Snowstorm Keeps Government Shut

For three full weeks, thousands of furloughed federal workers cooled their heels at home while President Clinton and Congress bickered over balancing the federal budget. On Monday--after the White House and Congress had finally agreed on a formula to send them back to work--Mother Nature showed who was really the boss.

The massive snowstorm that paralyzed much of the East Coast forced the entire government to shut down and the cavernous limestone buildings where federal bureaucrats work on a typical weekday were virtually deserted.

“The joke around here is that God is getting back at the federal government, the Congress and the President for doing this for three weeks,” said Michelle Brann, a 29-year-old program analyst with the Bureau of Prisons.

Rather than spend another long, tiresome day at home, Brann was one of the few who braved the elements to go to her job. “I was just bored. I was stir-crazy. I wanted to look at my desk,” said Brann, who admitted to vacuuming her apartment four times during the forced layoff and catching up on all her laundry.

Others were drawn to work by the transforming beauty of the storm.

Andrew Glickman, 32, an attorney at the Securities and Exchange Commission, commuted to work on cross-country skis.

“I’m having a great time. Fabulous. This is the sort of snow you dream about,” said Glickman. “You can really appreciate the beauty because the city is at a standstill and there are so few cars out that the snow is still white.”

The White House was up and running, albeit with a skeletal staff. Many staff members sensibly donned woolen shirts, turtlenecks and boots but White House Chief of Staff Leon E. Panetta--poised for more negotiating with Republican leaders over budget issues--stood out in a suit and tie.

There are always those whose principles are the match for any major meteorological event.

The protesters who have been encamped for years in Lafayette Park across the street from the White House continued their peace vigil throughout the storm.

They must staff their wooden displays calling for world peace around the clock or run the risk of losing their Park Service permit.

“When people see us out here in this kind of weather, they ought to know that we are committed,” said David Lockwitch, shoveling out a 6-foot-high sign that depicts a horrific nuclear blast.