It took me a while to get the point, but now I see it.
After N+1 attempts to reconnect after someone in New Orleans tried to hack my FB account over a month ago, uploading numerous and various proper/official ID’s, ID’s that were painstakingly created in accordance of your size/clarity/orientation – all of which have been rejected as being sufficient for reclaiming accounts according to _your_ rules – after waiting for a week to ten days to “try again” (because apparently even _that_ was “too often” for your system), I, your customer, have been asked (complicatedly and confusedly enough) to never come back.
In what should have been a simple enough process to upload ID’s and continue on my way, the effort I have been spending to reconnect is becoming expensive; I should submit an invoice for my professional time. I have done my job. Your IT/fix-it staff should be able to do theirs. IF your company is too big to handle even simple requests for help (the chat function is too busy at this time – try again in an hour, hashtag#LatherRinseRepeat) then you need to consider hiring more people to help your customers in Catch-22 situations like I have experienced.
Yes, yes, I know… have you tried turning off and back on again? Have I cleared the cache. Have I deleted information that could be causing a problem? Have I, have I, have I… ad mindbending nauseum…? Have I just tried establishing a new account? I have put a lot of time and effort into my account as is, thank you very much, and would like to continue without having to go through the reinventing-the-wheel-steps to re-establish connections with current customers and audience.
I cannot contact you in any other way as your system will not let me, so a public complaint from one of your own customers is what I am forced to create in order that someone, somewhere in your organization _might_ pay attention.
This is no way to treat a loyal customer. But, loyalty goes both ways. If I am no longer asked to stick around and the door is barred in my face, there is no point in trying. Politely knocking is obviously not an option. That is a reflection on you and your attitude, and your systems’ ability to help… not on my ability to keep gaining access when it should have been an easy process to begin with.
In March of last year, trying to come up with new and interesting science/math related Twitter polls to feature on WREG Daybreak weekend news, I decided to poll people to see if they would be interested in one – just one and only one – forecast to be done in metric temperature measurements rather than the usual English units.
The response was – sadly – about as expected.
What follows was a typical e-mail response – one of many… (all spelling & syntax sic)
I am amazed at the response you received regarding “metric” weather forcasting. Perhaps there are a lot more out here like me who did not even know until today that there was a poll on the subject. I would absolutely vote NO. If you want to use metrics in your forecast, even once a day, you should show the NORMAL forcast numbers at the same time. I feel the same way about “metrics” as I do our English language. If someone moves to this country, they should learn to speak, read and write English as well as learn our mathematical system. We should not have to conform to THEIR language or metrics. If we go their countries, we have to learn their language, and they must do the same or stay home!!!
Dear Austen,
I know these comments will not do any good, but please note there are a lot of us who feel the same way.
Thank you, [Name Withheld]
For those still asking: yes, I did one – just one and only one – forecast in metrics as the poll numbers ran slightly ahead on the “Yes, do the forecast in metrics” selection over the other two choices of “No, don’t do the forecast in metrics” and the ever-popular “Don’t care either way”. As promised, I did one seven day extended forecast in metrics. Many responses of “It’s just not American” were met with “Why is that?” from me. A small percentage chose to respond to my Why? with a repeat of their Not-American choice.
None of them were able (to my satisfaction) explain why they thought that way. It just wasn’t done, and to even suggest using metrics for anything was to invite scorn, contempt, ridicule and cries of “Traitor!” or “Communist!” to the comment section. The cries of foul play from some viewers were devilish in their nature, suggesting my eternal soul was at stake for doing such a thing. There were, by contrast, some supporting statements, but none as dedicatedly staunch as those who compared using metric measurements to an erasure of culture or a government takeover by some shadowy cabal overseas.
The only thing – seriously – that I was trying to accomplish was a gauging of the attitudes of Mid-Southerners (or whomever wanted to participate) of what they felt regarding the metric system, but also to apply the idea of “Why”.
Well, admittedly… it was not entirely the only reason. The “why” of it bothers me. Fear of an imminent hostile nation’s attack, I can understand. Fear of a numbers system <as> an attack? At what point do people fear numbers so much that they have to alter reality to comfort their ideas?
Oh yeah… right….
To this day, I cannot understand the fear generated when the idea of using kilometers instead of miles is brought up, grams vs. ounces, millimeters versus 1/32 of an inch, nor can I understand the double-standards applied when you have two liter bottles of soda readily available at the grocery store, yet not a soul (to my knowledge) lifts a finger to complain via phone or e-mail to the store management that <gasp!> metrics have found their way into a true blue American grocery store!
I am seriously considering another metrics episode in the near future, after another poll to engage the public on their views. Doubtful that anything has changed within the last year to swing the needle towards a positive view of metrics, I would like to be able to bring the idea of metrics to the public attention, mostly for my own selfish benefit: please – beyond the idea that metrics means a foreign takeover of the United States – help me to see where the fear is coming from.
I do not get it in the slightest. I don’t think I am being thick or misunderstanding it. I think that the attitude is ingrained in the national infrastructure of thought, passed down from generation to generation, in that These Here United States are not supposed to work with the rest of the world but set the standard for everyone else.
Conversely, if nearly every other country on the planet uses this cursed system of math, it doesn’t mean that we have to do it because we are the United States. This circular, vicious-circle logic gives me a headache, and makes me want to fight harder to get people, especially students, to understand that they are just numbers and nothing to be afraid of. The two-liter bottle of root beer is 0.528344 in gallons. Doesn’t two liters (easily divided into milliliters) make more sense mathematically speaking? Why do we not have 0.528344 gallon bottles instead, if metrics is such an existential threat to our country’s livelihood and future?
Anyone?
