Rome

 In the Fall of 2008, I was given an incredible gift and an amazing opportunity. It was a chance I never expected; a chance to retrace some of my Grandfather’s steps overseas.

My Grandmother and Grandfather on their wedding day in Princeton, Missouri in October of 1941. Two months later, Pearl Harbor would pull the United States into World War II.

 My Grandfather was drafted into the United States Army just months after Pearl Harbor was attacked in December of 1941. He ended up serving as an engineer in the 5th Army. That unit’s exploits are legendary. The men of that unit fought and moved through Algiers, Morocco, Africa and Italy. It was the 5th Army that helped liberate Italy. My Grandfather was there in the square in Milan when Italy’s brutal dictator, Benito Mussolini, was hung.

The bodies of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini and some co-conspirators hang in a town square in Milan, Italy in April of 1945. My Grandfather was there.

 For all the horror and hardship my Grandfather experienced during the war, the bright spot was always Italy…and particularly Rome. I can remember Grandpa telling me that he was just a kid from Iowa and that he never in a million years thought he would see the things he had seen and experienced the things he had experienced.
 It was while in Italy that this “Iowa boy” developed a life-long love for Opera. I can remember to this day…if Opera ever came on Iowa Public Television, we would have to watch it. Also in Italy, he learned to love Italian food (especially lasagna). He became close with an Italian family and they called him their “Pisan”…an Italian term for friend or buddy. Growing up, Pisan was one of Grandpa’s nicknames for me.
 It was evident in speaking with him all those years that Italy touched his mind and his heart. He always said he wanted to go back and visit. But his wish went unfulfilled and when he died in November of 1997, that was it for him.

 But not his wish; not entirely.

 Flash forward to the Fall of 2007. I was working at KSFY Television in Sioux Falls and I was presented with a unique opportunity; to host a tour of South Dakotans, Minnesotans and Iowans to Italy. I about fell over. I felt like Grandpa must have this; this Iowa boy never thought he would be going to Italy.
 The folks hosting the tour told me I could bring along one person. I chose to bring along my Mom. She had heard the stories even longer than I had about how much Grandpa loved Italy and I wanted her to have the same experience I would have; to tour the country he loved so much.

This is a picture of me and my Grandpa Perry. It was taken in the Summer of 1993 in Des Moines, Iowa. He was an amazing man and I loved him very much.

 The tour would last over a 10-day period and we would visit several Italian cities; Milan, San Gimignano, Florence, Venice and Rome. While I wanted to see all of it, I NEEDED to see Rome.
 Growing up, Grandpa’s stories had always centered primarily around Rome and one story in particular.
 The 5th Army had moved into Rome and had begun the process of taking the city back from the Axis powers. But the city was by no means safe or secure yet. And there was still a threat that the German Army would swoop in and attack and take Italy back.
 The 5th Army used as their temporary bivouac area the historic Roman Colosseum. The place where Gladiators were born. The place where Christians were made to fight for their lives against lions. The place where the first sporting competitions were held. This is where my Grandfather pitched his tent and laid down at night, under the stars, dreaming of an end to the war and a return to Iowa.
 One night, under the cover of darkness, the buzzing sound of airplane engines cut through the night. Air raid sirens in Rome sounded. There was fear and panic everywhere. My Grandfather ran under one of the Colosseum’s massive stone supports and waited. He could hear anti-aircraft guns being fired. He heard explosions but could not see any flashes.
 My Grandfather told me that on that night, he thought he would die. He thought after four years of trudging across the Middle East, Ethiopia and into Italy, that he would die and the last thing he would see was the Roman Colosseum. He prayed to God that his death would be painless and that his family wouldn’t grieve too long.
 The airplane buzzing stopped, as did the anti-aircraft fire. The darkness of the night in Rome became still again. He and all his buddies had survived. He was amazed, grateful and in shock. He thought for sure that his story was going to reach its final page that night.
 This story was fresh in my mind as we entered Rome. What a beautiful, historic city. People say Paris is romantic. I think Rome might have it beat. And what amazing history. There are roads there were carved out years before Jesus walked the Earth, and you can still use them in Rome today. It is amazing.
 A Roman emperor first ordered the construction of the Colosseum in AD 72. It was completed in AD 80….meaning the Colosseum is 1,931 years old. How much history has happened between then and now? It boggles the mind.

Inside the Colosseum in Rome, Italy. I took this picture in early October of 2008.

 On the day we toured the Colosseum, I had a mix of emotions. As a huge history buff, I could not wait to get into the place and walk its halls and corridors. To feel the surface of the stones that were used to build to build the place. It was an odd feeling to stand in the middle of this structure and know it existed so long before I did and that it will be here for hundreds if not thousands of years after I am gone. If you ever want to feel insignificant and small, go stand in the Roman Colosseum for awhile.

It is amazing to stand in the Colosseum and just breathe. It is something else to just stand there and contemplate your life in the midst of all this history. I took this picture in early October 2008.

 We had a tour guide who led us through most of the Colosseum. Then we were allowed some free time to walk around what I call the Mezzanine area; it was the walking area that separated the higher seats in the Colosseum from the lower seats. It was a wide area, a testament to the fact that thousands of people would cram into the Colosseum to visit events. The guide told us that ancient Roman engineers figured out a way to flood the floor of the Colosseum and keep the water from leaking out..so there could be re-enactments of sea battles held there.
 My eyes drifted down to the Colosseum floor. This is the area where my Grandfather would have set up his tent and lived an uneasy life as a U.S. soldier in the midst of enemy territory. I looked around and saw any number of stone support columns…one of them was the one he ran to when he thought he was going to die. 
 I am not sure why, but the tears just started streaming down my face. I imagined his fear and his insecurity. I imagined his deep voice reaching for the words to ask God for either safety or peace in the afterlife. I closed my eyes and imagined the hornet-like buzz of the bombers that cruised over Rome that night 63 years ago. What is it like to know someone high above you is trying to kill you? I can not even imagine.
 I cried because he was gone. Because he wanted to come back to Rome and never got the chance. I cried because I was there; through me the war-time prodigal son had been able to return. I completed the journey Grandpa was unable to make. I came back to say a silent prayer; fate had spared my Grandfather that night. Had he died, I wouldn’t be around.
 I felt a hand on my back and a pat. It was my Mom. She had seen me and wanted me to know I was not alone. I wiped the tears off my face and looked at her.
 ”We completed his journey, Mom.” I said to her.
 ”We sure did, Hon.” My Mom said.

 We left the Colosseum soon after that. As we pulled away, I told myself I would like to come back to this place and see it again. I then realized that was the exact same thought my Grandfather had when he left the Colosseum. The question now is; will I ever make it back? And if not, will anyone complete my journey for me?

This picture shows the floor of the Roman Colosseum. This is the area where members of the U.S. 5th Army bivouacked in 1945. My Grandfather was one of those soldiers.

Felicitaciones a mi hermano, David

 When I worked at KLAS in Las Vegas, I had the chance to work with a number of talented photojournalists. I was blessed to be partnered (primarily) with four of them over about a 3 year period; Brian Podner, Mark Mutchler, Kyle Zuelke and David Suarez.

This picture was taken in January of 2006. David Suarez and I turned a New York City hotel room into a makeshift bureau for a story we were covering for KLAS in Las Vegas. It was a whirlwind day.

