Summer vacation

It's been exactly two months since I last posted something.  I have a half-dozen unfinished entries on various topics...3-D TV, job-hunting (what not to do since I've been trying to hire managers and anchors forever), what to do when a colleague gets a serious illness, moving into a new house, when your youngest child (finally) graduates from college...you know, the stuff that's happened in the past two months. 

I get started and the phone rings or the husband barks or a new neighbor wants to visit or I go to South Dakota to see my family.

Floods, July book, tornadoes, drought, debt ceiling, murder, mayhem, people come and go.

I was asked about this today and I don't have a good excuse so I just decided to announce that I'm on summer vacation and I'll be back in September.  See ya!

Chris Hernandez upon his return from Joplin, MO

News release.

JOPLIN, Mo. – The Missouri Department of Public Safety tonight announced that 31 individuals have been confirmed as deceased as a result of the tornado that devastated Joplin on May 22.

At the direction of Gov. Jay Nixon, Missouri State Highway Patrol troopers have been deployed to expedite the notification of next-of –kin.

As of 9 p.m. Friday, May 27, the deceased victims whose next-of-kin have received notifications of their deaths are:

Grace Aquino, 46, of Joplin

Tami L. Campbell, 28, Joplin

Trenton Caton, 6, Pierce City

Raymond Chew, 66, Joplin

Clyde Coleman, 72, Galena, Kansas

Adam Darnaby, 27, Joplin

Ellen Doyle, 75, Joplin

Caley Hare, 16, Joplin

Hayze Howard, 1, Webb City

Harli Howard, 11, Webb City

Thomas Russell Howard, 29, Webb City

Nancy Martin, Miami, Oklahoma, age not confirmed

Randall E. Mell, 49, Joplin

Donald R. Miller, 49, Joplin

Doris Montgomery, 83, Joplin

Sharyl Nelson, 34, Joplin

Dennis M. Osborn, 34, Seneca

Shelly Marie Ramsey, 42, Neosho

Loretta Randell, 54, Joplin

Troy Raney, 39, Joplin

Johnny Richey, 52, Joplin

Tonya L. Sawyer, 41, Fort Scott, Kansas

Judy Smith, 71, Joplin

Virginia Solomon, 80, Joplin

Kayleigh Teal, 16, Pittsburg, Kansas

John Thomas, Jr., 40, Joplin

Sandra K. Thomas, 55, Carthage

Margaret Tuit, 92, Joplin

Miles Wells, 49, Webb City

Tiera Whitley, 20, Fulton, Kansas

Zach Williams, 12, Joplin

The Department of Public Safety will release a daily update of those individuals confirmed as deceased as a result of the tornado, following notification of next-of-kin.

Tornado Alley

Last Friday there was a wire story exclaiming how strange the severe weather season in Kansas had been so far...no tornadoes in May.  I suggested we have Gary Lezak, our chief meteorologist do an "explainer" about the science since so many other communities, most notably The South, had been hit so hard.

Managing Editor Brooke Givens told us we were tempting fate and she (knocking wood) voted no.

We did the "explainer."

The next day a tornado hit Reading, Kansas.  Then Sunday, Joplin, Missouri.  We expected bad weather Tuesday.  Didn't happen although it looked bad.  Then Wednesday, Sedalia and Poplar Bluff.  Both in Missouri.  Also Wednesday, baby tornadoes danced around the Kansas City metro area, sending kids in school to the hallways, business people to the basement.

 Brooke may have been right.  Maybe we tempted fate.  After all these years in the news business, I'm more than just a little bit superstitious when it comes to situations. 

At around noon Wednesday at 4720 Oak Street, moments before the storm was to arrive at Country Club Plaza, I ordered everyone left to stay away from the windows.  I looked around the newsroom and saw all of the STUFF that reporters, anchors and producers keep around them.  Photos in frames, rocks, videotapes.  I focused on a baseball bat, imagining it flying through the room as a deadly missile.

(Note to self.  Clean up this place.)

All of the TV stations were hard pressed to find real damage in Kansas City proper after four hours of wall-to-wall coverage.  Frankly, we were saved by the temperature.  Our baby funnels would have been much worse had they happened in the afternoon with more heat earlier in the day.

Scientists tried to explain why we in Missouri have experienced a "tornado tsumami."  (We called our coverage Tornado Outbreak, by the way.  I've broken myself of the alliteration trap.)