Stay tuned for the potential of another metric forecast in the Mid-South future. Poll to be (possibly) posted on Twitter.
With the ongoing madness a world away in the Strait of Hormuz, rising oil prices and instability around every corner in the political world, the feeling of ‘what’s past is prologue’ seems to be getting a more modern update, boomeranging back from the oil crises of the late 1970’s. (A more important question would seem to be “have humans learned nothing in nearly half a century?”
Looking at the various financial websites and listening to the voices on the talk shows it seems that we have not seen the deepest part of this current crisis, so we should be very prepared to have to chomp on a bigger bullet as conditions worsen. I remember clearly the advertisements on the magazines when I was growing up for cars and trucks, changing over from their usual catchphrases and selling points of power and freedom of the driving American to the theme of a Mazda pick-up truck around 1980 with the large word “STINGY!” above the picture and the gas mileage prominently featured. Are those days around the corner again to where the $6/gallon gas fill-ups are possible and the selling points of the marvelously spacious SUV will be more of a focus on economy and how much we are willing to pay for that freedom?
Have Americans learned anything? It seems not. The “here we go again” factor is high, and it is incredibly tiresome to witness.
This past weekend was Earth Hour 2026, an effort began in 2007 to promote conservation of energy and concentrating on the saving of precious funds to pay for said energy by turning off non-necessary lights and appliances. As Americans go, we are more wasteful than a good portion of the planet and fell we have “the right” to leave a light switch on in a room for hours at a time, either because we are too lazy to change anything or because we might be back in that room later on, so what’s the use of turning off the light(s)? After all, we’re Americans, right? We have the cheap power and we have our rights to think of.
So, what happens when those power prices really start hitting home? The 25 foot ceilings in the 5,000 square foot house are going to become harder to heat and cool unless we’re willing to pay said price. How much of an increase from unstable energy sources are we willing to tolerate, or even think about?
The answer, as Americans, seems to be: don’t bother me with this stuff until it becomes a real issue. America has been, for quite some time now, a reactive – rather than a preparatory – society. The danger must be imminent or already happening for most to look up from their smart phone games or social media feed to realize that a situation must be dealt with (that could have been dealt with before had we been paying attention). When I was younger and not paying attention to what I was doing and stepped on something or ran into the wall, my mom’s favorite phrase was “If it was a snake, it would’a bit’ya!” I feel there’s a fair share of a bite – and a painful one – coming our way soon where our country’s energy policy (and the people elected to office who help shape that policy) are concerned. The rest of the world is moving on without the United States and it’s self-directed “iconoclastic” stance regarding limited fossil fuel use.
Ignorance – apparently – is bliss in this country, as long as it doesn’t impact you directly.
After more than a few years in the news business, I have learned a great many things. One of the most important lessons is this: treasure those kind souls that God puts in your path to help you along the way.
In July of 1990, I was hired for my first broadcasting job in radio at KMAJ AM-FM in Topeka, KS. A complete newbie-greenhorn behind the microphone, I was ecstatic to work with people that I had heard for years through the speakers, even if it was a minor host role at the start. I thought I was going to take the airwaves by storm. My first few months proved to me that I had a lot more to learn than I ever thought before.
One of the first people that helped me along at Majic 108 was Ms. Rose, mid-day hostess and all-around amazing giving-and-caring person, one of the more popular on-air personalities in the Topeka market. While I was getting used to radio station management double-talk and the confusing ‘Do As I Say Not As I Do’ leadership style (and let’s not forget the consultant-speak), Rose was like a big sister to me, offering advice and giving needed critiques that challenged me and helped me develop professionally, keeping me encouraged about my choice of career when things didn’t look so good. I still have a Christmas card from her wishing me well when I moved on from Topeka to a new position in Fort Smith, Arkansas, hanging on the board in my old room.
We kept in touch off-and-on over the years. I was sorry to hear that Rose is no longer with us as of this weekend. (Many thanks to my former KTKA 49 director, Rich Bircher, for passing the information on.) She brought light and laughter and a sincere caring voice to the airwaves around Topeka for many years that will be sorely missed. I’m sorry we hadn’t the chance to visit for many years, but I will remember all the help and the smiles and all the willingness to be positive in a business where negativity can – sadly – be the rule and the expectation. The good ones leave us all too quickly; there’s a little less light in Topeka tonight, but the echoes of her voice and heart are still out there in the aether, all of which helped to make the world a better place.
Thanks, Rose, for helping me get started in broadcasting many years ago. Thanks for the friendship and help. Thanks for the grin before hitting the On Air button saying, “Time to rock and roll!”
A few weeks ago, our newscast at WDEF-TV featured information regarding an accident of a seagoing tanker transporting natural gas and another tanker carrying crude oil. Tossing to me after the story for the weather tease, the anchors led with the statement “This appears to be an ongoing problem, as you have been telling us about recently, Austen?”
Which I indeed had been regarding any environmental stories that were included before the weather segments. Mentioning that clean energy, while not completely clean due to some material used in construction, were certainly less problematic and dangerous for transport than old Leave It In The Ground fossil fuel transport.
This evoked an email response from a local viewer:
“You are my choice of weather forecasters in our area..but your comments tonight about “clean energy” were not comforting for those of us affected by the price increases that may come as a result of the most recent weather .
Yes, clean energy is a great concept, but we are years, even decades away from aborting fossil fuels, in the meantime comments such as yours tonight do not change that fact.
Please be considerate that 100% of us rely on this source of energy. More facts, less opinion please.”
In turn, after much thought, I provided my answer.
Mr H.,
Many kind thanks for the initial compliment. I am wholeheartedly pleased you are enjoying the efforts.