 I was paired with David Suarez for most of my last year at KLAS. He had come to Las Vegas from El Paso, Texas. He was an extremely talented and hard-working photojournalist. I knew from my VERY FIRST DAY of working with him that he and I were going to make an awesome team.
 We were assigned that first day to do a story on the Las Vegas heat. It was in the Summertime and I think the high temperature that day was forecast to be 117 degrees. By the time he and I went out to start working on the story, it was already 112.
 We caught up with a city street crew who was doing some asphalt patching work and we focused our story on them. Could there be anything more miserable? It’s already 112 and your shoveling out asphalt that is also hundreds of degrees? Ugh.
 We turned the story and it aired on that night’s newscast. We thought nothing of our work until we came in the next morning and found out our story had been run on the CBS Morning News. We had worked together for 1 day and our work went to network. From that moment on, he and I worked almost exclusively together.

This is a picture of David Suarez outside of NBC studios in New York City. David and I worked on a project in January of 2006 in NYC. We did a lot of work and we had a great time. Thanks David for a ton of memories.

 What is interesting is that David and I are about as opposite as night and day. The chief difference, and what ultimately would bond us as friends, is our cultural background. He is Latino and grew up on the Texas/Mexico border. I am a kid that was born and raised in the heart of Iowa. But we both valued hard work and quality and it showed. We ended up being one of the news crews at KLAS that would always be dispatched to the big, breaking stories. The assignment desk knew if you could get Brian and David to the story, you would GET the story.
 We were pretty crazy. We would shoot stories and then go to the nearest Burger King and set up shop for a while. We would order lunch and I would write the stories and when I was done, David would bring a laptop editor into the Burger King and edit our stories. Yes, we turned fast food restaurants into newsrooms all across the Las Vegas Valley.

This is the "Casa Don Juan" restaurant in Las Vegas. It was the site of many Allen-Suarez lunches. (Photo courtesy: Las Vegas Sun)

 I remember one day we were having lunch at a Taco Bell near the campus of UNLV. I looked at Suarez and said “This is really good Mexican food!”.

 I thought he was going to choke to death, while would have freaked me out because I don’t know the Heimlich Manuever.

He then said “This isn’t real Mexican food!” and the next day he introduced me to Casa Don Juan. It is an authentic Mexican restaurant located near downtown Las Vegas. So authentic, you have to order your food in Spanish. Really. After we found Casa Don Juan, we ate there almost exclusively. Sometimes just the two us, but most times with a whole bunch of KLAS’ers who we had turned on to the place.

Mi y mi hermano David Suarez in la ciudad de Nueva York in Enero de 2006.

 Some of the stories about Suarez and I are legendary and still talked about at KLAS in Las Vegas.
 There were the mornings where Suarez and I would look at the number of assignments we would receive for that day and just begin saying out loud “No! No way! That is too many stories! Packages at 4 AND 4:30!?”.
 There was the time we went to Reno for a story and everything that could go wrong did go wrong (satellite truck failed, our equipment was different from the Reno station who agreed to help us, we were supposed to complete three stories and we got ONE done). That night, at the Reno Airport, I may have had some drinks that weren’t ice-cold milk. David had to walk me through security and onto the plane and get me into my seat.
 There was the time where David and I were covering severe thunderstorms moving through Las Vegas and the newsroom wanted us to put the mast up on the live truck and go live…with tons of lightning in the area. David got on the 2-way radio and said “I’m not putting the mast up! If I do you’re going to have a dead beaner and a dead gringo!”. I almost laughed myself into unconsciousness.
 I remember one Summer night where David and I had worked a double shift and that week we had already been put through the wringer. In a parking lot before a live shot, David may have told me he was sick of working with me and I may have told him that he could file his complaint in an area where the sun does not shine at any time.

The man I love like a brother, David Suarez, and his fiancée Nichole.

 Suarez is a good man. He and I would spend some of our time together talking about the rigors of broadcast news; how the hours are long and how sometimes you are putting yourself in direct danger to get a story (like the time he and I did an 11PM live shot in North Las Vegas about a gang shooting..as cars were driving by with people yelling “bang-bang” at us). He also told me how he wished he could find someone special to complete his life. Someone he could love.
 David left KLAS about three years after I did and moved to Austin, Texas. And wouldn’t you know it, he did find that someone special. Her name is Nichole. David says she is his soul mate. I believe him. I have never seen him happier or heard him sound happier. I am grateful that he has found real, lasting love.
 Tomorrow, David and his fiancée will take their vows in Austin, Texas. I wish I could be there to see it. I will not be. As with the rigors of TV news, I will be in Pierre covering the inauguration of South Dakota Governor-elect Dennis Daugaard. But my heart will be in Texas with a guy I came to depend on both personally and professionally.

 David, le deseo nada más que la felicidad en su nueva vida con Nichole. Quiero que tengas la vida que siempre has soñado, el que la vida y me gustaría hablar en Las Vegas. Usted ha encontrado el amor verdadero, sino el tesoro y cuidarlo. Es raro. Te amo hermano. Sé bueno.

David Suarez at work behind the camera for KLAS in Las Vegas. Suarez would always tease me and say "You know, for a white guy, you speak pretty good Spanish." My usual reply; "Yeah, it's even better than yours."

The trip I totally forgot about

 It is amazing how your memory can just fail you and for whatever reason block out memories, experiences, et cetera. I experienced that this week in a rather unusual and surprising way.

 For those of you who follow my anchoring and reporting work on KSFY Television, you know that in late November I, along with Troy Timmerman and Jonathan Wachter, produced a story called “The Secret Of The Tree”. If you would like to take a look, click the YouTube link below.

 This story was about people who are researching their family trees. I visited with an amateur genealogist and I visited two historic sites; the Ingalls Homestead in DeSmet, South Dakota and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum in Walnut Grove, Minnesota. Both locations are fantastic to visit if you are a history buff. To my knowledge, it was the first time I had visited either location.

 Turns out, that wasn’t true.

 I have a small blue photo album that I have carried with me in my travels, ever since I moved away from home at the age of 20 to work in the real world of broadcasting. Lately I have been thinking about my family a lot. At the end of the month it will be 20 years since my Grandmother died and it is really weighing heavily on me.
 So I was flipping through this photo album and I came across a picture. It is a picture of me. I am maybe 9-or-10-years-old. I can’t tell. There is no date written on the back. The picture is of me standing in front of a covered wagon and written on that covered wagon are the words “Walnut Grove, Minnesota….On the banks of Plum Creek….Home of Laura Ingalls Wilder”.

 What?!?! I don’t remember this trip at all. But there is clearly evidence that I visited Walnut Grove as a child.
 On my way home from work last night I called my Mom and had the following conversation;

 Me: “Mom, did we ever visit Walnut Grove, Minnesota?”

 Mom: “Yes, don’t you remember?”

 Me: “No!”

 Mom: “You begged us to take you. You were reading the “Little House” books and you wanted to see where she lived.”

 So not only had I been to Walnut Grove, Minnesota….I asked my family to take me there and they did…and STILL I forgot about the entire thing. Poof! No memory whatsoever.

This is a picture of me taken sometime in the 1980's in front of a covered wagon in Walnut Grove, Minnesota. BTW, I am rocking those high top socks.

 And that’s not all. Apparently we went to the Ingalls dugout site along Plum Creek in Walnut Grove and saw Jack The Dog’s grave. Again. Poof. None of this is clear to me now. All I have is the picture.

 Thanks again for all of you who are taking the time to read this blog. I sit here and write and don’t expect anyone to click on over and take a look. But a lot of you do. Thanks for doing it.

The guy with the pipes

 Within the last 24 hours, you have hopefully seen the video of a Columbus, Ohio man named Ted Williams. He is currently homeless, partially by his own admission that drug and alcohol abuse ruined his life.
 He now says he has been sober for two years and he is trying to find a way to get his life back on track. What does he want to do? He wants to be a radio announcer, something he used to do before his life fell off the tracks.
 If you have not seen the video, take a look and be amazed. A camera crew found Ted at the side of a road, begging for money. Once they started talking to him, Ted’s amazing voice came rolling out.