I don't know why but I do know this.  Larry Seward,  Mike Butler, Fernando Ochoa, Jill Jensen, Chris Hernandez, Sloane Heller, Lindsay Shively, Christina Medina, Beth Vaughn, Russ Ptacek, Jonathan Goede, Brandon Billinger, Chase Lucas, Lisa Benson, Al Miller, Nathan Shain, Matt Reeb and Tim Hellhake have done INCREDIBLE stories from Louisburg, Sedalia and Joplin.  Please look at some of their work and see if you don't agree.

My message to the other KC tv stations (for the July book)

On Katie's last day...I salute her for her finest interview.

Fast forward to 2:24...Katie's question: "Do you think the Pakistani government is protecting Al Qaeda within its borders?:

Great quote from the movie "Casino Jack"

...mediocrity is where most people live. Mediocrity is the elephant in the room. It's ubiquitous. Mediocrity in your schools. It's in your dreams. It's in your family. And those of us who know this - those of us who understand the disease of the dull - we do something about it. We do more because we have to. The deck was always stacked against us. You're either a big leaguer, or you're a slave clawing your way onto the "C" train.

Horrible Bosses Trailer

Believe!

Grizzlies bring big momentum to Game 4 vs. Thunder - USATODAY.com

To my Mom.

On this day when we honor our mothers, I can't stop thinking about the many times I irritated, angered, frustrated and perplexed my mom.

I was a difficult child.  Headstrong, willful.  Never obedient.  Because I was firstborn it's amazing, really, that my folks had any more!  Luckily Pam, Paula, Pat, Penny, Piper and Perry who were born after, gave them hope.

How lucky I am to have grown up in the 60s and 70s...a time when feminism bloomed and my life choices were much wider than Mom's.  When she was growing up, women who worked outside the home were teachers or nurses.

Mom always supported my choices, even when she didn't agree with them.  

Like when I moved to Reno to follow a boyfriend, leaving my stunned family behind in December, 1978.  My hand-written notes, attached to the Christmas tree, just made it worse.  My co-habitation with a man fifteen years my senior horrified Mom but she was never judgmental.  

Or when I married a man she had not even met.  I know she celebrates, as do I, our Carly who was the fruit of that union.

Or my politics, which are almost always the polar opposite of hers.

Today, I read an op-ed piece in the NYTimes entitled "When We Hated Mom." 

This piece does not describe our life on the farm north of Wagner, South Dakota.  Mom and Dad were ahead of the curve; they shared the responsibility of raising all seven of us.  However, one thing does ring true:  "...in the 1960s, full time homemakers spent 55 hours a week on domestic chores, much more than they do today."

I am grateful for the efforts my mom put into raising her seven children. Especially, the difficult one.  Me.

A tip of the hat to Jerry Webber.

Jerry was the main anchor of KJRH's newscasts for many years.  His editorial on the night of the attack on the Murrah Building is legendary. He talked about the pride of the people under incredible stress, about their perseverance, about their courage.

I was recently contacted by a former KJRH colleague regarding a copy of the words by Jerry, now-deceased, uttered during our late news on April 19, sixteen years ago.

On my desk to this day is a piece of the building.  I can't remember who brought it to me but I keep it as a constant reminder of one of the biggest stories of my career.  I've looked and I can't find the video of Jerry's words, sadly.

My thoughts on this day always go to the news team in Tulsa, Oklahoma on that horrible day in April 1995. The incredible work of our co-workers. The stories that were never fully told. The right decisions. The mistakes I made. I will never forget.

Oklahoma City Remembers Terrorist Attack, 16 Years Later

The Story of Spike.

During the post mortem of Thursday's 6pm newscast, the conversation turned to pets.  I mentioned that we had not yet "re-dogged" after Dottie and Elizabeth Alex seized the opportunity to suggest that we not get a new canine and that we adopt her guinea pig Zack, instead. 

Zack is a delightful animal, according to Elizabeth, albeit a little "overweight."  You can contact her if you're interested.

I had a flashback and forced the team to hear yet another story about my past, which of course, they dutifully and patiently heard.  Bless their hearts.

Rewind to 1990.  We had just relocated from Reno to Deerfield Beach, FL where I ran the Broward bureau for WSVN.  Carly was in the second grade; Chaz, a toddler.  We rented a two-bedroom condo (and paid more than twice than we had in Nevada.  A bit of financial shock, to be sure).

We checked out the public schools and determined them unfit for our smart little girl so we enrolled her at Zion Lutheran Christian School. 

Carly was a good student but perhaps the transition from public school to a Christian private school was a bit much to ask of a seven-year-old.  Her teacher was kind but stern.  Her classmates were not as welcoming as they could have been.  A highlight, though, was the class pet.  A guinea pig named Spike which each student was allowed to take home for the weekend.  Carly really looked forward to "her weekend" because we had sadly left our family pet, a cat named Louise, back in Nevada.

