Effects

I checked my smoke detectors today. You're supposed to check them when you do the time change (which I did), but anyone who's watched the news today knows why I checked them again. I was out at a fire which killed four people last night. They didn't have smoke detectors. It's become a ritual of mine. Every time I cover a fatal fire, I recheck my smoke detectors.

This job can have an interesting effect on your psyche. There are now a number of things I have done or won't do because of this job for example:

I won't ride a motorcycle. For those of you out there who are advocates of the two-wheel wind in your hair experience, more power to you. It's a perfectly legal activity, and I'm told that it's a lot of fun. I'm glad you enjoy it and I wish you well on your rides, but in this job, I've seen too many of your bretheren killed or maimed to join you.

I won't live in a house trailer. Again, I'm not commenting on whether or not they're a good place to live. In my experience in this job, they burn too fast, so I won't live in one.

I won't have one of those deadbolt locks that is keyed on the inside as well as the outside. I shot a fatal fire where the person died trying to get his keys to unlock his house from the inside.

My child won't have a computer with internet access in her room. This one came up in the past week as Zack Ottenstein and I went on an internet predator sting.

I've said in previous blogs that this job and all you see affects you. I recognize that the fears I just listed are probably irrational fears, but they're my fears and they were put there by what I've seen in this job... Last year, when a child was killed in a house fire on Floyd Street, I bought fancy new smoke detectors that are wirelessly linked so if one goes off, they all do... Today I checked to make sure they're still working.

Address challenged

In news, you spend a lot of time trying to find certain locations: a school, a fire/crime scene, the home of someone you need to interview... you get the idea. With the advent of GPS units and things like MapQuest, you can find an address pretty easily, but I've come to realize that there are an inordinate number of people and places that are evidently address challenged.

By address challenged, I mean that if you ask someone there what their address is, they say, "What direction are you coming from?" Why do they need to know what direction I'm coming from? Does their address change if I approach their house from the north rather than the south? I really don't understand.

Actually I do. It's because a large number of people apparently don't have addresses. The larger the city, the less you see this. You still see it quite a bit in Toledo, but this was especially prevalent in Huntington, IN, home of the last newspaper I worked at. In Huntington, I didn't live at 1755 Freedom Street. I lived at, take the bypass until you get to the intersection where Arbys and K-mart sit. Turn so you're going away from those and go until the road forks. Take the left fork. Go three streets and turn left. It's the second to last house on the right.

The smaller the town, the more this comes up. Two examples for your consideraton...

A) Markle, IN... I was looking for a street. Not a specific house, just a street. I stopped in a gas station and asked for directions. The girl at the counter stared at me blankly for a couple of minutes and said, "I don't know where that street is. Who lives there?" When I explained that I didn't know, I just needed the street, she asked one of the customers standing there who asked the same question, "Who lives there?" It would seem that in Markle people can't find streets or addresses, but they can find each other.

B) Bloomfield, NM.. In this instance, I was looking for the middle school. Unable to locate it, I stopped for directions. The guy at the counter thought for a second and said, "You know where Cindy's Diner used to be about 10 years ago? It sits right behind that." Now, seriously, if I knew where things used to be 10 years ago, would we have been having that conversation?

Apparently, that was a big thing when I worked in New Mexico, giving directions by where things used to be. I would get things like that on assignment sheets all the time. Finally, I stood up in in a staff meeting and said that people had to stop assigning me to places that used to be. The only building that used to be that I could find was the Old Post Office, and that was because it actually had a sign out front that said, "Old Post Office."

Admittedly, there are indeed people who need things like this. A coworker of mine used to go to her favorite greenhouse by taking the highway at the end of her street until she got to the billboard by where the cows used to be and turning right. This was pretty much how she used to find everything (her children would actually pack food if they were driving anywhere with only Mom). But even she has embraced the 21st Century, admitting that with MapQuest and a cell phone, she can find anyplace.

So, is it just me or has anyone else out there besides me noticed the address challenged? You can drop me an email or send me a letter at:

WTVG 13abc
Take 475 to the Airport Road exit, turn so you're going away from the movie marquee. Go until you get to the intersection with the Baskin Robbins and turn left. Go until you get to the intersection with the Speedway and turn right. Go to just before the second traffic light and we're the big brick building on the corner on your right.