 I first saw this video on the Facebook page of my buddy Tommy Lang at KCJJ in Iowa City. Then I put it up on my page. Then it appeared on the Facebook profiles of my friends Steve Scott at WCBS Radio in New York and voice over legend Charlie Van Dyke. It continued to snowball from there. All of us saying essentially “This guy is good and everyone deserves a second chance”.
 This morning, I was pleasantly bowled over to learn that Ted Williams has been hired to do Public Address announcing for the NBA’s Cleveland Cavaliers. In addition to that, he was on the NBC Today Show this morning. And I did some digging around, look at these other job prospects that Ted Williams is being offered;
 (1) A possible voice-over gig with NFL Films
 (2) Work as the commercial voice for the Ohio Credit Union League.
 (3) Possible voice over work with MTV.
 (4) Possible voice over work with ESPN.
 (5) A possible DJ position with a radio station in Pennsylvania.
 (6) Possible work as the narrator of a homelessness documentary being produced by WBNS Television in Columbus, Ohio.

 I don’t know about you, but this story is just about enough to make me cry. Here is a guy with amazing talent who knew he blew up his life through addiction and probably thought he would spend the rest of his life on the streets. But someone with a camera told his story and now his life is well on its way to being dramatically changed forever and for the better.
 Folks, this is the power journalism can have. Never forget that.

The Younkers Tea Room

 It was a staple of my childhood growing in Des Moines, Iowa. The wonderous, amazing, classy Younkers Tea Room.

 Oh it was a beautiful place. It was so fancy that it was almost regal in nature. This was during the 1970′s and 80′s. I was extremely young but I remember the Tea Room like I was there just yesterday.

I am 4-years-old in this picture, which is the approximate age that I first went to the Younkers Tea Room. By the way, this picture was taken at the 1977 Iowa State Fair. I apparently wanted to be a firefighter.

 I can close my eyes and remember the place almost perfectly. There were HUGE windows everywhere. Tied back by those windows were long, almost ceiling-to-floor length purple curtains. They looked velvet and they were  a maroon color. So was the carpet, which was plush. Sunlight shone in and the rays glanced off the crystal in the chandeliers that hung throughout the massive Tea Room. Waitresses brought out glasses off water and the water was served in crystal-like goblets. The napkins were linen and heavy. The wait staff were all professional, they walked quickly, they were attentive. The chairs were a deep dark color, heavy wood. The entire place just screamed class.

Postcard (year unknown) featuring the Younkers Tea Room in Des Moines, Iowa.

  I remember going there a lot when I was a kid. And for a family that was fairly laid back, going to the Tea Room was a real affair. Grandpa put on dress slacks and a fancy coat and wore his Fedora hat. Grandma put on her best blouse and dress and dabbed at herself with the fancy smelling perfume. My Mom would dress up and so would I. We were not a church going family but when we went to the Younkers Tea Room, we were wearing the equivalent of our Sunday best.
 A brief bit of history: the Younkers Tea Room was located in the downtown Younkers Department Store. Back when downtown was king, Younkers ruled the roost, with downtown workers and residents flocking to Younkers for clothes, household goods, delicious homemade candies. It seems everything was at Younkers. 
 

A picture of life inside the Younkers Tea Room in downtown Des Moines. I am guessing this picture was taken sometime during the 1980's.

 I forgot to mention another important element of the Tea Room. Look in the picture above and you will see a small stage area with a piano on it. A lot of the time at the Tea Room, a live pianist would be on stage to provide what essentially was background music for everyone’s conversations. I can remember sitting at the Tea Room with my folks, just bored to tears with whatever they were talking about. My attention would then always fall on the pianist. It was never the same person; sometimes I saw a man, sometimes I saw a woman…but always what I ended up hearing what just beautiful, perfectly performed music. I can remember just being enthralled with watching the pianist’s hands and then listening for what would come next.

You got to the Younkers Tea Room through a vintage, wood-paneled elevator. It shook a little bit on the ride up and down.

When you exited that elevator, this is what you would see: the exterior doorway that led into the actual Tea Room. Notice the artwork above the doorway and the classic design which mixed wide curves and hard angles.

   The place was vintage and classic. By the 1970′s, when I started going there, it had already been a staple of downtown Des Moines for decades. I always enjoyed going to the Tea Room. I knew it was something special, even as a child, because any other place we would go to eat…was not like the Tea Room. Other places were rushed and hurried with food that just wasn’t as good as the Tea Room.
 Every time I went to the Tea Room, it was a good time.

 Except once.

 I was probably 16-years-old. I had spent the day hanging out with my friend Barry Blessing. I can not remember what we had been doing; it must not have been memorable. What I do remember is Barry saying ”I’m hungry, let’s go get something to eat”. Now mind you, I am dressed in a Chicago Bears sweatshirt and I have a baseball cap on that says “Ford”. In short, I was truly casual in my dress, not at all classy.
 Next thing I know, Barry is parking downtown so we can go to the Younkers Tea Room.
 ”Are you nuts?” I said in a near panic. “I’m not dressed for the Tea Room!”
 Barry assured me that I was fine. Barry, by the way, was dressed in Khaki pants and a golf shirt.
 We went in and sat down. Thankfully the place was not packed. I stuck out not only like a sore thumb, but like a thumb that had been repeatedly beaten by a hammer then dipped in yellow paint before being beaten again and then stuck under a spotlight. I just wanted to die. The waiters could not have been nicer. They treated me just like they always had.
 And that was the last time I was ever in the Tea Room. This was in 1989 or so.

 (Editor’s Note: Since originally publishing this blog, I was reminded by a friend of mine, Phil Dally, that WHO Radio held their Christmas Party at the Younkers Tea Room in December of 1990. Meaning THAT was the final time I was ever at the Tea Room.)

 The downtown Tea Room stayed open into the 90′s but eventually closed when Younkers determined the downtown location was not financially viable anymore.

It was once the flagship of a department store empire: the former Younkers Department Store in downtown Des Moines.

  The building is still downtown but it sits empty. When I go home, I usually try to drive by it and see the building that used to be the center of everything.   
 The Tea Room is still the gold standard in my mind. While it was gorgeous during the day, it was even better at night. It would be dark outside and the chandeliers were “just right”; not too bright, not too dark. There would be light piano music playing in the background and the dark tones of the carpet, drapes and woodwork just screamed class. To this day, I enjoy eating at night, in places that are lit “just right” and where the atmosphere is conducive to good discussion and some relaxation. It’s what “fine dining” should be about; an atmosphere were you can just kick back and enjoy yourself and whoever you are with.

An artist's rendering, perhaps from the 1950's, of the main lobby area of the Younkers Tea Room in downtown Des Moines, Iowa.

 If some enterprising businessman in Des Moines is giving this blog a read, think about investing in something similar to the Younkers Tea Room. It would be an extremely classy thing to do and you would have at least 1 customer for sure…and I’m betting many more.

Please, just get out of my head

 Do you ever have songs or pieces of music that are constantly popping up in your head? Really, you will be sitting there doing something completely random (such as trying to drive a nail into a wall using a fish) and BOOM! A randon song begins running through your head and the more you try to ignore it, the more it just sits there…running like a freight train through your mind.
 In this blog, I am going to tell you about the 5 top songs/pieces of music that I keep coming back to again and again…completely by accident. Again, totally random, no rhyme or reason.

This is a picture of me in front of NBC in New York. This picture has no relevance whatsoever to this blog, other than the fact that it is totally random...like the songs that pop into my head. Ironically, while in New York I never once had the song "New York, New York" pop into my head.