At last the Spike Weekend arrived.  John and Carly carefully put Spike's home on the dining room table.  She was so excited, I didn't even protest.  Spike seemed pretty harmless so I put my rodent-hatred aside.  I think I may have even held the creature briefly, stroking its soft fur.  Both kids were absolutely enamored with having another live thing in the house. 

While she was doing her homework, John and I took a Friday evening walk, leaving the kids alone for about 20 minutes.

When we got back, both Carly and Charlie were coloring or playing with Legos.  I can't remember exactly but they were very calm.  All was well in the Phillip household.

Spike was sleeping in his cage.  The children are playing nicely.  I had a great job at a great TV station and a handsome husband who took good care of me.  Life was good.

At some point after the kids went to bed, we realized that Spike had not moved.  For hours.  My worst fear realized.  Spike was not sleeping.  He was DEAD.

How to tell the kids?  They would be devastated.  Just hours before, we had all held and cuddled the little furry creature, cooing about how sweet and funny and cute he was. 

And how would this impact Carly's stature in the school?  Would she be seen as the child who was unlucky enough to be in charge of the class pet when it died?  How could she recover from the shame?

Happily her teacher was benevolent.  She handled the news for the class with class and allowed the grief to be deflected away from Carly.

Many years later, Carly admitted that Spike didn't die from natural causes.  The poor thing apparently met his demise from fear after a ride in her Barbie car.  Imagine the screams...  Spike went on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at the wheel of a red plastic Corvette.

I'm still not a fan of rodents-as-pets but Spike will always be a part of the Phillip Family Lore.

Brush with the Crypt Keeper

Yep.  That's Martin Landau.  During our past weekend of house-hunting, we encountered a man at least a decade older than Mr. Landau.  You can imagine.
John called him the "Crypt Keeper."

When we arrived at a house for our scheduled showing in Fairway, he was at the door.  He begged us to stay quiet because someone was sleeping upstairs.  I don't recall the Crypt Keeper's exact words but he said someone "would scream" if we opened the door.

We didn't.

We never saw the master bedroom in the place that smelled funky but was filled with antiques, had incredible architectural design touches (like so many Fairway houses) and was within our price range.  The yard was amazing and all the home needed was a kitchen re-do and a new roof.

Alas, the Crypt Keeper followed us closely throughout our tour, chattering nonstop about parties they had had, where they'd put the card tables, what they served, why they decided to seal every exit on the south side of the house and why they removed the outside steps from what would have been a lovely sunporch on the south side of the house.

The man was a real estate-disaster.  He stuck to John and me like glue as we walked around the upstairs and downstairs and in the basement.

We never did see the master bedroom.  I hope whoever was in there is important to the owner.  We won't ever forget that showing!

Our search continues.

Twenty-four reasons; one for each year

April 2 is our anniversary and it's time for the annual assessment of my relationship to the One That Sleeps Next To Me.

This is the third year of a "love list" for the long-suffering John Phillip.  I challenge myself to come up with the real glue that keeps us together and although the task may seem daunting because according to self-imposed Peggy Rules, I can't repeat myself, it's really not that difficult.

Here, on the eve of the eve of our 24th anniversary, are twenty-four more reasons I love my husband:

Dear John...

