Show Me What You Got

This past weekend, like a lot of people, I nervously watched Hurricane Gustav approach New Orleans, hoping and praying against the unusually cruel fate of a city being decimated by two major hurricanes in three years. As the storm dropped from a category 3 to a category 2 just before it hit the coastline, and then to a category 1 as it passed over Louisiana, like a lot of people, I breathed a sigh of relief. Besides seeing that the storm wasn’t nearly as destructive as Hurricane Katrina, I knew that whatever damage the city did sustain, it’d be in much better hands this year given that those running FEMA back in 2005 are now in charge of maintenance at my condo complex.

Even as the drama lessened, however, I couldn’t help but keep watching – partly to be sure the storm wouldn’t suddenly pick up in intensity, but also because, I hate to admit, the media’s coverage of approaching hurricanes is wildly entertaining.

Gone are the days of the rookie weatherman clinging to a tree while the tenured studio reporter, say Ted Koppel, wished him good luck in riding out the storm. Koppel, for instance, didn’t dream of doing on-the-spot hurricane coverage given the worst case scenario was that he wouldn’t make it back, and the best case scenario was that his hair wouldn’t. Now, all the well-recognized, well-compensated reporters stand on the shorelines doing their imitation of Lieutenant Dan on the shrimp boat in Forest Gump.

I first noticed the trend a few years ago, before Katrina’s far-reaching impact, when Florida was hit by 2-3 relatively mild hurricanes/tropical storms within the span of a few weeks. The high-profile reporters from the 24-hour news networks, the major nightly news networks and, of course, the Weather Channel were all over it. Or should I say in it.

Believing that somehow a microphone and a company-issued rain slick were all they needed to protect themselves from the elements, reporters from numerous stations would stand underneath stop lights that were spinning out of control while saying things like, “Local authorities are urging people to stay in their homes and away from downed power lines.” Others stood on the beach, surrounded by massive amounts of electrical equipment, and said, “As you can see behind me, some folks are ignoring the dangers of the storm and are venturing outdoors. They’re really taking a chance by not seeking shelter. I mean, some of these people don’t even have rain slicks.”

During that same season, while hundreds of cars drove away from town on the street behind her, one female reporter was visibly annoyed to announce that the hurricane she was covering had slowed down and would be delayed in coming ashore. Later, another meterologist sustained a storm-related injury while off the air, but once the cameras were rolling again, she acted like she caught the Super Bowl-winning touchdown.

“Catherine, is everything alright?” asked the anchorman.

“Hell yes! I just got hit by debris! I’m going to Disney World!”

But the main attraction was and always will be Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel. This weatherman/fullback/hurricane pugilist has devoted his life to covering hurricanes, at least those that still have the guts to come ashore after seeing him stand in their path. I actually didn’t see Cantore much during the Gustav coverage, but that’s probably because he doesn’t waste his time with anything less than a category four. During those times when Cantore does get the itch to see what a hurricane is made of, he’s been seen leaving a boring, weakly-pounded section of beach to find a stronger stretch of the storm. Luckily, he keeps the cameras rolling while en route, and even ups the ante by riding in the back of a pickup truck and delivering his report the whole way. That’s right, when the 80-90 mph winds aren’t enough, he creates more wind – if not for everyone else, then at least for himself. I imagine that once the cameras are turned off he can be seen mooning approaching tropical depressions.

Forecasters are extremely valuable in letting us know when we can expect storms to hit. But by the time hurricanes reach land, the locals have ceased watching TV and hopefully are no longer in town or are hiding in their homes or shelters. Standing on the beach or under a whirling stop light as the eye passes through is obviously meant to entertain those of us farther inland who are still watching TV.

For this I say, "Job well done, weather people. Job well done."