#5) The Theme To The Game “Pyramid”

 No, I am not kidding. I think this is one the catchiest TV themes in all of game show history. I remember one time writing an investigate piece at my desk and hitting writers block. As I sat there, searching for the right words to convey the right thought, I noticed that I was whistling the “Pyramid” theme. What?!? How does that even make any sense? Whenever I hear this music, I think about being a kid at home sick from school and watching Dick Clark talk with his celebrity guests Nipsy Russell and Mary Crosby. OK, I pulled those names right out of thin air. I don’t know if they were ever on Pyramid or not. Catchy theme though, right?

#4) “Boom! Shake The Room!”

 I should confess right out of the gate that I don’t know any of the words to this song other than “Boom shake shake the room”. But that is apparently enough to take hold in my mind.
 Before a newscast, I will often sit on the anchor desk and go through my scripts to make sure there are no tricky phrases or words that might cause me to trip over myself while reading. It is usually during this review period that I will find myself saying to no one in particular “Boom shake shake the room”. Why? No clue. No idea at all. It just happens. Again, if I had to sing this song at karaoke, I would be so dead in the water…until we hit the chorus.

#3) “Misery”

 On the other hand, if I had to sing “Misery” by Maroon 5 during karaoke, I would nail it every day of the week and twice on Sundays. I love this song. I think it has an infectious chorus and an infectious bass line. It is a quinessential “pop” song. I love it. I will not only find myself singing and humming this song unconsciously but I will sing it under my breath while walking into work, while walking around work, while driving home from work. How much do I like this song? My 6-year-old son can sing this song word for word. My 3-year-old can hit the chorus like a champ. Fantastic song and, as always, amazing vocals from lead man Adam Levine.

#2) “Immigrant Song”

 Bring it. That is what I think whenever I hear this song. How can you not love this gem? From Robert Plant’s intense vocals to the non-stop driving beat of John Bonham’s drumming, this one is near the top of the list of songs that I hear and then it takes up residence in my mind for what seems like weeks. Plant’s beginning chorus of “Ahhh ha” is almost hypnotic; it instantly draws you into the song like a fly into a spider’s web.
 I will often find myself just humming the drum line of this song or quietly belting out the “Ahhh ha” chorus, just because.
 A funny anectode about this song; this Summer I took my son Austin to a Sioux Falls Pheasants Baseball game. This song came on over the loudspeakers and both Austin and I hit the “Ahhh ha” chorus at the same time. A guy sitting next to us looked at Austin in disbelief and said “That is amazing!”

#1) “The End”

 Yup. John, Paul, George and Ringo are at the top of my list. Not so much for the vocals but for the drum solo (which kicks in at 20 seconds into this song). I love that! Great work by Ringo. I frequently find myself tapping that solo out on the desk top during meetings, during commercial breaks and while waiting for a newscast to begin. There is so much energy in that one drum “pop” that it can’t help but energize you. It is good stuff. And the message at the end of the song?
 
 And in The End
 The love you take
 Is equal to the love
 You make

 Priceless.

About blog wars and “Francine”

 I like to think my blogs are interesting. As you can tell, I have not been the most faithful blogger through the months. Until this recent set of blogs, which started in late December, the last blog I wrote was in September upon the death of Iowa broadcasting legend Jack Shelley.

 When I get out of whack on my blogs, there is someone who usually kicks me back into rhythm; sometimes intentionally and sometimes accidentally. His name is Paul Yeager.

This picture, taken at the 2009 Iowa Broadcast News Association convention shows KCRG's Shannon Booth, IPTV's Paul Yeager and myself. We were all taking part in a forum on the use of social media in newsgathering.

 Paul is an experienced Iowa broadcaster, having worked in Des Moines, Mason City and the Quad Cities. He is currently a host and producer for Iowa Public Television.
 Paul writes a frequent blog that I read called “Public Paul & Media“. His blog is about everything under the sun: his kids, the weather, news reporters who wear hats (I’m not kidding about that) and local happenings in the world of Des Moines media.
 Sometimes I will see his blogs and they will spark an idea in me that I just have to put down. Sometimes he will notice that I haven’t blogged in a while and he will hit me up about it. He apparently enjoys my ramblings the way I enjoy his.
 I refer to this pattern as “the blog war” and finally I scored a point. In his latest writings , Paul says that one of my blogs actually spurred him on to write a blog. I saw this and wanted to open a window and yell “I inspired Yeager!” but people would either think I was talking about astronaut Chuck Yeager or they might think I was promoting people taking shots at the bar. (That was a Jagermeister joke, friends).
 Anyhow, Paul Yeager is an exceptionally good writer whose blogs are thoughtful and heartfelt. Check them out sometime. It’s good stuff.

The Iowa Broadcast News Association Board of Directors. Back row from l to r: KWWL's Lauren Squires, KJAN's Ric Hanson, IBNA Executive Director Dr. Jeff Stein, IPTV's Paul Yager and KCAU's Carla Kreegar. Front row l to r: KASI's Trent Rice, myself and KROS's Dave Vickers.

 If he is a guy, why do you call him Francine?

 This portion of the blog is to tell you about a guy named Troy Timmerman. You may never have heard of him, but without him my work would not be nearly as good.
 Troy is a photojournalist who works with me at KSFY Television here in Sioux Falls. He is amazingly talented. He has a good eye for composition of shot. He thinks in terms of nat sound. He is a traditional wide-medium-tight shooter but is never afraid to put the camera on his shoulder if he thinks it will bring the viewer more into the action.

 But his greatest talent may be having the patience to put up with me.

 Troy and I are frequently paired together on important assignments for KSFY. Most of the pieces are investigative in nature where I am asking tough questions and he is hoping someone isn’t just waiting to hit us with a crowbar or some other type of unpleasantness.
 But what he most frequently has to do battle with is my total lack of patience. I suffer from that horrible reporter disease of thinking that as soon as the interviews are shot, we are done. It is Troy who patiently has to tell me (time and again) that I have to schedule in time for him to get the cover video we need for these stories. Keep in mind, most of these stories have tape times of 4+ minutes, so thar requires a lot of cover video.

This picture is of Troy Timmerman and myself along the Big Sioux River during heavy flooding in the Spring of 2010.

 Troy and I have known each other now for 10 years. I have seen him grow from a college student working part-time running a studio camera to becoming a full-time news photojournalist.
 So what is up with the name “Francine”? I don’t really know. We were out working on a story one day and I wanted to get his attention and out of my mouth came “Hey Francine!” and it just kind of stuck. Now, every once in a while, I throw it in for good measure. He is awfully good-natured about it. I would have punched me by now.

Me and the guy who always has my back on the big stories, photojournalist Troy Timmerman. This picture was taken in early January of 2011.

 Troy and I have been particularly busy over the last couple of months, working on both in-depth investigative pieces and interesting long-form features.
 The feature below is a story that Troy and I started working on in late-September of 2010 and we didn’t finish working on it and take it to air until late-November of 2010. It is called “The Secret Of The Tree”. It is about people’s growing interesting in researching their family histories. Sometimes, those people find big surprises in their family trees. I found such a surprise and wove it into this story.

 I have been fortunate in my 21+ year broadcasting career to work with many talented photojournalists. I would put Troy at the top of that list. For his work ethic, for how much he cares about the product and for his willingness to constantly work on big projects with me and deal with all my concerns, worries and everything else that can make me a pain to work with.

Picture of Troy Timmerman hauling equipment out of our satellite truck during a live newscast in the Summer of 2008. Troy is a hard worker and very rarely complains. When he does complain, it is usually about working with me.

