pretty dark winter morns. These were Mondays through Fridays where I didn't have to trudge the several blocks from my house to busy Broadway to await my school’s “special” bus, which shuttled students to the other side of the Bronx. Trust me, there was nothing special about those buses, which were leased from the city—driver and all—and typically packed like the proverbial sardines in a can. While smoking was prohibited on New York City transit even in the colorful, more libertine 1970s, the ban was rarely enforced on our twenty-minute voyages to and from high school. So what if a fair share of teens puffed away in the sardine cans, leaving those of us who didn’t partake in the poisonous pleasures with a serious second-hand smoke problem to contend with, not to mention beginning our school days short of breath and smelling like dirty chimneys—clothes, skin, and hair.

While I certainly wouldn’t want to relive those infamous bus rides, I wouldn’t mind replaying those Midwinter Recesses of yesterday. They were cold when it was supposed to be cold. And as long as school wasn’t in session, I kind of liked cold in those days.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)