Back to the Blog

Ok, so it's been a reeeeeeeally long time since I've been blogging. Chalk it up to summer being a time when the beast goes on a diet, laziness, or whatever, but I'm going to get back at it. I actually have a few things to talk about in upcoming entries, my seven days in the Findlay floods leaps to mind, but I'm going to come back with a rare burst of honesty in the news. On Sunday, Jennifer Jarrell and I chased a story about three guys who were arrested for allegedly breaking into the Omnisource and stealing copper. "Perp walks" are usually pretty uneventful. You sit at the police station for several hours until you finally get a few seconds of activity when the cops walk the guys they arrested down the hall to take them to jail. A large percentage of the time, the person will make an effort to hide their face. Reporters will usually toss a question or two at the perp, but he/she will rarely answer. If the person in cuffs has something to say, it's usually proclaiming innocence, but on Sunday, we got a rare burst of brutal honesty out of one of the three guys in custody...

Point of view...

Over the last few days, I've been thinking about my view of the world. I think I noticed it because of Stewart Pittman's article in this month's News Photographer magazine where he wondered, with all of the death and pain he's waded through over the years, what kind of karma he's collecting. Whatever prompted it, I've noticed that I have kind of a strange view of the world around me -- most of my points of reference on the world are bad.

Following the fire rescue I mentioned in the previous post, I got an email from old friends who live in Archbold. They had heard my name on TV, checked our website, found my blog and emailed me from there. They wondered about when I moved to Toledo. I gave the date, but also described it as about two weeks before the children were killed in the apartment fire at Norwich Apartments.

As I was driving through town with my wife and kid the other day, I mentioned a couple of places I was familiar with as we passed by. The scene of a shooting, a drug house, a place that was raided for prostitution, a fatal crash scene...

When I talk to friends of mine from the business and they're updating me on things, it involves things like, "Remember that kid who shot and killed his dad on that farm just outside town?"

Just this morning, my producer asked if I needed a map to Woodley Street. I said no, it's where that last murder/suicide was.


Read the about me section of this blog. It's basically a list of the worst events in recent Toledo history.

So much of what I remember of people and places has some sort of bad element to it. It has bothered me at different times that it doesn't bother me more. A friend once told me that it's because I have a place to put the emotions that should go with some of the things I've seen in my career and the fact that it bothers me that it doesn't bother me is enough.

In his article, Pittman wonders what kind of karma he's collected over the years. We're observers to these events, so I really don't think we could be collecting bad karma any more than the people we see standing on a corner watching a traffic accident. But I do think that we're collecting an odd persepctive on life and the world.

Being there...

When I first got into photojournalism, one of the first adages I learned was, "F-8 and be there." The F-8 is an average lens setting, and the being there part is obvious: The photojournalist is the only one in the news profession who absolutely, positively has to be at the location of the event to do his job.

The corollary to this is what my dad and grandfather told me over the years, "I'd rather be lucky than good." Luck plays a huge part in the being there end of our profession, and luck was there when I was shooting exclusive fire rescue video on Wednesday.

Just to make this blog a little longer for the folks who have been giving me a hard time about that, I'm going to go back to Tuesday and start from there...

My normal shift on Wednesdays is 9:30am to 6:30pm, but on Tuesday our Assistant News Director asked me to change and work nightbeat to cover a vacation.

So, Wednesday afternoon, Zack Ottenstein and I were on our way around town to collect information on an alleged rapist. Our trip went from the jail to the detective bureau downtown to the courthouse and finished at the Northwest Police Station near Sylvania and Douglas, where the Special Victims Unit is.

With a mug shot and a news release in hand, we were headed back to the station. We were at the corner of Douglas and Central when I heard the police and fire dispatch units for an occupied structure fire. Shooting a fire seemed very much preferable to going back to the station and being handed a stack of editing chores, so I said we should go.

Zack knew where the street was, and we were only a few blocks away. As we headed there, I heard the radio traffic that there may be kids trapped inside.

We pulled onto the street just as the fire trucks were coming to a halt. Not seeing any smoke or fire, I parked just past a hydrant at the middle of the street, figuring that we didn't want to get caught inside the hoses if the FD decided they needed that hydrant.

I pulled my gear and headed toward the house. About three houses away, I could hear the firefighters hitting the door with an axe, but it was the sight that really got me moving. I saw a woman with a baby at a second floor window and a ladder going up. Figuring this would go quickly, I dropped my tripod in the front yard of a house, shouldered the camera and started running.

I came past a tree that partially obscured my view of the scene and started rolling. I watched in black and white (we don't have color viewfinders) as a baby was passed down the ladder, and then a small child. Then the firefighters broke out the window with an axe and brought out a bigger child and finally their mother.

