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.