In Zuccotti Park, the protest's home, demonstrators had set up dozens of tents; many had become topped with snow. In mid-afternoon on Saturday, a man with a broom wandered the park, brushing it off. Others swept slush from the surrounding sidewalks. A few volunteers distributed stacks of foam padding, to keep tent-floors and sleeping bags dry. "Is anybody home?" they'd ask as they approached each tent flap.
Aside from these helpers and half-a-dozen people crowded around the tarp-covered kitchen area, Zuccotti was nearly empty—a sharp contrast to the throngs of protesters and curious-minded people who have usually filled the park during the day. No one drummed. Even the typically heavy police presence was missing; the only cops I could find were trying to stay warm and dry in unmarked cars parked along Cedar Street.
Fire officials had confiscated the occupiers' generators and gasoline the day before, which some considered an effort to freeze the protesters out of Zuccotti.
One man circled the park's perimeter at a clip, shouting support. "The whole world is watching," he hollered. "Don't give up now."