WHBU 1240 AM

The power went out yesterday afternoon at the Franklin house.  It was lunch and I was eating leftover pasta when the power dropped.  Flickered once, then out.  Instead of watching a DVD or Springer or something, I sat in a dim home eating pasta.  A fancy little digital thermometer tracked the temperatures as the house cooled.

My father, now in his 80’s, lived on a farm lit by kerosene lamps.  He jokes that when it got dark “you went to bed.”  It was FDR’s Rural Electrification Program which brought lights to the Franklin farm.  Dad’s job was to run wiring under the house and into small spaces.

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Fall is probably my favorite time of the year.  This, despite my mom’s comment that it’s the “season of death.”  Recently a friend also echoed the same type of phrase.  “You know,” said my friend in a sage like way.  “In the fall everything dies.”  I disagree, however.

We recently planted trees at the new home.  I’ve been like a mother hen worrying about the trees.  I’ve meters for checking water content and stakes to hold the trees against the wind.  Homes on the western prairie don’t get the winds we get along my street.  Tree worries have kept me awake every windy night this fall.

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My office is quiet.  In 25-minutes we have a staff meeting to discuss our election night coverage on WHBU.  We’ll have pizza and make sure everyone is ready for the night.  But, for the moment, it’s quiet.

Twenty-one years ago today I started covering elections.  As a scared Ball State student I put on my blazer, one good pair of tan pants, and a thin tie.  My boss, a wise sage in his 20’s, was John Althardt.  He explained how to cover a headquarters, what questions to ask, and when to call in breaks.  This was before cell phones, so we’d race from the headquarters to the nearest pay phone.  A pocket full of quarters was standard-issue.

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