Back in my hometown of Topeka, Kansas, my late father, an architect, spent most of the late 1970’s around and after the oil crisis promoting clean and renewable energy practices in his buildings and conservationist practices to reduce waste and overspending. He was roundly laughed at, derided by others in his field, told to shut up and go away and quit embarrassing himself… we were America, which meant we could waste energy as often as we wanted and be as foolish as we wished to be. Paying for foreign oil was just what we could do and had to do. The whole “clean energy” thing was for crunchy-granola, tree-hugging hippies and not Mr. & Mrs. America. Clean energy? What were we? Sweden? Denmark? Japan? How dare my dad suggest that Americans have to change their ways? If we want to pay huge amounts of money for our transportation and our heating/AC bill by using polluting energy sources,, then so be it, because That’s The Way We’ve Always Done It.
In choosing not to listen to his detractors, or their backwards-looking attitudes, he set out promoting more about clean energy in every structure he and his office designed. His architectural practice thrived on his continued willingness to stand against fear and ignorance and choosing, deliberately, to look towards the future. He designed a wind farm on a farmer’s pasture around Ozawkie that paid for itself and generated energy for surrounding homes. He designed a new headquarters for the American Heart Association in Topeka that was four times the size of the old building but used one-quarter the energy thanks to his techniques and additions that he knew could work, causing a 10,500 sq ft office building to have the energy signature of a small apartment. He advised members of the Topeka City Council, local legislators at the State Capitol and other audiences where he was asked to speak about the future of clean energy, being able to conserve energy reserves while saving us money, always looking forward to the next development that could help us reduce our need of fossil fuels altogether.
Also, he designed our family house using the techniques of passive solar, passive underground, cool tubes, heat pumps, angular seasonal solar collection structure, all working together to use less energy. Our average monthly winter bill – in northern Kansas – was $50.
Having seen all of this personally, and lived with the benefits of cleaner practices, I find it hard to light a candle and hide it under a bush. The comments regarding clean energy were not meant to be comforting, nor offensive – they simply were a statement of fact. You may disagree with those facts, and – as is your right – classify it as “opinion” but you cannot argue against it. The opinion that ending fossil fuels makes you uncomfortable I would posit is based on your fear of change and the future. The fact that transporting fossil fuels anywhere involves risk, whether it is an oil spill or a natural gas tanker explosion or having to supply energy through war zones or from counties like Russia (threatening to cut off natural gas supplies to countries that disagree with the invasion) makes no difference.
Clean energy sources have little to no risk when compared to fossil fuel development, usage and transport: a solar spill is called a sunny day, not an unfolding ecological disaster. My statements regarding fossil fuel usage and transport, while disturbing to you personally, were completely and totally factual.
In one aspect, I must concede that you are correct; we are several years away from a removal of fossil fuels. However, your fear of this, and speaking out against, change is confusing. You mention correctly that we are decades away from a total changeover, and you accede that the changes in energy prices affect greatly those who use it, making you concerned with weather’s affectations. Why you would not welcome a change to a more stable and dependable use of energy, why you would wish to promote the idea of staying in the past, why you may think that keeping our heads down and hoping that energy prices will not increase because of some foreign leaders’ malevolent actions or wishes to line their pockets with our money, because the mere mention of a better future on-air makes you nervous is extremely confusing to me.
I respectfully regret to inform you that I cannot and will not be changing my ways in regards to this topic. Dr. Martin Luther said correctly that to go against conscience was neither right nor safe, and I cannot sit here and stop talking about improving the planet when there is so much more to be said and done, and we are falling behind in getting people to help out and do their part. I feel that I would be letting my dad down for continuing all of his hard work if I quit now because some folks might find talk of clean energy (again, confusingly) disturbing. I, for one, welcome the change that a clean future would bring, and am completely willing to confront the all-too-pervasive We’ve Always Done It This Way attitudes. I invite you to re-examine and confront your fear and look forward to in faith and hope what clean energy transitions would have to offer and help out by spreading the word of what a better world clean energy usage will bring.
The future is green and clean. I believe it, I’ve seen it work, and I will continue to speak out about it. Together, as one planet and one humanity in the goal of saving our planet, we can make it work. Many thanks for writing us at WDEF-TV News 12.
AUSTEN L. ONEK austen.onek@gmail.com (901) 213-6635 Google Phone
OVERVIEW 33 years experience in project management/direction, expert editing / writing / proofreading from extensive communications & journalism background (AP/Chicago Style); executive director/producer online events; internal / external / corporate communications familiar; public speaking & presentation expert.