Thankfully, everyone was all right and the fire turned out to be fairly minor, started by a candle in the dining room.

We interviewed the battallion chief at the scene, and later, we interviewed the firefighter who was at the top of the ladder. Both said that it was a very easy rescue. They were pretty matter-of-fact about it, but it seemed pretty impressive to me.

In the interview, the firefighter talked about all the problems and obstacles that could have kept them from making that rescue: fire coming from the windows, being unable to get into the building quickly, having to negotiate around parked cars, trees, and hoses with the ladder, and that none of those obstacles were there for them. At the scene of the fire, one of the other photogs was talking to me about the obstacles (the distance he had to travel, the traffic, etc.) that kept him from getting there when the rescue was happening.

On this day, the fire department didn't have any obstacles, and neither did we. So, an "easy rescue" became exclusive video.

In breaking news, so much of the time, being there is at least 2/3 of the battle and as my dad and grandfather have always said, "I'd rather be lucky than good."

Bad day

Recently I had been talking about the fact that I've just had nothing to say in my blog. This was not the way I wanted to come up with something to write about...


Today was a bad day. Before I came into work I had to have our cat Guinness put down. Before anyone asks, yes, he's named after the beer. So is our cat Killian as well as Pauli. The most recent addition, a stray named Spots... well, Mallorie named named him. Guiness had been sick for over a week and had quit eating and drinking. We thought we had pulled him out, but he quit eating and drinking again, his weight had dropped from 17 to just over 8 and we just knew it was time, as did Dr. Ferguson.

So, why write about this in a blog that's basically about journalism? Quite simply, it was photojournalism that brought the big guy into our lives.

As journalists we're supposed to be "detatched observers," but how can you not be affected by all you see, who you meet and where you go? Sometimes it's easier to be detached, I was pretty detached at the fatal crash on SR2 yesterday, but everything we do, everywhere we go, and everything we see has some effect on us. Sometimes just more than others.

It was fall of 1994 and I was shooting stills freelance. On this particular week, I was doing shots in a shelter in Farmington, NM for Cat Fancy magazine. In the middle of the cat cages, there was this big, fuzzy, friendly guy. He had kittens all around him and as people would come through looking at the cats, they would jump toward the kittens. He loved attention and would reach out with a paw through the bars to the people, but they were too busy with the kittens. I took a liking to him and would play with him and pet him in between pictures. On my last day of shooting, the director of the shelter walked by and put a big red X on the card on his cage door. The red X meant his time was up. By this point, I was too involved and couldn't let that happen. And so, my then girlfriend, now wife, and I brought home a second cat. He and his sister (Killian) moved with us when we left New Mexico so I could take a staff job in Indiana. He kept an eye on our new baby when we added her to the family. A few years later, he escaped and was missing for four weeks. I even had a thank you for all the people who gave us tips about his whereabouts put on the editorial page of the paper where I was working. While he was missing another stray claimed us. He played with her for the next couple of years after he came home. A year or so after moving to Toledo, he was diagnosed with diabetes, leaving us giving him a daily insulin shot and keeping him on a special diet. Over the years, he slowed down some, but he was still pretty vital until about a week and a half ago when he came down with some kind of infection.

Finally, 13 years later, after a week and a half of fighting, medication and vet visits, the big red X caught up with us.

The coverage that we do always affects us and sometimes gives us a friend. Funny thing... the story I was shooting for was cancelled and the pictures were never published.

I've seen it all?

I've spent a lot of time over the years as an observer, and I've seen a lot of different things from funny to sad and everywhere in between. Just when I start thinking I've seen everything, somebody has to grab me, slap me in the face, and say, "watch this."

This was the case on Sunday when the storms hit Toledo. I was running hither and yon like a madman, trying to shoot everything I could. Finally, our desk sent me to Franklin Street near Bancroft. Three cars were stranded in water halfway up the doors. I waded in (with hipwaders... a blog about that is forthcoming) and shot video of a guy pushing a car out of the water. Once the car is free of the water, I started to try to talk the guy into an interview. While we're talking, I hear someone yell "You shoulda bought a Honda!!!!" from behind me. I turned around and watched this set of hysterical events transpire...



NOW, I think I've seen it all. Who's going to prove me wrong?

