The city went into a state of emergency, but Prabhupada continued his daily walks. Now he had to walk through heavy snow, only a thin dhoti beneath his overcoat, his head covered with his “swami hat.” The main roads were cleared, but many sidewalks were covered with snow. Along the strip of park dividing Broadway, the gusting winds piled snowbanks to shoulder height and buried the benches. The Broadway kiosks, plastered with layers of posters and notices, were now plastered with additional layers of snow and ice. But despite the weather, New Yorkers still walked their dogs, the pets now wearing raincoats and mackinaws. Such pampering by American dog owners left Prabhupada with a feeling of surprised amusement.
As he approached West End Avenue, he found the doormen blowing whistles to signal taxis as usual, but also scattering salt to melt the ice and create safe sidewalks in front of the buildings. In Riverside Park the benches, pathways, and trees were glazed with ice and gave off a shimmering reflection from the sky.
