“Sybil Bruncheon's My Merry Memoirs”… page 336… A Woman’s Home Is Her Castle… sort of.

Back in the Winter of 1920, I (secretly) lived in the Belvedere Castle in Central Park during a really tough time financially… um… involving some unwise investments in asparagus futures and… oh… whatever. Anyway, after the asparagus market crashed, the alternative was to sleep in doorways and on park-benches (if the weather was nice enough) or in old wooden packing crates down by the loading docks when it wasn’t!). But that particular Winter, a packing crate wasn’t going to be quite enough… so I managed to sneak into beautiful Belvedere Castle when the lock on the front gate broke and no one got around to replacing it… (alright, I’ll admit; I had gotten pretty handy with a brick on a particularly frigid night!).

Anyway, during the day when strollers would wander by, I pretended to be a glamorous meteo-, a meteo-, a lady-weather-iatrix and to be taking "measurements". I’d purse my lips and shake my head worriedly over clipboards full of all sorts of maps and nonsense doodles... sort of like a cross between Jean Harlow and Jim Cantore. Most folks had never seen a woman weather-scientist back then, and I would point at the sky and say things like “bariatric pressure”, “thermos-dynamics”, “atmospheric conviction”, and “accumulo-nimble”, etc., etc. and they would ah and oooh, and ask for my autograph. I attracted larger and larger crowds of well-wishers, admirers, and gentleman-callers for all of January and February. Of course the park rangers got suspicious when I accidentally sat on my anemometer while eating a box of expensive chocolates and three-day-old celery from a vegetable stand. One of the cops wrote me up in his report saying I had an “anal-mometer” sticking out of my bloomers… JEEESH!

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