Happy stories

When I wrote the "About Me" portion of this blog, I commented to one of the other photogs here that, given all the sad stuff I talked about in that writing, I wasn't sure why I didn't jump off the High-Level Bridge. It's an unfortunate fact of the news world that "Plane Lands Safely" simply isn't news. As a result, we spend our professional lives as witness to the worst events of other peoples lives.

The fact that I went through so many things without it getting to me bothered me for quite awhile. Then a psychology major friend of mine told me that the fact that it bothered me that things weren't getting to me was a good sign... that I simply had a place to put the emotion so I could do my job. I certainly hope she was right.

Having said that, I agree with what Justin said in is blog. Occasionally you get to do a happy story, and that helps to temper all the bad news you deal with. Such was the case last week when the kids at Toledo Children's Hospital and St. Vincent Mercy Medical Center got some special visitors. ...


In addition to getting to see the smiles on all those kids' faces, being that we are an ABC-owned (and therefore Disney-owned) station, I got to "get my picture taken with the boss."

Some days, it's just nice to smile.

Waiting...

A lot of times in news we spend a substantial amount of time waiting. Waiting for meetings to start or end, waiting for police or fire statements, or in the case of Monday night, waiting for a delayed airplane deliviering soldiers home from Iraq.

When you're waiting, you pass the time however you can. Sometimes it can get a little goofy. When you start goofing around and record it, it looks like this, a tv interview version of mad libs:

Special props to Sheldon for being a good sport.

Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?

"If the fire jumps the road, we're running over that hill and down into the creek on the other side," from a fire lieutenant as a wall of flames approaches in a wildland fire in New Mexico.

"You need to move to the other side of the building. We're evacuating everyone downwind because of the toxic fumes," from a Fire Chief near Minster, OH as bits of plastic rained from the sky at a recycling plant fire.

The shouting of rioters, the thump of concussion grenades, the smell of teargas, the rattle of all the windows in my news truck shattering and falling to the ground along Bronson Ave.

"You know we've got an officer shot. The shooter's still loose around here somewhere, and as far as we know, he's still armed. At this point I can't guarantee your safety," from a sergeant on a foggy night at the corner of Bush and Ontario.

Over the years, there have been a number of cues that I haven't been in the safest of positions as I've done my job. Diane Larson pointed it out in our broadcast during the Reliance Propane fire: Newspeople are a different breed, we tend to move toward those things rather than away. In one of my favorite movies, January Man, Kevin Kline plays a firefighter turned detective and says, "Big fire... Everyone else runs out, you run in... Basically, it's a maniac's job." A bit over the top, but it still applies.

Then, every once in awhile, there are those moments that make me ask myself, "Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?"

Sometimes, it's in a really uncomfortable situation like when all my extremeties have gone numb at the scene of a car crash at night, in the winter in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes, it's in really boring situations, like sitting in a trial listening to an attorney question a witness over the most minute of details.

Other times, it's in highly charged situations. Like dodging falling limbs while hail pummels the car as I try to get to a funnel cloud sighting in Indiana, or realizing that the Lucas County SWAT team has made a ring around us, all eyes out, to walk us up the street to safety.

That was the case Tuesday, as I felt the ground shake under my feet from the tanks exploding while I carried a load of cable to my Jeep for the second evacuation.

Certain things (like the SWAT thing I just mentioned) make you realize the gravity of your situation. On Tuesday, it was two things. First was hearing fire officials saying that if the big tanks BLEVE'd, they'd vaporize a quarter-mile radius. The second was the realization that when officials told us to get out of the area, they were coming with us.

After Jason Klocko had set up the live truck, we pulled out two reels of cable to set up a shot where you could see the fire. Then came the first order to move out. Thinking we were fortunate in truck location, we pulled the two loads of cable the other direction from the truck and set up again. Then came the second order to move. This time the truck had to go too. Jason started to collapse the mast and pull in one reel of cable toward the live truck. I pulled the other toward me, away from the live truck. I hefted it onto my shoulder and started toward my Jeep, which was just up the road. Behind me, I could hear the tanks blowing and I could feel the ground shake under my feet. I looked over my shoulder and saw the live truck pass by with Justin shooting video out the windshield. Beyond that I could see the fireball beyond the treeline getting bigger. For a brief moment, I imagined my epitaph reading, "He gave his life saving cable."

At that point, the question came into my head again, "Is this really what I want to do when I grow up?"

Fortunately, the big BLEVE never came and, two setups and teardowns later (props to Jason for the yeoman job he did moving that truck all those times) we were on the edge of that field I mentioned in my previous post; where our biggest worries were a mild case of dehydration and whether we could get enough time between live hits to send back soundbites.