★ Teamwork / Independent work comfortable ★ Channel content development, continuity & oversight ★ Training / Teaching leader, class/subject matter research & development ★ Subject / Message Creation & Alignment with company / department standards ★ Emergency Communications Expert
PROFESSIONAL JUNE 2022 to PRESENT WDEF-TV NEWS 12 Chief Meteorologist Weekday Evening News, Digital Weather Creator, Advisor On Social Media Content/Strategy, Public Communication Specialist / Public Speaking Specialist
JULY 2020 to JUNE 2022 COVID-19 JOINT TASK FORCE – SHELBY COUNTY HEALTH DEPARTMENT Public Information Specialist, Executive Director SCHD Press Conference Live Webcasts, Social Media Management, SCHD Liaison to Shelby County Mayor Lee Harris office, 160 N. Main: Project Manager Print Media, Videographer, Creative Design, Advisor On Social Media Content/Strategy
SEPTEMBER 2018 to MARCH 2020 BARTLETT CITY SCHOOLS Substitute Teacher
JANUARY 2008 to JULY 2019 CITY OF MEMPHIS: PINK PALACE MUSEUM, EDUCATION DEPT. Scientific Advisor / Instructor, Successful Grant / Press Release Writer, Public Communication Specialist
NOVEMBER 1997 to JANUARY 2020 WREG-TV CBS MEMPHIS, TN Senior Digital Specialist, Senior Meteorologist, Anchor / Reporter, Webmaster (former), Graphic & Animation Artist, Communications / Promotions / Public Information Specialist
JUNE 1994 to OCTOBER 1997 KFSM-TV 5 CBS FORT SMITH / FAYETTEVILLE, AR Meteorologist, Anchor / Internet Reporter, Graphic Artist, Public Communication / Media Relations
JULY 1990 to JUNE 1994 KTKA-TV 49 ABC TOPEKA, KS Meteorologist, Anchor / Environmental Reporter, Graphic Artist, Public Communication/Media Relations Audio/Radio Editing, Production Dept. P/T employee, P/T Photographer
JULY 1990 to JULY 1991 KMAJ AM/FM TOPEKA, KS Weather Anchor, Announcer, Production Staff, Commercial Writer/Editor, News Dept. Intern
EDUCATION FORMAL
The University of Kansas: Bachelor of Arts: Atmospheric Science & Physics, May 1991
The University of Memphis: Master of Arts: Journalism and New Media, 2020-2022
References & Samples available upon request
PROOF OF PERFORMANCE
2021-2022 Executive Director & Producer, Shelby County Health Department COVID-19 Joint Task Force weekly / bi-weekly online streaming press conference briefings from SC Emergency Management Agency main training ops theater.
2021 Shelby County Office of the Mayor: Project Lead for requested SC Department of Corrections COVID-19 vaccination video campaign. Result: By year’s end, total vaccination levels within the SCDOC inmate population rises to 75%, near 95% into early 2022.
2021 Shelby County Office of the Mayor: Project Lead for requested multi-format COVID-19 vaccination campaign, primarily print but sidebar radio & television advertisement development, utilizing QR codes and specialized . Print media distributed to public access areas of various Shelby County government facilities explaining the benefit and low risks of COVID-19 vaccinations. Result: steady increase in Shelby County Health Department and Shelby County government websites
2015-2020 Top 5% Memphis DMA local news social media influencers via ShareRocket survey data
2002-2003 Creator / Project Lead for WREG-TV energy conservation campaigns “Power To Save!” and the follow-up “Power 2 Save!” Result: ultimately earning $250,000 in advertising revenue
“I received a text at 2:29am this morning from Nancy Walton. It is with tremendous sadness I relay to you that Coach Frank Walton passed away at around 1am this morning. — with Nancy Walton and Chris Walton
I had learned, painfully, during my time in middle school years at Topeka Lutheran that I was not cut out for an athletic track in life. I enjoyed watching sports of all kinds. I just had no prowess for actually doing any of them, not great news during gym class. I would be able to half-heartedly swing at the baseball, occasionally make a bucket during basketball season, and don’t even get me started on the amount of running required during soccer. It was thanks to all that experience I discovered that I did actually have talent for being on the support staff, helping the coaching staff with whatever was necessary, organizing equipment, keeping track of stats… all of which gave me the potential of heartily enjoying being “part” of the team without actually being “on” the team. Despite the “waterboy” epithets from time to time, you did feel like you had a part to play. Being true to your school wasn’t just pep rallies and spirit days. It was helping to tally uniforms, sweeping gym floors, placing markers for football or soccer on the field, and even – yes – getting the water bottles taken care of for the players.
That experience helped me greatly when, arriving as a new greenhorn freshman at Topeka West High School in fall semester 1982 as one of the newest members of the managers and trainers for the Chargers football program led by head coach Frank Walton, I learned that part of the regular duties was to create a certain object before each Friday night varsity game for Coach to use during the games. The construction was simple: take a couple of game programs from the concession stand, twist them up lengthwise, then take an entire roll of athletic tape wrapped around to turn it into a handheld semi-directors-baton. The other managers had christened it “Coach’s Anger Toy”, which could be used for a number of purposes through the game: to point at something on the field for emphasis, a handy object to slam to the ground when a play didn’t go correctly, and – occasionally – a useful “whack-bonk” to get a players’ attention when trying to get a point across. It was never used in malice; anger, maybe, but there was not a time when it would be used in a demeaning or abusive way. It was a focal device. It was an attention-grabber. When Coach got wound up either in the pre-game locker room pep talk or to light a fire under the players at half time and that baton got swinging around, you tended to be very interested in which direction it was going and what Coach was saying, just in case it got aimed your way for not paying attention.
Coach was one of the louder, bolder personalities that I had ever met outside of members of my own family, somewhat overpowering for a newby-frosh high school geek. The encouragement, sometimes directly in-your-face while grabbing your facemask approach or the ‘You Can Do Better’ on the speech critique sheet, was what I remember most about him. That, and the wide smile and gravelly laugh of his when he got wound up. He wasn’t afraid to laugh. The spirit that Coach and the other coaches on the TWHS staff embodied was one of desiring to win, but not win as if it were life-and-death. Yes, it was a competition and you were on the team; it wasn’t all about you. Everyone is part of this effort, so work together to make it happen. “Don’t waste it!” was one of his more memorable phrases, whether on the field or off, an encouragement and an admonishment for sports or life: you’ve got the ball, do your best with it, don’t drop it, work together with your teammates/you are not the star of the program, let’s go out there and have fun. He was in charge, but he was not so big as to not be human, to not care about those under him, from the quarterback down to the coaching staff and those of us in the lower ranks of support staff. It meant a lot then, it inspires me to be a better person now.
