Arrow-right Camera
The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Party Animal Predicts That Spring Is Almost Here

Associated Press

An outdoor bash that looked like a summertime rock concert, complete with bare-chested men and fireworks, was a fitting prelude Sunday to Punxsutawney Phil’s forecast: Spring is nearly here.

The sky was cloudy on Groundhog Day, and the celebrated critter failed to see his shadow at sunrise, just the 12th time that’s happened in 111 years of Pennsylvania prognostications. (The last time, in 1995, turned out to be a bad guess.)

“He’s just kind of complacent and ready to go about the things groundhogs do,” said Bud Dunkel, president of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club.

A shadow, according to tradition, would have indicated six more weeks of winter.

It was a unanimous decision among groundhogs around the nation. Concurring opinions came from New York City’s Staten Island Chuck; Gen. Beauregard Lee of Lilburn, Ga.; Jimmy of Sun Prairie, Wis.; Wanda at the Milwaukee County Zoo; and Buckeye Chuck of Marion, Ohio.

Phil was pulled from his temporary burrow in a hollowed-out stump at 7:25 a.m. by Bill Deeley, whose heavy glove saved his fingers from the annoyed critter’s sharp teeth.

Dunkel then looked into the 15-pound woodchuck’s eyes and pretended to translate “groundhogese.”

The forecast won a cheer from the estimated 20,000-plus fans who had gathered in a small clearing at Gobbler’s Knob in the central Pennsylvania woods. Most had waited for hours as the temperature hovered around a relatively balmy 30.

At sunup, Phil got a wake-up call from a round of fireworks.

If that weren’t enough noise, there was a mass dance and sing-along to “YMCA,” chants of “Day-O! Daylight come and I want to see Phil,” and portly local radio station manager Chris Lash dancing atop Phil’s stump to “Play That Funky Music.”

Police confiscated beer as zealots waved signs reading “We came to see the rat,” “Phil rules!” and “The other white meat.”

“I think we’ve created a monster,” Dunkel said.

Kevin Mason, a sophomore at Villanova, drove five hours through the night on a lark with a carload of classmates.

“We heard it’s ragin’,” said Mason, 19.