  Troy also has to put up with my sense of “humor”. I think the following story is hysterical. He does not.
 In the Summer of 2010, Troy and I were working on a story in the Rapid City area. We stopped at a fast-food place to pick up some lunch. Before we ordered, we hit the restroom. I was done first and as I left the restroom, I turned the light off. I then stood in front of the ordering counter, trying not to melt with laughter. Here comes Troy, definitely not happy. This happened about three months ago. He is still sore about this. I still think it is funny.
 Thanks for being a good sport Timmerman. You’re the pride of Rock Valley, Iowa. (An inside joke, he is really from Rock Rapids. I always get the two mixed up and it annoys him to no end. Again, I think it’s funny. He does not.)

The Beginning

 Late last night (or early this morning, however you look at it), we all got a second chance. Enough time passed that we all got our annual “reset” button to start a new year with new chances and new opportunities.
 Time is a funny thing. It always drags you forward into the unknown. Imagine the gift of being able to go back in time. You could correct mistakes. You could change the course of your own life. You could find the special people you were meant to be with sooner rather than later.
 The new year is a blank canvas. Nothing it on it but the process of filling it has already started. What are you going to do? How are you going to spend that time?

What story are you going to write this year? How many chapters will it have? Will there be a happy ending or a sad one? The process of determining all of that begins today.

 There’s an old anecdote; two managers have to fire half of their staffs but they must continue to do the same amount of work. The first manager looks at the second manager and says “Well, the good news is we have options”. The second manager says “What’s the bad news?” The first manager says “We have options”.
 Making decisions is always the hard part. The road ahead is never clear and never easy. What you think is the absolutely RIGHT thing to do could be totally WRONG but you won’t find that out until after the fact.
 Here is the plan I am using for 2011: I am going to enjoy my life and be satisfied. I am going to respect and love the people around me but expect that they do the same. If they can’t, for whatever reason, then that is going to be extremely painful. But respect and caring is a two-way street. If someone wants to be cared for, then they have to give a little of that caring back in a meaningful way.

 Lying in bed last night, I was thinking about beginnings. We all started from somewhere. We are all living in situations that at some point in time had a beginning and then continued on from there. Everything about our lives boils down to one decision made at one moment in time.
 My beginnings, at least my immediate beginnings, partially boil down to my grandparents and how their love story unfolded more than 65 years ago.

These are my grandparents, Lorraine Keller and Perry Weatherly, on their wedding day in late 1941.

 My Grandparents were amazing people. I could talk about them all day and if you give me a chance, I will.
 My Grandmother, Lorraine Keller, was the daughter of a small business owner in Des Moines, Iowa. She had spent part of her childhood growing up in Michigan, where she saved two kids who fell through the ice on a lake. Michigan’s governor awarded her a hero’s medal for her efforts. She was head strong. She was going to live life on her terms and not be bossed around. She didn’t fully believe in love and opening herself up to strangers; it scared her. She instead preferred to spend time studying and spending time with her Mother and Father.
 My Grandfather, Perry Weatherly, didn’t grow up with much. He was the son of a Des Moines Streets Department supervisor and would spend his free time working on street crews, cutting down dead trees and helping to patch streets.
 They were an unlikely match. She was 4’10″, he was 6’3″. She was book smart and he (by his own admission) was not. She was closed off to people, he was more open and gregarious.

 Their story begins in the late 1930′s. Lorraine was attending East High School in Des Moines. Perry was attending North High School. They were worlds apart; economically, socially and emotionally. Perry was always looking for a good time and to unwind. Lorraine was more prim and proper.

 Perry had a friend named John who he attended North High School with. John has arranged for a double-date with a girl from East High School and needed someone to join him. Perry said he would. Perry had been dating a girl for some time so he and his date met up with John, whose date that night was Lorraine.

 To hear both of them tell this story, that first meeting was (tempered) lighting in a bottle. Lorraine says Perry walked into the room and she couldn’t see anyone but him. Perry says he sat down and smiled at her and he smiled back and he was hooked. But that night was odd. The two hardly talked to each other after that. Perry was afraid that Lorraine was too far out of his league. Lorraine worried that Perry wasn’t serious enough to date, let alone build some type of future with.
 But that night, when she went home, Lorraine went into her mother’s room, shut the door and said “Mother, tonight I think I met the man I am going to marry”. This was the fall of 1935.

 The next months would bring challenges and doubts. Both Perry and Lorraine were still dating other people. They had done nothing to move towards each other and become closer. They were, in short, real good friends and that was it. From the outside looking in, there was no special romance blooming of any type.

 In early 1936, Perry’s family hit a rough spot financially. They often did so this was nothing new. To help support the family, Perry was going to drop out of high school and go to work in Des Moines as an apprentice at a butcher’s shop. He was going to make real, full-time money so he could help his mother and step-father make the ends meet. On another of opposing double dates, Perry told Lorraine of his plan to leave school and to enter the workforce. Lorraine valued education and intellect. She sat across a table from him at a Des Moines restaurant and told him point-blank, “You know, I wouldn’t even consider marrying a man who did not have a high school diploma.” That night, Lorraine went home and asked her father to give Perry a job in his electrical contracting business. When he asked her why she said “Because I think I love him and I want him to do well”. That next week, Perry started as an apprentice electrician in Lorraine’s father’s business.

 Perry was one year older than Lorraine. He graduated from high school in 1936 and continued to work in the electrical business while Lorraine finished her senior year. Again, their relationship was on-again, off-again; lacking focus and direction. Both were still seeing other people and there was no clear-cut course for them. They both knew they wanted to be together but did not know what chain of events would bring them together.

 In 1937, shortly before Lorraine graduated from high school, her mother died. It threw everything into chaos. Lorraine had been awarded a college scholarship for academics and was preparing to head to Drake University. She would have been one of the few women at the time to seek a college degree. But her mother’s death had a crippling effect. Her father sank into a deep depression and the electrical business began to tailspin financially. No one was running the ship. Lorraine knew what had to be done. She declined her scholarship and nursed his father back to mental health. She took control of the bookkeeping and brought the company back into line. Perry worked extra hours at the business, picking up extra work not for himself but to make sure the business would survive.

 But in the midst of all this, something else happened. A funeral was held for Lorraine’s mother and at that funeral, Perry saw Lorraine cry. And he felt helpless because he could not do anything to ease her pain. That is when he knew he really loved her. That is the only time Perry ever saw Lorraine cry.

 Perry broke up with the girl he had been seeing and, after a few months, proposed to Lorraine.

 She said no.

 Lorraine was afraid. She knew Perry was a good man but did not know if he really loved her and if they could build something that would last . They were so different. This was in 1938.

 For the next three years, their relationship stumbled along. She worked in the office of what had become the “Beaver Electric & Speciality Company” alongside her father. Perry continued to work in the shop, where he had risen from an apprentice electrician to one of the most specialized in Des Moines. He was often the target of offers from other companies to go to work for them. People appreciated not only his work ethic but his easy-going manner and his smile that could put the crankiest customer at ease. But he would not leave “Beaver Electric”, because Lorraine was there and that is where he wanted to be; was with her.

 By 1941, not much had changed. Lorraine was still fearful of loving Perry and Perry was losing patience.

 In late October 1941, that was it. Perry had returned from a job and walked into the office of “Beaver Electric”. Lorraine was sitting at one desk and her father was sitting at the other.

 ”Do you love me or not?” Perry asked bluntly.

 Lorraine sat there, stunned.

 ”Do you love me or not?” Perry asked again.

 ”Yes.” Lorraine answered.

 ”Then can we get married and just be done with it?” he asked.

 On October 25th, Perry and Lorraine…accompanied by his mother and her father…drove to the county courthouse in Princeton, Missouri where they applied for a marriage license and were married on the courthouse grounds. Both of them promised to love, honor and cherish one another. Perry promised he would be a good husband and spend as much time with her as possible.

