Miracle at Oceana

Miracle at Oceana
By John Koehler - Head Burpenfartzen Brother  

It was a very tough week to be positive about the weather forecast for Oktoberfest. Seriously,  how much worse could we get than a Northeaster parked right off the coast, with winds strong enough to kill tents and rain enough to bring flooding.

A tornado would have been worse, for sure, and we could have stood there under a shelter, eating a brat and drinking a beer while calling out, “Cow,” and “Keg,” as they flew by in front of us.

Other festivals were canceling, but not ours. We were on no matter what and prepared for wet, windy weather. Countless calls were taken by Al and other Noblemen by concerned people wanting to know if we were aware of the weather forecast, were we stupid, were we on, did we have a rain date, were we on medication. Some of us were. The rest were on beer.

We told them we were on no matter what. We told them we would be there and asked if they would be there, implicitly suggesting they were girly boys if they didn’t come. They thought we were crazy, but they said yeah, they would be there.

Depending on the weather!

After a fairly calm and dry Friday setup at the site, the real weather came in Friday night, with the “eye” passing over early Saturday, waking us up to thunderstorms, horizontal rain and very big wind. Very bad stuff, indeed. I had nightmares and slept poorly.

So by the time I walked outside to get the paper early Saturday morning, I was grumpy and ornery, pissed off about the weather and wondering why we couldn’t be the lucky ones to get the beautiful weather of the previous weekends. I walked past the trees bordering my driveway, picked up my paper and looked out and up towards the northeast, where the destruction came.

And there, mocking me, was a large hole of blue sky, with golden rays of sunshine streaming down and filling my heart with hope. Maybe God was sending me a message, kind of saying, “Keep your chin up, boy! Who do you think controls the weather?”

But then the hole filled in again with clouds, and I headed off to Oktoberfest. We hoped for the best with quiet desperation. But it wasn’t raining. Meanwhile calls continued to come in from folks all over the area. Suffolk was in the midst of a downpour that would bring eleven inches. Closer to home, most of the Beach was being pounded with rain.

But Oceana was dry.

They called expecting us to shut it down. They called expecting us to give them the rain date, the rain delay, the rain reason. But the simple truth was that it was not raining at Oceana. All day long we got a few little spits of rain, mild showers, while all day long the rest of the City got wet.

It was a miracle at Oceana.

What else could it be? We literally were the only place around not getting slammed, and apparently the only dry spot in town. People came with umbrellas, and rain slickers and hats, only to never need them. They walked through the gates in amazement to see our own Noble oasis, where a supernatural rain moratorium had apparently been called.

No doubt prayer had been invoked by many, whether in casual “oh Lord, don’t let it rain,” or serious bended knee submission. Paul Thatcher claimed it was his prayer to his son Justin that made the difference, and who could argue it. We know that weather is something that just happens, but was that the case on Saturday? Hmmmm, perhaps not.

Maybe this was truly a Noble dispensation, a heavenly reward for our cause. Or maybe it was just a lucky weather day. But how do you explain that we were the only dry place in town? How do you explain Suffolk’s eleven inches, and the flooding around us, compared to our lack of precipitation?

Some would call it luck. But we call it a miracle. It was a miracle that we were able to do what we did on that day, the day the rains came. But not to Oktoberfest. Not to Oceana. Because on that day, October 7, 2006, the evidence says that the Noble Dude himself gave us a weather miracle at Oceana.

Postscript – several hundred came to Oktoberfest, in spite of the weather. Many of them were walkups. The words is getting out. There is no doubt that with good weather we would have had at least twice as many people.

This year, in spite of the weather, the Noblemen owned Oktoberfest. They came and claimed it as their own. No longer a Burpenfartzenfest, Oktoberfest became just another Noble party, and Noble men gave their hearts and hands to make it their own. Ein Prosit!