1. I love how you water the plants that I love-but-sometimes-neglect even though you don't care about them one bit.  Especially the basil.
2. I love it when you make breakfast on the weekends.  It doesn't happen often but your scrambled eggs are always great.
3. I love when you agree to try a new restaurant despite every cell in your body is screaming NO NO, NEW THINGS ARE BAD.
4. I love when you instinctively realize that my car is on "E" again and fill the gas tank in the dark, rain or snow even though I could have stopped at a service station on the way home.
5. I love how you call to find out exactly when I'm leaving work so you can make my steak rare, just the way I like it.
6. I love how you tell me to tell our kids-who-are-now-adults what to do because you think they only listen to The Boss (not true).
7. I love how you understood immediately how important it was for me to get to South Dakota when my dad was so sick in February.
8. I love how you continue to look for New York-style pizza smack dab in the middle of the country.
9. I love your (sometimes feeble) efforts to make me a low-cal breakfast smoothie to my exact specifications.  
10. I loved watching "Big Love" with you and I'm sorry it's over.
11. I love that you've realized you can get the internet other than from AOL.  
12. I love how, when I'm cooking up a storm, you come to the kitchen and kiss the back of my neck.  Goosebumps!
13. I love seeing you read the Sunday edition of the New York Times.  You enjoy it as much or more than I do.
14. I love the picture of us taken at the Washoe Valley shack more than two decades ago when I was young and thin and pretty and the one we took in January, 2011 in the same place by our kids-who-are-now-adults.
15. I love the choices you make on our Netflix movie account.  Haven't we seen some great movies together?
16. I love the silent battle for bathroom space for your toiletries and mine.  You move stuff to my side, I move it to yours, back and forth, back and forth. 
17. I love that you become a South Dakota State University fan whenever necessary.  Go Big. Go Blue. Go Jacks!
18. I love that you exclaimed "no more pools"  which was recorded on my Flip camera after your bracket was busted (again) and I look forward to how you will explain your NCAA bracket fixation in 2011.
19. I love your devotion to crazy television shows on HBO and Showtime and that you don't expect me to watch "True Blood" or any of that other crazy stuff that I hate.
20. I love that you pack for a two-day trip with a giant suitcase filled with clothes for every possible weather/social event.
21. I love that you carry a switchblade on our walks through the benign Olathe trails, just in case a serial killer accosts us.
22. I love how you wish for grandchildren.  I do too.  (No pressure kids-who-are-now-adults, it will happen when it's meant to happen)
23. I love your devotion to our beloved dog Dottie, now gone for more than a year.  It's time for us to re-dog, honey.
24. I love the rare, rare weekend mornings when we get to sleep in, wake up at the same time, open our eyes simultaneously and smile at each other with the warm familiarity of our years together.  Magic!
    

The Trains! The Trains!

After 20 months on Fantasy Island, aka Olathe, KS, John and I are back to house-hunting on weekends. Last Friday, a monumental event happened that has given my husband pause to reconsider our desire to move closer to 4720 Oak Street.

Here's the news release:

Downtown Quiet Zone Completion Announced by Mayor Copeland

To rousing applause during his annual State of the City address, Mayor Michael Copeland announced that...trains are no longer required to sound horns on the western tracks through downtown Olathe.

There are exceptions to the quiet zone regulations. For safety reasons, train engineers are responsible for sounding horns, even within the quiet zone, when workers are within 25 feet of the tracks or when other hazardous situations are observed including the presence of persons, animals, or vehicles.

An average of 120 trains travel though the city daily. The 11 crossings on the western tracks running through downtown generated about five hours of whistle noise each day alone. During the transition to a quiet zone, residents and visitors are asked to be patient as train engineers adjust to the new exemptions.

The Downtown Quiet Zone Project began in 2008 and is budgeted at nearly $6,000,000. The project involved constructing safety modifications at 11 at-grade crossings from Woodland Ave. to Dennis St.

I knew that I was losing sleep as a result of the train horns at all hours of the day and night but FIVE HOURS of whistle noise?

View Larger Map

You can see the proximity of our rental house to the tracks (less than a mile to the west). No wonder I'm so crabby! I haven't slept all night in twenty months!

I happily report that in the three days since Olathe became "Quiet Town," I've definitely noticed the difference. It's not enough to keep me from house-hunting on the weekends but getting a full night's sleep should certainly improve my disposition in the car. And maybe in the newsroom!

March Madness

My poor husband spends...well...hours on his NCAA tournament brackets. He races to the nearest newspaper stand to buy the USA Today and studies each team. This year has been hell for him. This past weekend just about sent him over the edge and he made a bold statement that I was lucky enough to capture on my Flip. I can't wait until March 2012. :)

Hello? Where is Pebbles Flintstone in this list?

Memorable TV Women in the Making...

Banging erasers.

This is for my South Dakota friends and family...or the ones who are old enough to recall a simpler life and time.

My first school was Kennedy #2. A one-room schoolhouse (all eight grades are taught in one room) 3/4 mile north of our farm north of Wagner, SD. Our school did not have indoor plumbing. We drank water from cone-shaped paper cups filled from a large crock. The bathrooms were two-hole outhouses (one for each sex) just north of the school building. Everybody brought their own lunch in brightly colored tin boxes advertising the most popular Saturday morning cartoons. I recall being jealous of my cousins who sometimes had hot dogs from a Thermos. Another family had perfected the art of grilled cheese sandwiches using toast and American cheese wrapped in tinfoil that languished on top of the furnace all morning and smelled DELICIOUS by 11am every day.

Mostly, I had baloney sandwiches on Wonder bread (building strong bodies 12 ways).

Kindergarten was six weeks in the spring prior to the year a child was eligible for first grade...so for me, I think it was 1962 when I got my first taste of Sally, Dick and Jane.

