10/27/00

Here's another gloss on the sad state of TV journalism. When our town of Chickasha hit the news (even nationally, I'm told), friends emailed us, asking, Are you guys okay? The answer:

There was flooding Monday morning simply because the rain fell too fast. The normal avenues of run-off, ditches and creeks, were overwhelmed, and the water backed up in low-lying areas (as it has any number of times before). The brown water covering large areas of ground and lapping at the doors of commercial establishments was an impressive sight. (As were the cars out in it with only their windows and roofs showing, evidence of people who know no better than to drive right into standing water, and keep going.) By late Monday afternoon, however, the creeks had receded, back within their banks. But a flood of SKY-5 and 4-WARN-STORM-TEAM (bloody etc.) broadcasting trucks and antennae and supporting vehicles made up for the water that had disappeared. And keep in mind, please, that the entire flooded area, compared to the town of Chickasha in general, corresponds to an area no greater than that inside the little south oval compared to the OU campus plus Campus Corner and a few surrounding blocks. (maybe 1/12, 1/16?)

Coincidentally, the 24" pipeline that delivers our municipal water-supply from parts west (miles west) had apparently broken somewhere, which was (and is) the real story. (Flooding, like shit, happens.)

But count on the sensation-mongers to milk this thing. On Thursday morning—two and a half days past the 8-10-hour flood that if you'd panned your camera you'd find the high ground at either end of it—some TV newscast began their coverage of the Chickasha drama with a shot panning Monday morning's brown water. Implying, of course, an ongoing flood. Whereas, if you were to find people in Chickasha without a TV or a newspaper and ask them about recent events, they'd be hard-pressed to explain more than . . . heavy rain.

What distinguishes our species from others, besides an opposable thumb and the ability to breed out of season, is our cerebral cortex with which we solve problems rather than just react to them. So the city of Chickasha has set out some pumps and is piping water (albeit a funky fluid) from the Washita River to the water treatment plant to keep us hydrated until crews can locate the break and repair it. In spite of the dire-disaster talk and the TV images of Red Cross personnel fully suited up in white plastic (looking vaguely like an asbestos-removal team) to distribute drinking water from a truck, we've not for one moment been without a ready flow at the kitchen faucet.

Reminds me of a _New Yorker _cartoon some time ago. A news-anchor holding an umbrella and a microphone looks into the camera and says, "At this point, it's still not classified as a hurricane—it's still being called a rain drop."