In that spirit of family and inclusion, Coach and his wife, Nancy – affectionately known as ‘Big Mama’ – would hold annual spaghetti dinners for the entire team – the managers and trainers would be included in the festivities – spending an evening at Coach’s house, enjoying a camaraderie that I had never heard about from any other team before or since. I had never expected to be invited once I heard about the supper as I thought of myself as “support staff”, but, no: it was for The Team. You were part of coach’s team. Everyone was included. The hand of friendship, the open door of family meant “You, Too!”… get in here and eat your fill and be a part of this happening now; remember it for later in life.
That was part of who he was: the passion, the highs and the lows whether in the classroom or the gridiron. Part of a football family from Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, Coach Frank’s brother was Joe Walton. In a way, being in Topeka, Kansas, decently far from any professional sports, it was an amazing connection to know that our head football coach was related to the head coach of THE New York Jets. If you lived in Topeka, more than likely you were either a Dallas Cowboys, Chicago Bears or Kansas City Chiefs fan. By extension, you also rooted in your own way for the Jets given our school connection.
I was blessed to have Coach for my acting/speech class requirement during spring semester 1983, although going into his classroom for the first few days was stressful. I had a season of football under my belt at that point and knew his personality from the sidelines; I had no idea what to expect from the classroom Coach. Along the line in that drafty temporary hut of a classroom on the west side of the high school property, I grew to know him as an outgoing person with an amazing sense of humor, but someone who didn’t take any guff from anyone, and if you weren’t doing your level best you would be reminded of it. One of the most important ideas of speechwriting and public speaking I remember was Coach telling us to NUMBER OUR NOTECARDS, remembering the nervous student from years ago who got up to the podium to give a historical speech on “Babe” Ruth: Dropped his cards as he got started, hadn’t numbered his cards and started off with “Babe Ruth died.” Very important lesson for me later on. I remember throwing in several what-I-considered-to-be-humorous bits for my speeches, no matter the topics assigned. Some fell flat with a distinct What The Heck Was That Supposed To Be? blank stare, but those that Coach liked had him slapping his desk and nearly wheezing while laughing. That was praise enough for a wanna-be broadcast meteorologist to have, knowing that you could impress someone like Coach with your efforts.
Alternatively, one of the experiences in my life that had the biggest impact in regards to public speaking, communications in general, employing creativity and ingenuity in topics and tactics and being able to engage people was from the time that I spent in his class. He demanded the best from you, but he also encouraged you. Critiques of your performances would be fair and straightforward, but also brutally honest; if you weren’t doing your best, he would let you know and tell you to do better next time around. Never cruel or overly-nitpicky, he didn’t tear you down, and – if he had something to say that you needed to hear about your efforts – he did it personally, without putting you in the spotlight of your fellow students. That lesson has been something that has affected me the most over the years, especially now that I am a chief meteorologist and manager of a department; praise in public, critiques in private.
I had always hoped to run into him again at some point when I visited Topeka again in the last few decades, but never got that chance. The last time I saw him was when I was able to come back from my duties as athletic trainer with The University of Kansas and watch Charger Football, occasionally visiting the sidelines when possible watching the younger student managers and trainers take over for when I was there. Followed his movements from school to school, watching the Frank Walton Golf Classic grow on Facebook as the participants shared their times on the fairways in dedication of a wonderful human being and the teams he led, the lives that he touched, the smiles given and the help offered along the way in its many forms, all those pots of spaghetti and plates of garlic bread at House Walton over the decades… everything was an amazing present of experiences that has stayed with me and helped me with many situations in my life.
In my career in journalism and broadcast media over the last few decades, I have seen those who are the loudest mouths – the ones who are paid to be as divisive as possible, the ones who you can only stomach watching/listening before switching over to something less vile – are the ones that are the least thought about or mentioned after their time has come. What did they stand for, besides their ability to stir the pot and induce heartburn will they be remembered?
The answer is: they shouldn’t be, many won’t be after the mics and cameras are off. The ones who give a damn, the ones who encourage and build up instead of tearing down are, and should be, the ones who have the statues built to them, have the plaques installed by the locker room exit to the arena or the field that everyone touches on their way to the game, the most-looked-at trophies for the up-and-coming generations in the school brag displays near the school office. They are the winners, many not for the W-L-T records, but for the heart and soul they inspired others with over the years.
That true larger-than-life personality, one of Topeka’s most recognizable people yet one who was never given over to being overblown or egotistic in any way, he cared about his players, his schools, his students, his community, and he taught everyone in his own ways to not only try your best, but to expect the best in your own work and life. You are part of the team, not the one who is above the team. In his house over the years, and my house now, you are not so small that you can’t be invited to share dinner with the rest of the movers-and-shakers. Lessons learned, comforting and encouraging thoughts nowadays, especially knowing that people like Coach and his family are a part of the world and have played a big role in your past and have touched so many lives along the way. I haven’t spent time in Coach’s classroom since end of semester May of 1983, but he is still taking me to school.
To all his family, everyone at House Walton, friends, fellow coaches and educators, fellow TWHS students: my sympathies and condolences. Take what he gave away freely in humor, strength, caring, guidance, smiles/laughter, the wins and the losses… take all of that and use it in your own lives and situations to make things better for as many as possible.
Good night, Coach Frank Walton, and thank you for everything.
#CountYourBlessings – Life can change in a New York Minute. One year ago today, almost to the exact hour, my wife and I got the call you never want to get. Our daughter, Emma, was on her way back to Memphis passing through Nashville in the early evening after some time in Johnson City visiting friends. A careless driver behaving the fool in front of a fully-loaded dump truck with rocks and gravel caused a 20 car pile-up which shut down I-40W for hours, with Emma’s car (see pic) winding up within inches of the back truck tailgate as it toppled over, spewing its contents everywhere.