I really loved those three kids. And their friends. And their pets, Spot and Puff. Couldn't get enough, couldn't wait to learn to read. Of course, the books are now the subject of some ridicule for their simplistic view of life (too many white folks, plenty of money, no troubles) but for this farm child, they were The Perfect Family. I remember asking Mom if she could please adopt an older brother so our family would be more like Dick, Jane and Sally.

I had two classmates at Kennedy #2. Neighbor David Kokesh and my cousin, Kendall Wiechmann. There were no other larger groups than ours so we received more attention (I think) than the classes with just one or two.

Our teachers were Miss Uecker (kindergarten and first grade), Mrs. Glanz (second grade) and Mrs. Cuka (third and fourth grades). It was Miss Uecker who sent us home in the middle of the afternoon when I was a first grader after President Kennedy was assassinated.

A seismic shift occurred at some point and although I don't recall Mom and Dad telling us much about it, my fifth grade year began in "town school." Kennedy #2 closed, there was an auction, all of the books, etc were sold including the building which was moved from it's acre and we rode a bus to East Charles Mix #102.

We lived six miles north of town but drew the short straw when the bus routes were determined. Ours was the first stop at about 7:10am. Rollie Jespersen was the driver that first year and he was patient. He beeped the horn a few times and waited for us (four that year) to run out of the house to the end of the drive. The family farms I remember from the route--Kokesh, Seiner, Broz, Soulek, Petrik, Hawley, Hrdlicka, Morrow, Doty. Of course there were many more and I wish my 54-year-old brain could remember but I hope you'll nudge me!

Our bus ride lasted until 8:30am (I'm pretty sure an hour and twenty minutes would be illegal now) and then the school day began for real. In the fifth grade, Mrs. Eitemiller was my home room teacher. A tiny thing, she kept order by being the master of the quick retort for anyone who tried to act up in her class. She was a great leader and I really adored her.

Back to the title of this entry. In country school, we had blackboards and chalk, naturally. Not being very math-proficient, I dreaded the invitation to solve a problem "on the board" but loved to practice my penmanship there.

The chore of banging erasers together to rid them of chalk dust was considered an honor. Something earned.

At some point, I earned that honor during my fifth grade year. In my memory, Nancy Smith (now Fernandez) was the partner Mrs. Eitemiller assigned to the eraser-dust-eradication task but I could be wrong. It was not another farm kid. To my amazement, there was a MACHINE that sucked chalk dust from erasers at "town school."

That was the first time I thought that city life might not be so bad after all.

Dad

My dad is the youngest son of German immigrants who came to America in 1882. He was born in 1930, just before the "Dirty Thirties" got started. His father died of a heart attack when my dad was just a teenager so Dad didn't finish high school but he's one of the smartest men I know. My high school algebra was never a problem for him, nor figuring out how to get an engine running or building a complicated machine to do a task that he didn't want to do anymore. My dad is not a Luddite, at all. He likes machines and figuring out how to make something do the menial work.

He also built things for fun. We had a little tractor that could mow the lawn but could also be use as a 5-mph tow truck for a wagon filled with delighted children from other farms nearby. Remember the flimsy backyard swing set?

We had the biggest, best swings in the 60s because he looked at the design and made it better, sturdier in his shop, welding leftover pipes together perfectly in a frame that still stands today. Our teeter-totter has been the source of splinters for three generations. And yes, we are proud.

Dad farmed for decades, scratching out a living for my mom and his seven kids. When I was a child, he worked long hours, often leaving the house before we woke up and returning long after we were in bed.

He owns the house he grew up in on the acres that he bought from my grandmother after my grandfather passed away.

He realized that irrigation was the way to save his crops from the harsh South
Dakota summers when rain is never a certainty. He also raised cattle (Herfords) and pigs (Chester Whites)

but it always seemed like it was the corn, beans and sorghum that sustained us. If the price wasn't right, he'd store his grain in bins until the money improved. It was a gamble that sometimes paid off. Sometimes not.

Dad didn't have much choice in the 80s when he stopped farming and starting driving semi trucks for a living. He rented the farm land and supplemented the annual income with a more regular check from hauling hogs, cattle and grain (probably some from his own fields) hither and yon. He never stopped working hard, though. He continued driving trucks until 2010, well into his 79th year.

How lucky I am to have a father who always had the interests of his kids at heart. He still serves as an usher at the First United Methodist Church in Wagner. He and Mom still play cards with the neighbors once a month. He served in the Korean War (it was more than a Conflict) and proudly loves the United States of America. Yes, we have had our differences...I'm a Democrat...he's the Other Party. We don't always agree but what we he taught me is to work hard, play hard and never give up.

Thank you, Dad, for modeling the way for me. I am very, very grateful.

I love my new hometown!