 Six weeks later, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii and the United States entered World War II. Within a year of their marriage, Perry was gone… serving as en engineer in the United States 5th Army on missions that would take him to Algeria, Morocco, Africa and Italy.

 Perry would be gone for four years. The only thing that connected him and Lorraine that entire time were long-distance letters and telegrams. Sometimes those letters would be delayed for weeks, leading Perry to wonder if Lorraine still loved him and leading Lorraine to wonder if Perry was still alive.

 Perry came home in 1945 after the war. He and Lorraine tried to pick up. They had lost so much time. They tried to have a baby. And tried. And tried. And nothing happened. They felt like failures. Until 1951, when Lorraine got pregnant with a little girl, my mother, Kathy.

After 6 years of trying, Lorraine finally became pregnant with a little girl who would be my mother, Kathy.

 The pregnancy was a difficult one. Doctors determined Lorraine had a kidney disease which caused one of her kidneys to essentially die. Kathy was born healthy but the doctors told Perry and Lorraine not to try for another child.

 The little family of three moved to West Des Moines. Perry and Lorraine’s father built the house themselves. It is the house I grew up in and it still stands today.

 Throughout their lives, Perry and Lorraine wanted one thing above anything else: just to be together and to be happy. Their love has faltered early on and then just as it bloomed, Perry went away to war for four years.
 Perry was Irish and Lorraine was German. Both of them took pride in that and both of them argued with each other like cats and dogs about most anything: groceries, the household budget, politics, the color of the sky…whatever was available to argue about. But once the argument was over, it was always about a hug, a kiss on the cheek and an “I love you”. I asked Grandpa once about why he argued with Grandma and he said “Brian, I would rather argue with Grandma than anyone else because at the end of it, I know I love her and she loves me. That’s all that counts.”
 I once asked Grandma how she survived four years without Grandpa. She told me “Brian, when you love someone you just make things happen.”
 Both pieces of advice have stayed with me forever.

This is how I remember seeing Grandma and Grandpa; sitting together by the stove just talking the hours away. Their love for each other never faded or changed.

 In the Summer of 1990, Grandma got sick. Really sick. She was my best friend so everyone hid the diagnosis from me for as long as they could; pancreatic cancer. If you have to get a cancer, this is not the one you want. It is incurable. It is fatal. I learned in August of 1990 that Grandma was going to die.

 When I was a child, Grandma told me that she would be with me until I became a man. In my mind, that meant that she would be with me untill I turned 18.
 Alice Lorraine Keller Weatherly died at home on January 30, 1991…12 days before my 18th birthday. Her doctors were amazed she lasted for five months, given the advanced stage of her cancer. Our family doctor told me that she was probably trying to keep her promise to me but fell just short.

 January 30th, 1991 will always stay with me for various reasons. Of course, primarily, it will be because of Grandma’s death. But something else happened that afternoon that really taught me something about my grandparents love for one another.

 After the coroner’s office came and took Grandma’s body to the morgue, I walked into the kitchen of our home. I was trying to catch my breath, just in shock about what had happened. I walked into the kitchen and there was my Grandfather, leaning against the kitchen cabinets, sobbing. He saw that I was there and he walked over to me, grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me close and just cried.

 That is the only time I ever saw that man cry. At the time, I simply thought he was experiencing the same shock and hurt that I was. But it was so much more than that.

 When Grandma died, part of Grandpa died. After 56 years of friendship, dating and marriage….the love of his life was gone.

 Their lives taught me so much.
 Love is unexpected.
 Love is unpredictable.
 You never lose by loving.
 You always lose by holding back.

So What Do You Remember?

 There is now only one day left in 2010. It will soon be 2011. I am spending a lot of my time lately thinking about the past and wondering what the future will hold and if those days will be good or not.

 I like to remember fun times with my friends; times when we would see something and trade smirks or laughs. Times where we might have been scared but now laugh about it after the fact. I like to remember the stories that make memories and bind people together.

 Recently on my Facebook page, I threw out the following question: what is the funniest memory you have of you and I together? I got some great replies and I am now going to share 10 of them with you in no particular order.

(1) The Black Wall Cloud Of Death

How is a memory about a Wall Cloud funny? I don't know. Read on to find out.

 Thanks to my old friend Sara Oden for this memory. It was the Summer of 1991. Sara and I had just finished moving our friend Stan Ruta into his living quarters at the University of Iowa in Iowa City. We said good-bye to Stan and jumped on Interstate 80 to begin the drive west back to Des Moines. Just outside of Iowa City, we drive into a huge thunderstorm containing a big, dark, low hanging wall cloud that was very obviously spinning. This thing was prime to put down a tornado any minute. I looked at Sara, said some things that should not be shared with polite company and did what you are not supposed to do: slammed the gas pedal to the floor and took off. I had the car up to what had to be 95 miles per hour and I was getting lapped by other traffic. The entire time this wall cloud was just hanging there. We eventually cleared it and when we did, Sara and I just looked at each other and started laughing. Hard. Like someone had told us the world’s funniest, naughtiest joke. We were just so happy to be alive! I will never forget that day. Bad stuff, happy ending, tons of laughter.

(2) “Where Is Brian?”

This is a picture of me as a young, 26-year-old news reporter working at KSFY in Sioux Falls in the winter of 1999.

 My friend Lonnie Nichols reminded me of this next story. I still can’t believe this next story actually happened. The scene is a small South Dakota town called Waubay. It is the Summer of 1998 and the entire town is flooded. Waters are rising, the entire place is a mess. I was assigned to report live on this story with photojournalist Lonnie Nichols and satellite truck operator Derrick Yeager. We spent the entire day shooting our story. Then we went to the one and only gas station in town to buy drinks and to get ready for our live reports for the 6PM news. I spent my time at the gas station in the restroom, putting on TV make-up for the live shot (a side note: I hate putting on TV make-up in a public setting. If someone walks in and doesn’t know you’re on TV, you get a lot of stares).
 Anyhow, I walk out of the restroom and walk outside to go to the live shot and both Lonnie and Derrick are gone. GONE. No sign of either of them and I have to be on the air in 20 minutes. I stood there for a moment, wondering what the hell happened and what I should do next. So I grabbed my briefcase and started walking to the live shot location.
 I get there and I see Lonnie setting up his camera in the middle of the flood waters.
 ”Why did you leave me?!” I yelled at him. I was a little upset. Everything was muddy, it was hot, I was sweating and now my make-up was running down into my eyes.
 ”What are you talking about? You rode over here with Derrick!” Lonnie said.
 ”Then why am I walking?” I replied.
 Turns out, Lonnie thought I was in the satellite truck with Derrick. Derrick thought I had ridden over in the news cruiser with Lonnie. BUT NEITHER OF THEM HAD ME!
 Once we figured out what happened, it was pretty funny. I laughed out loud as I wiped the sweat out of my eyes.

(3) “I Unplugged Your Computer”

The original anchor team for "Dakota First News Today". From left to right; me, Meagan Dorsch and Patrick Griesgraber.

 In the fall of 2000, KSFY Television launched a midday newscast it dubbed “Dakota First News Today”. It featured myself, Meagan Dorsch (whom I had worked with at KCAU Television in Sioux City) and Patrick Griesgraber (it took me weeks to learn how to spell his last name).
 As with most of news, there was not much margin for error when it came to time. I co-anchored the morning news from 5:30-7:00AM, then I came off the desk and immediately began writing and producing DFNT. I needed every second of every minute to pull that show off.
 One morning, a production assistant named Mindy Andera (who reminded me this happened) was cleaning an area under my desk. I said to her “Whatever you do, do not unplug my computer”. I said this just as my screen went black.
 ”MINDY!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The entire DFNT rundown was in there, complete, but I had not saved it yet. She had unplugged the computer. That rundown was most likely gone.
 I believe I turned the air several shades of blue in the moments following the powering down of my computer. It was late. How was I going to put a new show together? Would a jury convict me for manslaughter?
 She plugged the computer back in and I fired it back up. Thankfully, the system has saved the rundown as a draft. Everything was there. We did the show successfully. There was much rejoicing.

