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Monty WEBB WHAS 11 CHief MeteorologiSt P rior to March 2, 2012, little was known about the small town sitting just north of the River City, except perhaps that it is the birthplace of Colonel Harlan Sanders, whose iconic image appears in the Kentucky Fried Chicken logo. Today however, the name alone conjures images of tragedy, disaster, and for WHAS 11 Chief Meteorologist Monty Webb, the storm of a lifetime. For on that day at approximately 3 p.m., an EF-4 tornado hit the land that no longer requires an explanation of coordinates – Henryville. Record-breaking winds chainsawed through the Heartland of America leaving many homeless and the fatality count at 12. Thousands of viewers watched – Monty Webb reported. "We spent days leading up to the storm tracking patterns that all showed moderate to high risk. The day before, however, I saw returns I had only ever seen in weather studies," recalls Webb. "I will never forget that day. As I was delivering the weather, I looked up from the desk while statistics were coming in and briefly made eye contact with my team member, Ben Pine, and in that moment we both just knew this was going to be bad." In that instant, the self-proclaimed "weather geek" morphed into a beacon of hope for thousands watching – praying – for the storm to pass. Up until this moment Webb, a transplant of Seattle, had never seen such a storm – and hopes he never does again. Beginning his education at the Air Force School of Meteorology stationed in Chanute, IL, the future weatherman studied both the science and mechanics of forecasting. His athletic build, not particularly common among atmospheric science majors, drew the attention of the "para-weather" program geared towards forecasters with forward combat capabilities utilized in the support of special forces. In short, weather geeks with gusto. Today they operate under the title of "combat weathermen." With just a few weeks until his scheduled jump school training began, Webb blew out his knee in a freak running accident, leaving him with five surgeries to look forward to and a limited future in the Air Force. Cognizant of his own niche for weather prediction, Webb obliged the air force's many relocations and eventually found himself stationed at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma in the heart of Tornado Alley. During this time he served as severe weather team leader and joined the Department of Defense working closely with the National Severe Storm Laboratory test team who at the time were experimenting with a cuttingedge technology in its operational phase. Then referred to as NEXRAD, today we know it well as Doppler Radar. A time he credits as an invaluable learning experience. "The way technology has evolved from when I started is really incredible," states Webb. "We've gone from hand plotted surface maps and observations pulled from fax machines to computer generated, two dimensional models that allow us to FA L L 2 0 1 3 gauge anything from wind direction to velocity readings and lets us see inside the storm." While the advances of modern technology prove convenient, convenience is not the motive. Days after Henryville, Webb, along with other local meteorologists, were left asking themselves, 'what more could have been done?' The evolution from standard radar, which maybe gave a lead time of five minutes, to current systems that can catch severe or tornadic activity anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes, is the ultimate drive for efficiency in warning the masses. The potential of saving just one person from a natural disaster is what launches the storm chasers straight into the eye of the storm and what keeps Webb alone at the station the majority of his day studying patterns – or in some cases – sleeping on the newsroom couch. But how did he end up in the newsroom in the first place? Over the span of nine years, he found himself forecasting all over the Northern Hemisphere from Scott Air Force Base in Illinois to Osan, Korea where his second child Lindsay was born. It was while being stationed in Oklahoma that his oncamera interest was sparked. Unimpressed by the talent showing up on his local weather station, prompted by friends and family, Webb took it upon himself to help show the midwest what they were missing. Having zero prior knowledge of reporting, he soon discovered the challenge ahead. With no audition reel – or any on air experience – somehow the stars aligned and he soon discovered the station manager just so happened to be a former air force meteorologist. He took the up and comer under his wing and soon Webb had landed an internship on the weekend segment. Building up enough hours, he soon had a resume and a bonafide reel tape, which he unapologetically sent out to national markets. "It was so bad," recalls Webb shaking his head in humor. "I can remember coming home and saying 'man this is the best video ever,' I was so naive." Naive? Maybe. But something in those reels worked as calls from networks started to come in. On the other end of the calls however, was always the resounding question, "have you ever reported?" the answer always being "no, but I'm a fast learner." The internship came to an end the same year as his fifth and final knee surgery. It was also during this time the Air Force medically retired Webb. With no post-internship job offers in Oklahoma, the family packed up and moved back home to Seattle. Through word of mouth he learned that the local independent news station was searching for a weekend weatherman. Once again, Webb found himself under the wing and on the verge of yet another potential job opening. After weeks of working side by side with the news director, he did not get the job. Finally, Webb was hired for his first reporting job in Tri Cities, WA. "I will never forget the first day on the air. I'm up doing the w w w. v o i c e - t r i b u n e . c o m | The Voice oF LouisviLLe 35