I don't know what it is in me or my colleagues that stops us from running the other way when we hear or see the cues that say we may not be in the safest location.

What I do know is that, at the end of the day, when I can feel my fingers again and the adrenaline has gone down, the answer to whether I want to do this when I grow up is, "Of course I do. What else is there?"

The kindness of strangers

Two Tuesdays, two disasters. Four times to say thanks.

For newspeople, a disaster of any scale can be a study in deprivation: Food, drink, sleep (depending on the time involved). Simply put, when a disaster hits, you jump into your truck and go. From there, it could be hours before you're able to get to a restaurant, convenience store, whatever. Toward that end, some of us keep a few supplies in there. A thermos of coffee, a bottle of water, maybe some kind of semi-non-perishable snack, petrified french fries under the front seat, or maybe nothing. It's the times when either you have nothing, you've consumed what little you had in the truck, or as Justin said in his blog, you're separated from your truck by the urgency of an evacuation, that you truly appreciate the samaritans out there...

A week ago, Zack Ottenstein and I were dispatched to go storm chasing. We worked our way down through Maumee and into Perrysburg following the tail of the storm. Finally we received word that there was a possible funnel cloud between Bowling Green and Woodville. We raced down route 20 toward Woodville, arriving between storm hits to find quarter size hail on the ground. We set up to go live in front of a house on College Ave., and taped an interview with Wid and Judie Hessalbart, the folks who live there, about their experience as the storm passed through town. While we were on live, they made and brought coffee out to us. Allowing us to use their front yard for a TV studio was effort enough. The coffee was just over the top.

As round two of the storm rolled into Woodville, we broke down the live truck and headed for a different area. A couple of live reports later, as Zack, Ron Diaz (the live truck engineer), and I are discussing our next move, we're interrupted by a pizza delivery driver, who hands us a pepperoni pizza and some cheesy bread. It seems the gang at Beck's Pizza in Woodville saw Zack on TV and thought we might be hungry. I know where I'll be eating the next time I'm assigned to the Woodville area.

Flash forward a week. Reliance Propane bursts into flames, and Zack and I are on the road again. After a number of evacuations, Justin Billau, Alexis Means, Jason Klocko (engineer), Zack and I are standing on the edge of a farmer's field in Monroe County, roasting in the afternoon sun. For this one, the thanks go to Zack's friends Dave and Mary Liske of Luna Pier. Zack gave them a call and they showed up on the edge of this field with a cooler full of ice and a case of bottled water. They definitely get an above and beyond the call award. When Zack spoke with them, he thought we were going to be at Mason High School. News being an ever changing thing, we weren't there when they arrived, and they made the extra effort to find us, saving at least Billau and myself from dehydration. Dave has written about their ordeal in his blog.

Later that day, Zack and I are at the Erie Fire Station, where the shelter has been set up for the evacuees. Not only do we leave with interviews and information, we take with us a couple of chili dogs (consumed on site) and two pizzas (consumed later in the live truck). They offered drinks, but thanks to the Liskes, we had plenty of those.

So, a special thank you to all those who donated time, effort, food and drink to the 13abc newsgathering effort.

And then you can have lunch...

In the previous post, I wrote about the news beast and how it must be fed each day. After the day I had Friday, I have to mention that the beast's appetite doesn't always stop at news.

My day Friday actually started Thursday (one of my days off) evening with a message from our assignment manager, "Chris, this is Jenny at the station, I was calling to see if you could come in at 8:30 (my normal start time on Fridays is 9:30) tomorrow so you can shoot a court case. Give me a call and let me know."

I made a quick call to the desk to let them know I could.

And on Friday...

8:30 a.m. - I arrive at the station, load and head for the courthouse. I'm not a big breakfast eater, so I'm just having coffee on the way.

11:00 a.m. Having sat through just over two hours of testimony with no resolution, I leave the courthouse and call in...

Me: "Jenny, this is Chris. I'm done here. They heard testimony, but three people weren't available so they've continued to the first of May."

Jenny: "OK. Bring that back and then you can have lunch."

11:30 a.m. I arrive back to the station and Jenny greets me, "They need you to cut a VO of that for the midday, do that, then you can have lunch."

I head for the edit bays.

11:50 a.m. I'm about to send the courtroom VO to the server for the midday when I look up and see Jenny...

Jenny: "Are you done with that?"

