Derecho

Derecho

The yellow sky was eerily calm after the derecho swept through Iowa. Marco could smell the aftermath, a humid mix of burning transformers and freshly destroyed cornfields.

As the weather chasers approached Iowa City, the director called the meteorologist, who relayed the message to Marco behind the wheel. Set up ASAP, and get some destruction in the shot. Marco thought of his mom and relatives in Guatemala, and pulled over at a migrant camp outside of the city limits.

The flimsy apartments had been beaten by the storm, and the resident migrant workers had pitched tents in the few spots that were clear of debris. And helped the camera set up a shot with smashed apartments in the background. A few dazed farm workers stared helplessly at the storm chaser van, but none of them spoke English, and Harris doesn’t habla, so nix on the interviews.

Marco’s satisfaction doubles when Harris finishes his take, turns around, and realizes what he’s just done – filed a first-on-the-scene flash from a stricken community of miserable brown fruit pickers. His first thought: Network’s gonna plotz. His second thought: Good. Now onward to Iowa City.

Packed up and in motion, Harris gets the call to turn around. Director says to stick with the story, get the human interest angle, but the President is flying in to survey the damage, so get ready to follow the motorcade. Marco is beaming as he passes other network uplinks in a chain store parking lot, shooting a collapsed mall from the angle that lights up the sponsor’s logo behind the lost inventory.

Leo, watching at home in Harlem, turns to Amelia and says, “This kind of television makes all the hours of boring weather coverage worthwhile. All my years as executive director I seen only twice maybe a story this real. Three networks at the MetroMart, and this guy Herschel goes to the ghetto for his lede. He’s a mensch no joke.”

Marco off camera translates for Harris. The news is really bad, and no one will sign a release. Director wants it all in thirty minutes, and now the President. Director is in the executive’s office and the sponsor is on the line. When this news gets back to Marco, he feels his revolutionary blood rise. Migrants, used to exposure in the fields, are homeless but alive while the city and the President rush to perform their services in front of the collapsed school where the third grade’s beloved Dutch bunny somehow escaped harm.

“Yeah, I put it on the air”, says the Director. “You’re through”, says the sponsor. “Wait a minute”, says the exec. Something in Marco has come alive, it’s new and unexpectedly thrilling for a guy who chases hurricanes for a living. He sees black and red banners, crumbling towers, and the dawn of something.

H. J. Rosen

Tuesday, August 18, 2020