Occam’s RazR

10 years ago this very morning, I was working in the news business. I was working the nightside reporting shift for the ABC affiliate here in Birmingham. I was fishing around for a story, to replace the one that I knew someone was going to do.

A couple of days before, a local middle school student named Lindy collapsed and died while running track. The school was in shock, and the family was taking it very hard. The funeral was to be April 9th — and I don’t like doing those stories. It always felt a little invasive for me, but that was the big news of the day. Of course, there were the standard follow-up stories about grief counselors, and the availability of Automated External Defibrillators (AED). I just wanted to find something else.

That “something else” was an alligator. A fifteen-foot long alligator that attacked two men in a canoe. They survived, and shot the alligator. Jerry Wade was my photog partner that day, and we went to get interviews and video with the alligator guys.

However, you’ll never find any file video of either the alligator or Lindy’s funeral. They were overtaken by events.

F-5

That night, 10 years ago, an F-5 tornado ripped across central Alabama. It killed 34 people, most of them in metro Birmingham. For the next week and a half, there was no other news that mattered. There were eyewitness accounts, tales of survival, and tales of heartbreak and loss. The real story was in the way so many communities were brought closer as they recovered from such an awesome destructive force.

Our news Jeep pulled in to affected neighborhoods just minutes after the tornado passed. After one or two live updates, Jerry and I put our gear down and took a break. We had been commandeered by a Marine Policeman who happened to live there — he wanted our lights for a rescue mission. Jerry had the camera light, and I had a 2-million candle-power aircraft landing light. We followed a group of four others about a half of a mile into a field, climbing over felled trees and trying to stay out of the downed power lines in this total darkness. One of the party started raising an objection to our being with them. The patrolman said “Not now. They’re with me, and I need their lights.”

We came upon a house — rather, what was left of one. It was flattened. Pinned underneath that debris was a woman named Dorothy. It took us an hour to dig her out, and clear a path for the pickup truck masquerading as an ambulance. We got her loaded on board, and escorted the truck out, removing any other debris that was in the way.

When we got back to the live truck, it was time to set up for another hit. We sent in a little bit of the video of the rescue, and proceeded to introduce that live. While we were doing the live shot in front of a damaged home, a family of five popped up out from underneath a brick stairway. They were in one corner of the basement to ride out the storm. They picked the right corner, because the other three fell in.

10 Years of Perspective

Now that I look back, I don’t think I was ever as proud of my station as in those moments. When we radioed in that we were being pulled into the rescue effort, there was not a single complaint. No over-eager producers demanding that we stay and go live. No managers cussing us out for doing something human and humane. There were many amazing stories that came out of that storm. I’m proud of all of them, but especially the one I tell now. On that day, and in that way, we got it right.

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