Herald story: When rain reigns, reporters rein in ratings

[HurricaneJoe22]

Posted on Sun, Oct. 10, 2004

When rain reigns, reporters rein in ratings

The on-camera reporters who brave the winds and flying debris of hurricanes draw legions of fans -- and some who question their sanity for standing in harm's way.

BY ASHLEY FANTZ

afantz@herald.com


This year's freakish hurricane season briefly catapulted the Weather Channel from wallpaper to must-see TV. The network's ''hurricane reporters'' were elevated from faceless weathercasters to quasi-celebrities. Viewers sent e-mails offering warm beds and hot meals.

And yet . . . like those nice people on Fear Factor, they're either daring and courageous or competely stupid. And, like Edgar Allan Poe's Raven, they became telegenic merchants of destruction, their presence near your home a signal of impending doom.

It was a terrifying drama worth fantastic ratings. According to Nielsen, 3.1 million viewers tuned in on a single day at the peak of Ivan. Jeanne gave a similar boost. People tuned in to watch the wind-whipped reporters.

''They were saying, `Oh, what can we do for them because they seem to be going through so much for us,'' said Connie Malko, the Weather Channel's spokeswoman.

She joked: ``I mean, we do let them go inside sometimes.''

Sating the public's rare desire for 24-hour storm coverage when a hurricane threatens, the Weather Channel fills that empty feeling you get when Bryan Norcross has to go off the air to sleep for an hour or two.

''Yes, we just need the updates all the time. My husband is crazy about every one -- the 9:50, 10:50, 11:50, 12:15, 1,'' Fort Lauderdale travel agent Elise Dern said.

CRITICS' RATINGS

Like so many South Floridians exposed exhaustively to local weathercasters, Dern has fine-tuned her analysis of their styles.

Her take: They're too funny. They're not serious enough. They are egomaniacs. They don't talk with enough authority. That guy wore the same tie too much.

''You gotta admire anybody, no matter who they work for, going out there, risking their neck to show us stuff flying around,'' reasoned Kelsey Wallwork, 26, who works part time in a Fort Lauderdale coffee bar.

But does he watch the Weather Channel? ``Yeah, you know, I'm going to watch anything with good-looking women.''

Stephanie Abrams, who has bachelor's degrees in meteorology and geography, doesn't want to be thought of merely as a hot blond. Which is fine because it's hard to tell she's good-looking when the wind is howling around her.

At 25, as one of the youngest Weather Channel broadcasters, Abrams was flooded with e-mail after a remote report from Mobile, Ala., in 85 mph winds at the height of Hurricane Ivan.

NOT A STUNT

Her cheeks flapping like a sky diver, she stood between two buildings to illustrate wind acceleration while her cameraman and producer wrapped their bodies around her legs to keep her from blowing away.

''I never thought of it as a stunt. We were safe,'' she assured.

``I wanted to do something creative, not the obvious beach shot.''

Like her colleagues -- including one who has won an Emmy -- Abrams lights up talking about tropical storms, mudslides, flash floods, tornadoes and other natural disasters.

She could have stayed behind the scenes, like the National Hurricane Center's Yoda, Max Mayfield, who has attained his own celebrity.

But television called, when as a little girl she tried the ''Do Your Own Weather Cast'' booth at a Palm Beach County Fair.

''We just want to help you understand why the surge is happening, not just that it's happening,'' she said.

``We like to think of ourselves as teachers.''

Nursing a beer at Kim's Alley Bar in Fort Lauderdale while the Weather Channel plays on mute, Jack Conroy said he doesn't care to know the difference between a cold front and an occluded front.

NO GAMES

''I want a weather guy who doesn't play games,'' said the 38-year-old building supply contractor.

``Is the thing going to hit my house or not?''

A devotee of WSVN-Fox 7's Big Show!, Conroy said he enjoys an ''in-your-face'' approach to weathercasting.

''I can't watch the Weather Channel for 15 entire minutes waiting for them to tell me what's going on in my town,'' he said.

A few chairs down from Conroy sat Dan Vaniman, a retired Secret Service agent. He was in Boston when Frances hit and relied on the Weather Channel to get a clear picture of what was going on back in Dania Beach, where he has a home.

''There's a stable of local reporters here that you trust, that you become attached to,'' he said, in the philosophical tone reserved for bars. ``But they aren't perfect, so, you know, people are going to look wherever else they can.''

Preferably from the greatest possible distance.