Emma – thank the Lord – was unhurt but shaken up. Her car, her beloved Jeep, was ultimately totaled, but it protected her beautifully. A Good Samaritan kindly took Emma and her belongings to her house a few miles away while waiting for us to come fetch her. The trip to Nashville was a very long one with Melissa and I reassuring each other that she was unhurt, she was in good hands, it was just a car, and we would soon be with her. The way back to Memphis was a long one filled with conversational What-If’s and What-The-Hell-Happened’s and a lot of coffee from truck stops.
When I get asked by younger kids about what it’s like to be a parent, I usually explain more about the highest highs, the joys that your kids bring, their accomplishments and their dreams for the future. I also sometimes include days like this one, where that scared, angry, tearful, confused voice comes down the phone line with noise and confusion in the background, asking for a ride home after reassuring you countless times to your repeated question, “Are you sure you’re all right!?” Being a parent is not for the faint-hearted.
At this time of year, and all throughout the rest of the year, a good reminder to treasure what’s important. This could have been much worse, but it was not. Again, thankful to God for keeping everyone safe. One of the best Christmas gifts I could have ever received: keeping my Duchess safe on her travels out there.
Proof positive that you should enjoy and cherish the little things in life, because you don’t know when they might not be around in the future. Memphis has its neighborhood BBQ joints. Topeka’s place was a combo neighborhood grocery store and restaurant.
Blink and you would have missed it. Squint a bit from a distance and you might have been able to see the signage to help you navigate there. The best way to find it was to navigate towards the address, knowing you were nearby when the mass of parked cars taking up whatever convenient spaces available at the time during what was known as “Chili Season” surrounded the building with a line of folks waiting outside to get in and dine at one of the more famous Topeka establishments.
Around the curve that goes from NE Sardou Avenue and becomes NE Porubsky Drive and along the railroad tracks north of the Kansas River, is a small house-like structure, twice as big as some of the shotgun houses that make up the Little Russia neighborhood, is – well, was – a piece of culinary history for the city that is known far and wide for those that love chili. After 75 years in business, Porubsky’s Deli and Tavern has closed its doors for good. The iconic Topeka deli/diner has been a staple within the ‘Little Russia’ community since 1947, having the waters of the Kansas River come to its doorstep in the Great Floods of 1951.
Every once in a while, if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to find a place that – while being the proverbial Hole In The Wall – will be some of the better food you’ve had in That Town or The Place That Everyone In One City Says You Have To try. It won’t be spectacular to the eye, maybe even a bit shabby, but the feel of the place will be one that will stick with you for the rest of your life. The outside of the store is pretty typical for a diner; soda machine between the west side of the store which was the grocery and the east side being the actual restaurant.
I never went into the grocery side of the establishment, but saw through the window what probably the first small Piggly-Wiggly-ish stores were like; a very few staples like snacks and paper towels and canned veggies and a deli counter with a wide variety of sliced meats.
If you’d never have the chance to dine there for lunch, it’s difficult to describe the structural situation on the inside without having been in line for lunch personally: typical long counter for customers with stools and the usual accoutrements with mints and gum and cigarettes behind the counter in the shelves in the wood-paneled walls, adorned with plastic menu boards and advertising signs for soda and beer mixed with magazine and newspaper articles about the Porubsky’s family members and their establishment.
If I was writing a real estate blurb, my best headline would have been “Definitely Not Roomy”. (Probably explains why I don’t work in real estate right there.) The restaurant, like the grocery, was the width of a single-wide trailer which featured a couple of larger tables for parties of five plus, and just a few straight-backed wooden booths which fit four people well enough. Six would have been a stretch, and you wouldn’t have been able to do much of that. Much, anyway. Hardly any room between the booths and the barstools either. Which meant if you wanted to wait indoors for your table, you would be in the path of the servers coming out of the kitchen with much Pardon Me/Excuse Me happening as people went to and fro. If you had the chance to sit in the booth closest to the front door, the doorstop was your table and you got a burst of icy wind whenever a new round of customers entered. You paid at the counter where Mr. Porubsky would ring out your check next to the soda machine crowded around with meat snacks and hot sauce bottles.
It was crowded and only served a few people at a time, but it was part of the Porubsky’s experience. By the time my dad had introduced me to the place in the late 1970’s there was a healthy bit of grime around, dust on the shelves between the various items. Fortunately I had been familiar with establishments like this for a while when I traveled with my dad around the state to his architecture job sites. You got used to homespun places that either served some of the best dine-and-dash food that the locals talked about glowingly, or was served Death Warmed Over On A Plate that you remembered in the bathroom over the next few days.
To a foodie, or an out-and-out food snob, the location and the menu wouldn’t have tipped the scale in the slightest. The food, as it was, was perfect for Kansas winters: a steaming bowl of tomato-and-beans chili with a few generic cracker packages along with an Assemble-Your-Own sandwich kit of a cold plate and horseradish hot pickles that had a spicy horse-kick to them that mixed well with the rest of the fare. I don’t remember any menus on the tables as there was one over the counter for all to see, and the only thing worth having at Porubsky’s was the chili and cold plates. Out of everything, the pickles were my favorite of all. They were crisp and delicious and absolutely the best cure for a stuffed-up nose and, if you planned ahead for it, a great help during allergy season. They weren’t ghost pepper hot, or I Dare You To Try This To See Your Nose Run And Eyeballs Spin Hot. They had a pleasant Zing! to them that complemented the chili which was actually quite mild.