(4) “Hey, get out of the road!”

Although Las Vegas is in the desert, it is subject to seasonal monsoonal rains. It can get ugly quick.

 I worked for 3 years at KLAS in Las Vegas. While there, I had the chance to cover a variety of stories.
 I have always been partial to weather stories. I think it’s because of my 2 years that I worked at a weathercaster at KCAU in Sioux City. I have always enjoyed and been fascinated by weather.
 One day photojournalist Brian Podner (who sent me this suggestion) and I were working together when the rains started. And it rained. And it rained. And it rained. And soon it began to flood everywhere, particularly in the northwest valley where the rains were running off in the high country of Mount Charleston and running right down into Las Vegas.
 When we started doing our first live shots that afternoon, I was on one side of the street and Brian was on the other side with a good amount of water flowing in between us. It soon turned into a literal raging river that forced me to climb on top of landscaping walls to escape the waters, all the while reporting on live TV.
 At one point, a car was attempting to drive up the street we were on. They were driving head-on into flood waters that were flowing down the street. I was on live TV and could not believe what was happening. I was so in shock that on air I started criticizing the driver. I said something like the following;
 ”Folks, take a look at this guy right here. This is exactly what you SHOULD NOT be doing in a flash flood.” Then I started at him right through his windshield and began shaking my finger at him. “NO no no! What are you doing? Where do you think you are going? You are in a FLOOD!”

 After the fact I felt pretty bad about being that mean to a guy that was driving into a flood on live TV. A few months later, Brian and I won EMMY awards for our reporting of that story.

(5) Happy To Get Out Of New Orleans

This is a screen grab from some of my reporting from hurricane ravaged Biloxi, Mississippi in the Summer of 2005.

 In the Summer of 2005, following the historic events of Hurricane Katrina, KLAS in Las Vegas dispatched me to the Gulf Coast to see what life was like for those who survived but now had to deal with the mess.
 It was alternately the best and worst experience of my career, for the obvious reasons. A helluva story but what a personal price.
 I did 10 days on the Gulf Coast and served alongside other KLAS staffers, all of them fine journalists and technicians. One of them was a fantastic gentlemen named Bob Hauck, who reminded me just how happy I was to get out of New Orleans.
 We left on a Saturday morning in a convoy of 4 vehicles; two news cruisers, a rented RV and our satellite truck.
 Bob reminded me of the fun we had on the road as we left New Orleans, headed west to Dallas then north to Oklahoma City then west on the roads that would finally take us back to Las Vegas.
 Apparently on that trip, I had some fun with the in-car radios, making jokes of an improper variety, calling for synchronized lane changes (which we did beautifully. If it had been set to music, people would have cried). I also used the radio when we were getting ready to pass another car in our convoy, by humming the theme to “Jaws” as we would slowly pull alongside and then pull away.

(6) What does “coherent” mean?

This imposing looking man is named Stan Ruta. He is one of my oldest friends in the world. He knows where the bodies are buried so I will stop talking about him now.

 Isn’t it amazing how one word can land you in so much trouble. Or perceived trouble. Just one *little* word.
 Stan Ruta reminded me of this event. Stan and I used to serve on the staff of KWDM Radio in West Des Moines. It was Valley High School’s radio station. Stan and I both went to Valley and loved radio and ended up working together.
 One of the things Stan and I did was produce talk shows for the radio station. Two hour forums where community issues could be discussed and reviewed from a teenagers point of view. We were very proud of this work. We also liked to have a little fun.
 On one of these talk shows, we had a professional radio announcer record the open and the close for the program. We had him say as the very last thing in the close;
 ”Portions of our broadcast day are actually coherent”.
 This was a snub to the people who thought our radio station was just a rinky dink, play-time activity. We were serious about our work. We had produced a good product and we were going to sneak in a tweak at our detractors.
 Turns out we got in trouble with the station’s faculty advisor, who pulled all the staff that worked on the talk show out of class to read us the dictionary definition of “coherent”.  She was upset, saying that our use of the word “coherent” cast doubt on the entire station and was not a tweak to our detractors as we had suggested. She also said that making the decision to have an announcer say this was “excessive”. That burned me.
 ”No, ” I said to her, challenging authority, “…excessive is calling 12 people out of class to read them the dictionary definition of coherent”.
 I was suspended from the radio program for a week. I could not be on the air. But I was taught, and still believe, that openly questioning authority is a healthy thing for society. I think it makes you “coherent” about the world around you.

(7) “Contiguous”.

You can blame Mason City radio personality Bob Fisher for this story. Incidentally, Bob looks nice in green.

 From “coherent” to “contiguous”.
 Bob and I used to serve on the board of directors for the Iowa Broadcast News Association. Bob has since retired from the board while I am now IBNA president.
 Last year sometime, the entire IBNA board was doing a site survey of a hotel near Des Moines, Iowa. We were considered this hotel as a venue for our annual convention. The salesperson showing us around was nice. I enjoyed talking to her. But she said something that caught my ear and eventually became a comedic battle point for Bob and myself. This is what she said;
 ”We have several meeting rooms which are contiguous and would meet your needs well.”
 Contiguous? I admit I use 5 dollar words sometimes, but for some reason this really struck me as funny. I leaned over and whispered to Bob “Contiguous? Can’t she just say they are next to each other?” He chuckled but that was it. That wasn’t good enough for me. For the next 20 minutes, as the tour continued, I ramped up the jokes, all them focusing on the use of the word “contiguous”. As with most of my really funny stories, I can not share the content of those jokes with you in this forum. But by the end, Bobby Fisher was laughing, red-faced, coughing and urging me to just please shut up.
 Mission accomplished.

(8) The 1973 Ford Gran Torino

Put a white roof on this baby and it would look exactly like my first car; a 1973 Ford Gran Torino.

  My first car was the approximate shape and size of a United States Navy warship. It was a burnt orange, 1973 Ford Gran Torino. This car was amazing. It was made in Cleveland and contained a 351 horsepower engine. It revved like a monster. If you even thought about touching the gas pedal, you would find yourself halfway down the block. It was an amazing car. Most of the time.

 I have my close friend Elizabeth Harness Murphy to thank for this story. She was my long-time high school girlfriend and spent plenty of time in the passenger seat, riding along as this fool chased whatever adventure he could find.

 Sometimes you would turn a corner and a hubcap would fly off. I would sheepishly walk into a strangers front yard to retrieve it.

 Sometimes I would misjudge the size of the car and hit a building while trying to get out of a parking lot (I may or may not have love tapped the Pizza Hut near Merle Hay Mall in the Summer of 1989).

 Sometimes I would hit the car horn then have to repeatedly beat it to get it to stop honking.

 Sometimes the seat belt would lock when I would turn corners and I would have to pull over and release it so I could breathe again.

 But I think, perhaps, my favorite Gran Torino story is from the Spring of 1989. I had used that car to take my state of Iowa driving test. My grandfather waited inside the drivers license station for me, probably figuring he would be driving the car back home. Instead, I passed my test and using my new found courage, offered to give a girl (a cute one) who had failed her test a ride back home. Yup. I picked up a 16-year-old girl with my 71-year-old grandfather as my wing man. Who has two thumbs and really did that? This guy.

(9) The show is done; time for “Hide N Seek”

 I spent five years of my early career at KCAU Television in Sioux City, Iowa. I walked in the door in 1993 as a general assignment reporter and when I left in 1998, I was the Monday-Friday weeknight anchor.
 
