Punxatawney Who?

February 1999
Punxatawney Who?
By Bob Coskrey

Everyone knows about the legend of the groundhog that emerges from is burrow every February. If it’s a sunny day and he’s scared by his shadow, he scampers back into his den and through some zoometeorological phenomenon, we have six more weeks of winter. If it’s a cloudy day and he does not see his shadow, and is not frightened by other unnatural phenomenon, such as cruel natured children carrying a picture of Linda Tripp or the eardrum imploding sounds emanating from a Kathy Lee Gifford Christmas special CD, then he stays outside and we have an early spring.

It is uncommon knowledge that before the people in Punxatawney, Pennsylvania, invented the town groundhog mascot, Punxatawney Phil, hoping to cash in on a major theme park built around the waddling wood chuck (that’s another name for a groundhog), Europeans had similar traditions involving other animals, such as bears, badgers, wolverines, and other furry fauna for hundreds of years. They would plan their seasonal planting based on these animals’ behavior, which probably, if they kept records, would prove to be as accurate as your local TV weatherman.

A prescription for disaster, if you ask me. What would happen should there be no shadow due to an eclipse of the sun or perhaps Janet Reno or Marlon Brando walking by? There would be an incorrect prediction, that’s what, and crops would die, possibly followed by people.

And why did they choose a groundhog, and not a more well known and attractive animal such as a bear, a fox, or a rabbit? Supposedly, we can blame those troublemaking Germans for this too, when they introduced the legend into Pennsylvania. And if we’re stuck with the groundhog, whey not use its cuter name, the wood chuck? At least there’s that little alliterative woodchuck riddle:

“How much wood would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

Which is superior to:

“How much ground would a groundhog hog, if a groundhog could hog ground?”
Unfortunately, in this part of the country, the woodchuck/groundhog doesn’t even exist, so we, in essence, have no legendary creature to perform a yearly world renowned prognostication event. But that, of course, doesn’t mean we can’t have one.

First, I have a suggestion for us East Cooperites. The legend of the East Cooper Black Labrador Retriever: Each February, we select, at random, a typical East Cooper resident’s home and observe its 2,500 foot dock erection plunged into moistness of the yielding, virgin marsh. If the owners’ black lab bounds onto the dock with a red bandana around its neck, spring will come early, new home building and property values will grow threefold, banks will outnumber trees (since money grows in the former, no on the latter), most 14 year olds will get a Landrover for their birthdays, and a palpable scent of smugness will continue to permeate the salty air.

If the bandana is any other color, spring will be 6 weeks later, new home building and property values wil show a humiliating 50% increase, the bank to resident ratio will remain at a troubling 1 to 5, most 14 year olds will endure the indignity of receiving a Volvo station wagon for their birthdays, and the palpable scent of smugness will only be noticeable during the Boone Hall Oyster Festival.

The city of Charleston could flaunt its Charleston Butterfly (a.k.a. Palmetto Bug or Flying Cockroach). Each February a random Below Broad home is selected. That night, a two pound benne seed cookie is left on the kitchen floor and the light is turned off. Fifteen minutes later, the light is flipped back on. If the cockroach (it is a given that one will be there) is observed dragging the cookie, it is captured, its wings are painted the colors of a butterfly, it is released from St. Michael’s belltower, and there will be 6 more weeks of winter, thus postponing the dreaded annual tourist stampede.

If the roach simply bypasses the cookie and scampers away, it is hunted down and swatted flat, with an old rolled-up Beasley for Governor poster (picture side down), its remains are symbolically donated to the Taste of Goose Creek Festival, and we will have an early spring, initiated by the annual Flip-flop Wearers’ Convention.

Last, but definitely not least, Myrtle Beach would introduce its legend of the Horry County Shag Beetle, a hardy insect that curiously makes its home only in the windmill hole of putt-putt golf courses. If the beetle emerges from his hazardous habitat and does its famous shag dance, there will be an early spring, heralded by a record number of Canadian visitors, Myrtle Beach will be named an honorary province (Sastackiwan), and the city will become the yearly site of the Elvis Impersonator Convention.

If the dithyrambic creature scurries from its at-risk abode and is squashed lifeless by a disoriented duffer’s drive, there will be 6 more weeks of cold weather, vanguarded by the persistent Canadian tourists, all of whom will be named honorary Myrtle Beachers, also qualifying them for permanent Ugly American status abroad, and the city will become the annual site of the Gayest Guy on the Grand Strand competition (also known as the Richard Simmons Look-alike Contest).

So you see, every community, if it is just a little creative and a lot determined, can have its own special annual prognosticator event, insuring it unending publicity and tons of tourist dollars.

If I may ad just one more thought, don’t be timid about self-promotion. Believe me, this self-respect thing is vastly overrated. Just ask a politician.