It was a place well known to the movers and shakers of the Kansas legislature as the busiest days were had when the lawmakers were in town. The crowds at their thickest could stretch around the building. Not the most fun when the weather was foul having to wait for the half-dozen or so booths to open up, but that was part of the entire Porubsky’s experience. The concrete floor was well marked by hundreds of thousands of feet traveling through over the decades. It was a comfortable place, if not crowded, at its busiest time.
This is also where I learned the technique known as The Porubsky Stare, an exercise I learned from my dad in patience and concentration, something I have introduced and passed along to my kids. If you were lucky enough to wait inside the restaurant on a cold and breezy Kansas winter day in the narrow space between the counter and the compact booths for a spot to open up, you would pick a particular table and focus on the diners. In doing so, you would hopefully make them more uncomfortable and, in doing so, cause them to eat faster and then finish quicker and then you would get your table faster. It was a very good place to realize that – where seating was in demand, and to be as kind as possible to those waiting – you were much better off as a human being if you ate a little faster and allowed the next customers to take your place. It wasn’t fast food, but the food moved from kitchen to table in an unbroken stream in as efficient a manner as possible when there were less than three feet between counter and booths. It was fast enough, and good enough.
If I’m not mistaken, the last time that I had the chance to dine there was in 2006, when I returned to Topeka for the Topeka West High Class of 1986’s 20th Reunion. My family and I went with my dad to enjoy the cramped booths and practice the Porubsky Stare, my son, Tristan, and my daughter, Emma, trying the hot pickles for the first time.
Likewise, when I returned to Fort Smith, Arkansas, to my work at KFSM-TV, I brought a jar of famous Porubsky’s hot pickles to one of the newsroom pot luck lunches for the news staff to try. I will never forget Anna Katayama popping one into her mouth with a Bold Famous Last Words statement of “Oh, they can’t be THAT hot.” Bringing a bit of Topeka culinary specialty to the rest of the world was a fun memory. One of those pickles would keep you warm for the rest of a winter day on its own.
I’m one of those people who don’t share their meals on social media. (Maybe, possibly for a special event with friends and family.) To be honest, I’ve never understood the attraction of documenting Every Single Cheeseburger You’ve Ever Had Just To Get Internet Hits. I do believe in frequenting local businesses, especially if the food is tasty and the service decent. I’ve had my share of formal meals before, but, like Marvel Comics Tony Stark, I believe that sometimes there is nothing better than a good meal from a Hole In The Wall Joint. If you want to get really nit-picky, there is no specific way to say that this was an amazingly-special place that would serve the finest five-course meals that you could find in the busiest and largest cities of the world. Any foodies who had their noses in the air for only the finest cuisine would have turned around and left just looking at the place from the outside, to say nothing of being required to wait for a table smooshed between barstools and One Size Too Small wooden booths.
What it was, was one of those places that lived up to the If You’re Visiting This City You Have To Eat Here Once requirement. If someone would buy the name and the property and open it up again (which I’m really hoping they would) I’m sure they would enjoy a prosperous future at that location, the one that the old timers (like me) would enjoy introducing to the kids of tomorrow. I’m not sure what the dozens of Kansas legislators will do when they need a place to have lunch anymore. It was a perfect, understated piece of Topeka, and it’s part to believe its time is over. I just know I’m going to be on a quest to find hot pickles worthy of being close to the Porubsky’s level of heat and then store them to have during winter complementing a bowl of homemade chili and a House Onek assembled cold deli plate.
I’m glad that I had the chance to introduce my family to a small part of Kansas history. It was one of the best places that Topeka had to offer and I will miss it.
In the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine season six episode “Rocks And Shoals” takes place during a war between the worlds of the Federation and invaders from the other side of the galaxy, the Dominion. One of the principal characters of DS9, a militia member of the planet of Bajor and Federation liaison Major Kira Nerys (expertly played by Nana Visitor) is doing her best to continue life as usual. Bajor has signed a nonagression pact with the Dominion and is doing its best to not cause problems until, hopefully, the Federation can rescue them. The Major goes through her days as the war drags on, numbly working side by side with the Dominion overlords as best as she can, doing her best to fit in, not make waves, not cause problems for anyone around her, hoping against hope that things will change, but not seeing the end of the war anytime soon.
A Bajoran monk visits Major Kira to hope to convince her to talk to the government to get them to change their minds and eject the Dominion, to which she urges him to hold on, keep his head down and wait for outside help. He rejects this and, several days later after a short announcement, hangs himself on the space station’s promenade as protest his homeworld’s allowing invading forces to occupy and organize, his last words being, “Evil must be opposed.” It was the only way left that he felt any message would be heard, to wake up his fellow Bajorans to the danger of being too much on the wrong side, even when you reasoned your way out of it by saying you were on the fence or hadn’t made up your mind yet. It just was. Why argue? There was nothing you could do about it, so why not just accept it? There comes a time to stand.
After the monk’s final act shocks her into realizing that things are not normal, they are nowhere even close to normal, and if she and everyone she knows does not act soon, the alien occupiers could mean the death of everything and everyone she knows and cares for, Bajoran and Federation alike. The veil has been lifted over her own eyes as a shroud is lowered over the one who tried to give you the warning. It is an ugly epiphany that the knife is at your throat, but you become comfortably used to the feel of the blade pressing hard against your skin, and – like a frog being slowly boiled – you have come to accept it, and do your best to work around it. Sure, it might kill you eventually, but – for now – you’re just fine, so get on with the everyday stuff. You live small and quiet, in the hope that the wolf bites someone else who makes all the noise. Eventually, you die just the same way. Mission accomplished.
