I never gave much thought to “second season” — even growing up on a farm in central Kansas, where seeing tornadoes in person seemed to be an annual occurrence.
A Saturday in September changed that for me.
I had just wrapped up a Saturday shift in the newsroom on Labor Day weekend in 1992 and headed home, taking note of the sticky conditions and the glowering skies. When I got home, I noticed neighbors studying the skies and talking about tornadoes – except they were looking in the wrong place.
“If there’s going to be a tornado, it’s going to form……right…..about….there,” I told them, pointing toward downtown.
Their expressions told me they didn’t believe me, so I went inside and turned on the television – just in time to hear a meteorologist say a possible tornado had been reported in Wichita.
Based on the location given, my forecast had been on the money. I called the newsroom, told the editors I was coming back in, and the rest of the night was a blur as reporters and photographers converged to cover the disaster.
To this day, I am amazed more people weren’t hurt.