Calamity Jane
One of the issues we face as consultants is whether all those people trying to get our attention constitute the voice of Paul Revere or Chicken Little.
Yesterday, I spent 45 minutes stowing our pool and balcony furniture because of an absolute panic in Rhode Island about Hurricane Earl (and if that’s not a dumb name for a storm, why don’t we try Hurricane Godfrey—whatever happened to Lola or Monica?). This morning, I spent 45 minutes putting it all back. Noting happened in the interim.
Oh, we had some rain, but a matchbook wouldn’t have blown off my diving board all night. And the state probably lost millions of dollars in people who were fearful of attending the theater, or dining out, or going to a bar. (Restaurants were vacant on a Friday night here.) And now the populace will have extra bread that will mold, and milk that will spoil, and generators that will rust—all panic purchases.
At one point a while back, I counted five meteorologists for each of the Providence area’s local network affiliates—that’s 15 people, far more than their number of evening anchors or top beat reporters. Weather is a big deal here, for some reason, maybe because there isn’t that much else to talk about. (If you saw the outstanding series “The Brotherhood,” the cast of which I’ve met at parties here, be aware that it was more of a documentary than anything else.)
Have you ever seen those photos and news clips of a governor or senior official at a lectern with a dozen people crowded behind, elbowing for recognition space? They’re all looking suitably serious, and their numbers are in direct proportion to the pay grade of the person with the mike. This is assembled officialdom, and by golly, they are going to show they are official.
When people are paid to talk about and support calamity, guess what they talk about: calamity. Certain volunteers can’t get together and utilize their stuff or assemble the support structures or get the gear working unless there is some reason. So they pine for the reason. Remember as kids, we took our baseball gloves to the game just in case that foul ball or home run came in our direction? I salute their sincerity and their training, and I admire their dedication. But, like insurance policies, I hope it’s never used—not that it’s frequently used.
I’m all for emergency preparedness, but not for distorting perceptions or always favoring worst outcomes. “Prepare for the worst and hope for the best” is a grand theme, but it too often transmogrifies into “Prepare for the worst and let’s hope we can see it!”
Why do we need reporters standing out in the wind and rain to prove that it’s windy and rainy? I can believe the camera alone, and even merely commentary. After a while of this comic opera, with the meteorologist bracing in the wind, pelted with rain, I begin rooting for the wind and the rain. If he were blown away, we’d have some real theater.
We create self-fulfilling prophesies. We seem do dote on possible ruin. People here still talk about “the blizzard of 1936” or something, as if it’s still with us. Somehow, people got through that without dozens of meteorologists, modern emergency equipment, or cell phones.
I can’t talk about solely female names for hurricanes anymore because of misplaced political correctness, but at least I’m still safe from having to refer to “Calamity Jane or John.” She was a real figure (and a featured character in the great series “Deadwood”) having gained her sobriquet in seeming to always be involved in frontier fights. But she was well regarded not just for her bravery, but also her compassion.
It seems she had excellent perspective.
© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.