On Earth Day 2022, a man named Wynn Alan Bruce immolated himself on the US Supreme Court’s front steps to protest the policies in place that are leading our planet to a state of ruin. Bruce was a climate change activist and a Shambala Buddhist, following other monks and protestors who had done the same over the course of history. His friends and fellow Buddhist colleagues respected his act, recognizing it as part of a much larger message, one that – as Mr. Bruce acted upon – is not being listened to:
““This act is not suicide. This is a deeply fearless act of compassion to bring attention to climate crisis. We are piecing together info but he had been planning it for at least one year. #wynnbruce I am so moved.” – Dr. K. Kritee on Twitter
As a policy, television news does not cover suicide for fear of provoking more acts, neither do they show the act or the remains of the act on-air. There was precious little coverage of this act in the media. My friends and family who bemoan The Mainstream Media Won’t Cover This So Share It All Over are usually wrong. In this case, I’m afraid that I have to agree with them, at least in part: the media should be covering this, at least what led to it.
For decades, scientists and the scientific community (those not paid off by fossil fuel companies) have been warning that our overuse of fossil fuels to power our planet has been the cause for climate change and global warming that is slowly boiling us alive on the only planet that can support human life in the solar system. In an organized rebellion scientists around the world have been participating in public acts of civil disobedience, blocking roads, gluing themselves to buildings and desks, making noise that has made the news… at least a little bit.
In a situation such as this, the idea that the media should be sitting back and worrying about upsetting the one viewer who will threaten to never watch their station again is, in itself, worrisome. As Poynter has written about on Earth Day, journalists need to be doing more. This is no longer climate change. It is a climate crisis, and the volume regarding the crisis needs to be raised to eleven by scientists, by the media, by legislators, by customers of the companies that are causing the most damage to our planet’s environment, by every human on this planet who gives a damn. The news directors of the news departments need to get this on their radar and on to the websites, the radio speakers and the television screens with a local-angle This Is Why It Should Matter To You headline.
Now.
As in the comment section of the Twitter thread from XR Cambridge:
“The complete lack of curiosity on the part of the media speaks to it’s comprehensive understanding of the climate crisis and our inability to do anything about it in enough time to make any difference at all. It’s an ignorance is bliss policy.“
@XRCambridge
I understand the ideas behind not wanting to broadcast information about suicides, and, if it is, underscoring with readily-available information regarding mental health and suicide prevention. I have been subject to the strange rules of the newsroom where the news directors are not wanting to risk losing viewers/eyeballs, countered with the strong feeling that the newsroom is the last, best bastion against fascism and corruption so we should be able and willing to take on City Hall, Big Business, Corrupt Elected Leaders with a passion worthy of Woodward & Bernstein Following The Money. The time for the leaders of media across this, and all other countries with media outlets that are free to choose when to act, should use the passion they supposedly believe in to this cause. The world, our world, the only world we have, needs that passion and that voice, particularly now.
My heart hurts for anyone who feels like they are not being listened to, especially to the point of suicide. I have never felt that suicide is an option; I have always been taught that there is another option, another way out, that you must look for it no matter how painful or hopeless things might seem. Wynn Alan Bruce felt he had no other option. He saw the warnings, like a lot of us have, and also heard the silence when there should be noise. A lot of angry noise. A lot more than there has been until now. The danger will only continue to grow. The pot of water for us frogs will continue, like the amount of carbon dioxide we are putting into Earth’s atmosphere every day, to rise inexorably towards an unlivable situation.
Mr. Bruce must have felt that this was the only way to get people to start acting. I’m sorry that he felt this way. I respect his will to carry out such an act, especially for, and on behalf of, the rest of the planet. I’m sorry that we, collectively, as humans, have either dragged our feet or plugged our ears, not being willing to raise more of a ruckus, and I’m sorry that you felt that this was your only option. May your death not have been in vain. May we listen to what you were trying to tell us, what we should have been hearing all along.
The final thought is, if it were even more possible than taking one’s life, even more cruel, and on point, at least where the media is concerned. As Mr. Bruce’s final act about attempting to wake people up from a dangerous and quiet hopelessness and not about himself only, that last shout should echo forwards by media sources everywhere: the planet is dying so act like your world depends on it. Mr. Bruce’s act might not have fallen short of the media’s attention had he chosen another way to act out, Again, from XR Cambridge’s Twitter post comment section:
“I am sitting on my couch with tears in my eyes because my brain just thought this: If he had burned property instead of himself it would have garnered more attention.”
We, as humans, have nearly reached the point of no return with our planet and its livability. The fire that Mr. Bruce chose is similar to the fate that we ourselves will bring upon ourselves: a trial by fire that could be avoided, if we choose to act, together and quickly. We must speak. We must dare to act. We must remind the leaders of our countries who elected them to office and demand that they are informed, intelligent and forward-thinking. We must do more to lower our global temperature: lawmaker, voter, CEO and company/organization alike must walk together on this, or boil together when the tipping points are reached. The ones who are helping to destroy the planet must find other ways to carry out business or their collective products should not be purchased.
The media must set an equally hot fire underneath its collective self: the word must be spread. Silence is no longer an option: Rome is burning. Now. Drop your fiddles and fight the source of the flames. Use your words. Use your experiences. Show the world the problem and continue to ask for solutions. The media directors and managers have much to answer for in their reluctance to voice a solution. That can change. This must change. The media must do more.
Fires can be fought. Inaction can be overcome. Fearful silence can be broken by determined voices. As Dr. Carl Sagan put it so eloquently: We are one planet. The warnings have been issued. Many are trying to get the word out. Let us all find the fire within us to listen, to voice, to fight, and to burn with zeal rather than death by flame.
Meteorologist Austen Onek 