 Back in these days, TV was a little more relaxed (at least it seems that way). When we would finish with the late 10PM news, sometimes the staff would engage in a game of “hide and seek” in the KCAU building.

This is the KCAU building in downtown Sioux City. It is actually the old city auditorium. A very historic building with lots of hallways and rooms. I have good memories here.

 They were fun, innocent games. People hide and people seek. Tons of nooks and crannys in the building. It was a fun time and it build good relationships with your co-workers. I am fortunate to say that every place I have worked I have made good friends that I keep in contact with to this day.
 Thanks to Mike Curry for reminding me of this story. Incidentally, Mike used to run studio cameras for newscasts I would anchor. He had a habit of holding up his hand on standbys and then dropping it when we were on the air; sometimes he would slam his hand into the metal cart that contained the program monitors we would use to see the newscast. He slammed his hand one night while I was anchoring and I almost went into hysterics, I called the weather anchor by the wrong name and my voice cracked while I apologized for calling her the wrong name.
 Thanks Mike.

(10) “Your wife is in labor”

He is one of the true lights of my life; Austin Brian Allen; seen here at a Cedar Rapids Kernels baseball game in 2007.

 My son Austin has kind of a claim to fame in our family. Going back generations on both sides of his family, everyone has been born in Iowa. They may have left and lived somewhere else later. But the common family thread has been Iowa.
 Austin broke that thread.
 Austin was born in the Summer of 2004. At that time I was working at KLAS in Las Vegas. Yes, Austin is a native Nevadan. That is tough to find to start with, at least in Southern Nevada. Las Vegas is such a transitory town.
 We had several bouts of premature labor. The last bout happened while I was out on a story, getting ready to go live in the 5PM newscast about a fireworks mishap in a Las Vegas neighborhood.
 I went live and did my story. As soon as I signed off…”Reporting live tonight, Brian Allen Channel 8 Eyewitness News”…my producer got into my ear and said “Your wife is in labor right now”. I was stunned. I remember standing there for a moment before tossing the microphone and ripping out my earpiece and yelling at my photographer “We gotta go now! I’m not missing Austin!”.
 What I did not know; everyone at the station was watching our a close circuit feed or our live signal. The audience couldn’t see me melting but everyone else could.
 I got to the hospital, it was false labor. Austin came about 10 days later.
 I love you Buddy Boy.

 Thanks to my friends for these ideas. This is a blog that I have been intending to write for a long time. Now just felt right. We are on the cusp of change. What will 2011 bring? I don’t know. But I can reflect on funny memories like these and others and hope the year to come will be a good one.

 Brian

I can not get back to Las Vegas

 I am a boy from the heart of Iowa. I grew up riding my bike on tree-lined streets. In the Summer, I lived at a country vacation home in a small town east of Des Moines. I know what it’s like to work on a farm and sweat to make a living. The way I grew up in no way matched what I life would turn out to be. For example, if you had told me when I was a teen-ager that I would someday work and live in Las Vegas, I probably would have doubled over with laughter and then passed out from unconsciousness.

 But in the Summer of 2003, I received an offer to come to work at KLAS Television in Las Vegas, Nevada. The offer knocked me over. I was even more amazed when they flew me out for an interview and then hired me. Keep in mind, you’re talking to someone who never thought they would end up on television, let alone on TV in one of the most exciting cities on the planet.

I went to work in the Summer of 2003 as a news reporter for KLAS Television in Las Vegas, Nevada.

 I spent exactly three years in Las Vegas. In that time, I got the education of a lifetime. I was hired as a reporter but quickly added other duties: anchoring, investigative reporting, breaking news reporting and special projects reporting. Most of this work required intensive, in-depth research; skills I had acquired previously through Policy Debate. I was awfully fortunate that the powers that be thought enough of me to give me these assignments…confident that I would pull them off.

 The most life-changing of these experiences came in the Summer of 2005 after Hurricane Katrina hit the Louisiana and Mississippi gulf coasts. I was dispatched to New Orleans to cover the story of aftermath and recovery.

This is a screen capture of some of my reporting from the Gulf Coast following Hurricane Katrina in the Summer of 2005.

 I saw things on that trip that I didn’t think I would ever see. I also had experiences that I thought were reserved for those in Third World Countries, not the United States. I saw dead bodies. I saw people walking by those dead bodies like they could have cared less. I saw soldiers with fear in their eyes and guns in their hands, wondering how they would secure such a large area of destruction. I saw destruction on a scale that blew my mind. I saw young men and women with hopeless looks in their eyes and old men who could only cry and wonder what life would bring them next. But what hurt the most were the children who did not understand what they had survived, did not understand why they had to sleep in a strange place and did not understand what the next day would bring, let along the next week, month and year. It was the fear of the children that did me in. Kids should not have to suffer and when they do it gets to me. I am pretty stoic on stories but I shed many tears when I saw the faces  of kids who were scared and bewildered about their circumstances.

 We did not have dependable access to either food or water. Local medical experts said it would be hard to protect ourselves from infections. I did not shave on that trip, fearing I would cut myself and then get some type of illness. The only way we could keep ourselves clean way to give ourselves baths on a street corner. A literal street corner. We poured small amounts of bottled water over our heads to wash our scalps. We handled the rest of our bodies with baby wipes. We lived like this for 10 days. It was miserable. But we knew for us it was temporary. For the people who lived here, they were going to have to live like this for a long time.

 For as much pain and suffering as we saw, we also saw amazing examples of the human spirit. I remember we met one woman in Biloxi, Mississippi whose entire home had been flooded by Katrina’s storm surge. In her home she had stockpiled supplies for a new bakery she had opened two weeks previous. Her entire life was wrapped up in her house and all of it was ruined. I asked her what she was going to do and she simply said “Survive” and she smiled. It was so simple and amazing. I remember another person, a local Biloxi cop, who had yet to check on his own storm damaged home because he was too busy trying to help everyone else. I asked him what the lesson of Katrina was. He thought for a minute and said “Don’t let Katrina steal your soul”. I thought it was amazingly profound; an answer fit for a pastor, not a cop.

This is me anchoring a segment of KLAS Eyewitness News with Gary Waddell, the dean of Las Vegas news anchors. I learned a lot from this man about the true calling of journalists.

 I came back from New Orleans and for another year I reported, anchored and worked on in-depth special projects. Then in the Summer of 2006, I had a chance to come back home to the Midwest and I took it. Part of it was a desire to not raise my son Austin in Las Vegas. Part of it was to advance my career into the arena of doing more anchoring.
 Leaving Las Vegas was not easy to do. In three years I had developed friendships that last to this day. I learned so much it wasn’t even funny. I said good-bye to people who I not only respected but genuinely liked.

 I have been gone from Las Vegas for more than 4 years now. Since then, I have made serious attempts to return to Las Vegas to see my friends and the city I left behind. Each time, it has failed to materialize. As I sit here writing this, I am realizing that plans to try to return to Las Vegas this week will probably not come together and allow me to do it.
 It is odd in a sense; it seems that fate is trying to block me from going back. I wonder why that is. I truly enjoyed my time in Las Vegas. But perhaps it was meant to be a moment in time; a way to grow myself professionally and personally and then leave, never to return? I don’t know. It just feels that way sometimes. 2011 is just a few days away. Will that be the year that I finally get to return to Las Vegas Boulevard and stand outside the Bellagio and watch the fountains dance in the desert wind?

The dynamic duo of Brian Allen and Marc Stevens. For a time, I anchored the weekend news and Marc was my producer. Whenever we got together, hilarity happened. I mean tears down your face, stomach hurts, beat your fist on the desk hilarity.