Me: "Just sending now."

Jenny: Holding out a map, "OK. There's a cement truck that overturned, I'm going to need you to go check that out and then you can have lunch."

Me: "This is on Sylvania-Metamora road. That's a haul from here."

Jenny: "I know, but it sounds like it'll be there for awhile."

12:25 p.m. I'm finished with the overturned cement truck. Fortunately, the driver only had a minor injury. As I load my gear into my Jeep, I feel my cell phone vibrate on my hip...

Jenny: "Chris, are you done out there?"

Me: "Yes"

Jenny: "OK, I know this is far away, but I need you to go get a pep rally at Riverside Elementary that Efrem is MC'ing."

Me: "Riverside's nearly at the opposite end of the universe from here."

Jenny: "I know, but you're all I have. When you're done there, you can go have lunch."

1:20 p.m. I've been at Riverside for the past 15 minutes. The pep rally doesn't start for another ten. My phone vibrates again...

Jenny: "Have you finished at Riverside?"

Me: "No, it doesn't start for another ten minutes. I haven't seen Efrem. I don't know if he's here yet."

Jenny: "OK. As soon as it starts, shoot it fast and then come back. You're going to have to go do an interview with Jennifer at 2:00."

Me: "If this thing starts on time, the best I can do is get back to the station to pick her up by 2:00."

Jenny: "OK, just get back as quick as you can."

Me: "So that lunch thing isn't happening."

Jenny: "For you and everyone else."

2:05 Arrive back at the station. Pick up Jennifer Jarrell.

2:35 Arrive at 180th Fighter Wing Base with Jennifer to interview four people who have been waiting for over a half hour.

6:14 After shooting four interviews, editing a package for the 5:30 show, refusing a live shot and two other editing chores, and handing off my 6:00 VOSOT to someone else, I'm sitting in Barry Bagels wolfing down a sandwich in order to get to Sylvania Northview in time to see my daughter sing in her school's Songfest.

The moral of our story:


Some days, the news isn't enough to fill up the news beast. Some days, it has to eat your lunch too.

Why is this news?

Recently, I've had a number of people at accidents and fire scenes asking the question, "Why is this news?"

The answer to "Why is this News?" can get complicated, but on some days, it's just that there's nothing else going on. Last Tuesday is a perfect example of this.

Before I go to last Tuesday, though, I want to do a little tangent on the news beast and the part it plays in the decision process.

An editor once told me that News is a beast that must be fed each day. The news beast doesn't care if you had news that day or not. It only knows that it must be fed. Each and every day, we have an hour and a half of news at 5 and a half hour at 11, whether something happened that day or not. The news beast must be fed...

True story: A number of years ago there was a newspaper editor named George Frye at a small paper in Indiana. George had a paper coming out and no lead story for the front page. Nothing local, no news on the wire. It was just one of those days. The deadline loomed closer... the press needed to run... the news beast needed to eat. Finally, George made the announcement to the newsroom that the next story that came down on the wire would be the lead on the front page. Then the story came across the wire... Olaf, the king of some country so small that nobody had heard of it, had died. (I don't remember the name of the country.) George had his story. It went on the page, but there was another problem. King Olaf dies wasn't a long enough headline to fill the alotted space. But the beast had to be fed. So the press ran, and for that day in Huntington, IN, the big story was Good King Olaf dies. True story!

To this day, I still refer to those days without any news as Good King Olaf days.

For Zack Ottenstein and myself, Tuesday, April 10 was a Good King Olaf day. There just wasn't anything. Every story we tried went to a dead end. Interviews we tried for fell through. Finally, we were able to contact a vetrinarian for a story about the pet food recall. There had been a few more types recalled that day. It wasn't what we were trying for, but it would work. We went and did the interview. Arriving back at the station, our producer, Rob, told us that there was a structure fire on Bigelow and that the Red Cross had been called to help the family. We arrived to find two things: our live truck already on scene, and a garage fire that had spread to the back of the house, but the fire department had managed to contain it to the garage, which was destroyed and the breezeway behind the house, which was heavily damaged. Nobody was hurt, but the family was going to be out of their house for the night. So, I shot the firefighters putting out the hotspots, Zack and I interviewed the battallion chief, I edited the video together with a short soundbite from the chief and we led the news live from in front of the house. The beast was fed.

So, was this news? To the family put out of their house for the night, certainly. For the neighborhood, probably. For all of Toledo, maybe. Was it "big news?" On that particular night... it was.