Copyright 2008 Ben S. Pollock
DATELINE MIRTHOLOGY — In the Mall of the Ozarks where the Toasts of the Town shop, where the vivacious news anchors and the handsome sports anchors check out the best duds to wear on the air, the meteorologists also lurk. They grab the nice clothes as well, but you’ll usually find them moving between the Sharper Radio Shack and Gizmos ‘R’ Us.
Unfortunately, expense accounts are tight — it would be due to the recession but we’re assured that business is booming in Northwest Arkansas — so the weathermen and weatherwomen after browsing end up near the mall fountain. At the east side of this centerpiece sits a throne. To be specific, the chair is in the water for it belongs to Unkle Katrina, the Santa Claus of Weather.
Unkle Katrina holds court year-round, for bad weather doesn’t quit, except maybe in Southern California. The area’s meteorologists, representing the three TV stations, try not to stop by more than once a week, and they try not to beg when any of their competitors is there, but on this Wednesday, coincidence strikes. The men smile cautiously at one another but stand in line. They need their patron saint.
As the line grows shorter the men take off their leather dress shoes and socks as they have to wade a few feet in the six-inch water to get to Katrina. They cuff up their wool trouser legs as well.
“Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Hurricane Season, DaVinci. Have you been an accurate forecaster?
“Oh, yes, Unkle Katrina. I like your name; it’s like a hurricane but I trust it because you’re everyone’s dad’s brother. I’m a Certified Broadcast Meteorologist now so I’m hoping for great presents.”
“OK, my boy, how about “Live Power Doppler Radar” for KNWA/KFTA?”
“Oh, boy.”
“Let me think. You’re both NBC and Fox. Here’s Animated Radar, where Web site visitors can ‘click on their community.'”
Unkle Katrina looks something like Dr. John, roly-poly, bearded and with a lilting Arcadian accent. Also, he dresses like a Mardi Gras float — not like a krewe king, but the entire float.
“Grayson, come sit on my knee.”
“Thanks, Mister Katrina, I mean Unkle. I have the Seal of Approval from both the American Meteorological Society and the National Weather Association. May my station have Interactive Doppler Radar? It’s the ‘only online radar in the market that can zoom in to your county.'”
“OK, Grayson, but you have to promise KFSM will cut in more on prime time programs but quit covering up the commercials. You have to make a 25-degree weather sound like it’s worse than Alaska. You have to make a 10-minute shower more frightening than, well, my namesake. Don’t ever let the audience think rain and winter and thunder are normal. After all, with global warming, you must tell them that they can’t be too scared. Repeatedly.”
“With my direct gaze and boyish voice, persuasion’s a piece of king cake, Unk.”
Katrina sighed. He had toiled for years, and progress had been slow. Until The Weather Channel, current conditions and sketchy forecasts were relegated to the middle of newscasts. If dangerous weather was looming, weather personnel gave bulletins at station breaks. Warnings and alerts were treated seriously. People were urged to grab a flashlight and a portable radio and head to a windowless room — after unplugging the TV so it wouldn’t explode from a surge.
Unkle Katrina looked up and smiled at the third man.
“Look, it’s Draughty from KHBS-KHOG. Didn’t you just get the AMS Seal of Approval?”
“Sure, Unkle Katrina, but my team is cool, too. Tertiary is a Certified Broadcast Meteorologist, and Penelope has passed its written exam and will take the tape evaluation real soon. We can read maps, and point with computer mice. We usually manage to not trip over the cables.”
“Draughty, I am glad that KHOG has kept your Super Doppler Storm Team trim.”
“But Unkle Katrina, all we have is a blog. Every station has blogs.”
“Dirigible, you’re saying that KARK. …”
“I’m Draughty, with KHOG.”
Unkle Katrina eased the young man off his lap and gazed at him kindly. Meteorologists look and sound alike, even when they’re women and even when “of color.” That’s how they’re never unemployed for long, just move from station to station.
“Doppler is Doppler. None of you has an edge on chit-chat with the news team. You’re never funny, and it always sounds fake. Draughty, have you ever thought that all those map screens and static-filled panicky calls from viewers are just so much show biz?”
The bearded gent stretched from his throne in a fountain in the Mall of the Ozarks. He realized he might have been harsh.
“If you can’t draw readers with realistic weather assessments or panicking them, then a blog won’t be enough. Have you thought about stunts, like putting on a coat and seeing for yourself? Get a rowboat; those can float in almost no water, if the street is pretty level. A camera and a microphone, and you’re set.”
“Unkle Katrina, that’s brilliant.”
“Son, when you go to the parking lot, you’ll find a john boat strapped to the top of your station’s SUV.”
“What’s the catch?”
Uncle Katrina grinned. “From now on make the weather warning map down in the corner bigger so viewers miss words of the official weather warnings on the “crawl. Plus, if it’s a show they’re recording, they’ll remember the night forever.”
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