Skip to main content

The night shift at the National Weather Center

About an hour before midnight, the vast Oklahoma sky is a blanket of dark, inky velvet.

Only a handful of stars dot the night.

There’s a slight breeze; it’s cool, but enough residual heat remains to remind you that this afternoon the tempreature was in the triple digits.

It’s August, so it’s dry and it’s hot.

And it’s the type of weather that — sometimes — might bore a guy like Kevin Brown.

But Brown, a senior forecaster the National Weather Center, knows that here, in Oklahoma, the weather doesn’t remain boring for very long.

“Some people say we try to read God’s mind,” he says with a chuckle. “I get asked that at church a lot.”

But Brown’s real mission is much simpler — protect life and property by trying, as he says, to “anticipate what the most likely outcome will be” from the weather data he has available.

Arriving for the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift, Brown and a co-worker will spend the next eight hours of this warm, August night surrounded with mountains of computer images and data at the University of Oklahoma’s National Weather Center.

They are seated in a room filled with wall-to-wall monitors — the Situational Awareness Display — which show images from satellites, ground-based equipment, and even human weather spotters.

Data that Brown is constantly reviewing.

Data that can be used to predict, or forecast if you will, the next day’s weather.

Or, even save a life.

It’s a job that — at its best — is incredibly tough in Oklahoma.

“Anybody who thinks there are gonna’ get the forecast right and never miss, and basically read God’s mind, well that’s not gonna’ happen,” he said.

We observe and record data, he said. “And that data is then put into a computer model to try and anticipate what the weather will do.”

It’s a big responsibility.

Brown’s forecasts affects all aspects Oklahoma life: farming, business, sports, government and even public safety.

And his goal is accuracy.

If his forecast says the temperature will hit 100 degrees, he considers it wrong if the temperature only reaches 99 or goes on to 101.

“We do our best to be accurate,” he said. “It’s important.”

Slim, and dressed casually in jeans, a maroon T-shirt, and a ball cap, the 39-year-old Brown has spent 15 years trying to discover the weather’s next move.

Be it a thunderstorm.

A tornado.

Or a warm August night.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ex-pastor suing Moore's First Baptist Church

MOORE — A former official with Moore’s First Baptist Church is suing the church for his termination, and for “spreading false rumors about his mental health throughout the community,” court documents show. Jimmie D. Lady, the church’s associate pastor, filed the suit in Cleveland County District Court last week seeking $10,000 in actual damages and $10,000 in punitive damages for “severe emotional distress and mental anguish as a result of statements made about him when his job was terminated.” Lady’s attorney, Andrew Hicks of Houston, claimed church officials terminated Lady for being bi-polar, then spread rumors about Lady in the community. “Although a man of God, Dr. Lady cannot ignore the dramatic, adverse effects these untrue and unfair accusations have had on him and his family,” Hicks said. “First Baptist Moore’s efforts to tarnish Dr. Lady’s reputation have threatened his family’s livelihood. Through this suit, we hope to restore Dr. Lady’s good name.” Church officials denied...

If I were a chef...

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea...

Dear Daniel...about that graduation

Dear Daniel: By the time you read this, your graduation ceremony will be over. You and 500 or so of your friends have reached the first big intersection on that road we call life. Congratulations. As I watched you sit at the Ford Center last Thursday, I couldn’t help but remember your childhood. Granted, you are not my son, but instead, you’re the son of my closest friend. And, therefore, you are family. You were only 3 months old with I met your father. We both went to work for the Oklahoma Legislature and both found ourselves stuffed into this tiny office with no windows and very little space. Your dad had been there, maybe two days, at the most, when he told me he was going to be taking several weeks off. I wasn’t too happy about that. I’d started a week before he did and I didn’t understand why he was so special. I remember cussing him and pretty much acting like schmuck. Later, when he returned, he told me how his newborn son had to have heart surgery and that’s why he wasn’t at ...