A Chance of Rain
PAUL GELATA died today, August 12th at 11:50 a.m. He was 57 years old. Medical sources indicate that he died because of external pressures on his heart. However, it is highly probable that internal pressures were also a factor.
For going on 29 years, Paul has been a meteorologist in the lazy town of Spencer, Iowa. A lifestyle not the norm. Out of the ordinary. One would think.
But Paul was an unknown. Predicting precipitation for an audience of the few and far between. The unknown unknowns. On a good day. Thursdays, Wednesdays and Sundays at 5:50 a.m. On Spencer cable access channel 14. Granted Paul didn’t have the poise of his respected local counterparts. Nor did he have the exposure of the national weather champions. He didn’t even have any official training in the meteorology sciences. But he felt like he filled a void that wasn’t being filled. It was his destiny. It was his “making it”. If anything, he was faithful to the end.
Developing, over the years, a highly elaborate and complex system of gauging the weather using half filled coffee mugs, weights and pulleys and strands of his own thinning hair. He was deemed a “crackpot” by most of his more successful contemporaries - mainly the guys over at WTTG channel 9 - but, ironically, his unorthodox methods had a 25% higher accuracy rate. This fact only served to make his life more miserable and push him further into obscurity.
One of Gelata’s only friends, Jim Jameson of Sydney, was saddened to learn of Paul’s sudden death, but he wasn’t surprised.
“The thing about Paul was, he always knew where he was headed. And when. It does upset me that he was never really respected in the community of Spencer, but Paul used to say that it was what he was called to. Not just the weather thing, but the obscurity and ridicule as well. One thing is certain. He didn’t live with any illusions. Didn’t die with any either, I guess. Not many people know this, but he wrote a novel in his early 30’s called The Epidemic of Love. In it, he not only explained his whole process of gauging the weather, but he also foretold his death. It’s uncanny. Really. Did you know that his parents used to leave him out in the rain for hours. He was four. We hadn’t talked in quite a while, but I’ll miss him. I will miss him.”
The nation, this week, is mourning the loss of a newscaster they grew up with. A newscaster that got them through so many hard times in our tumultuous history. A newscaster with a face. A newscaster that mattered. A newscaster that buried Gelata with is fame. Now, they will both be buried.
Paul Gelata’s funeral will be held this Sunday at Boheme Episcopal. Outside on the front lawn. Few, other than Jameson, are expected to be in attendance. Chance of rain - 66%. According to Paul’s forecast yesterday.
On the bright side, the slot formerly held by Gelata, over at channel 14, is now open. Those interested should send their request over to city hall in downtown Spencer. Shining stars are on the horizon. I can feel it.
For going on 29 years, Paul has been a meteorologist in the lazy town of Spencer, Iowa. A lifestyle not the norm. Out of the ordinary. One would think.
But Paul was an unknown. Predicting precipitation for an audience of the few and far between. The unknown unknowns. On a good day. Thursdays, Wednesdays and Sundays at 5:50 a.m. On Spencer cable access channel 14. Granted Paul didn’t have the poise of his respected local counterparts. Nor did he have the exposure of the national weather champions. He didn’t even have any official training in the meteorology sciences. But he felt like he filled a void that wasn’t being filled. It was his destiny. It was his “making it”. If anything, he was faithful to the end.
Developing, over the years, a highly elaborate and complex system of gauging the weather using half filled coffee mugs, weights and pulleys and strands of his own thinning hair. He was deemed a “crackpot” by most of his more successful contemporaries - mainly the guys over at WTTG channel 9 - but, ironically, his unorthodox methods had a 25% higher accuracy rate. This fact only served to make his life more miserable and push him further into obscurity.
One of Gelata’s only friends, Jim Jameson of Sydney, was saddened to learn of Paul’s sudden death, but he wasn’t surprised.
“The thing about Paul was, he always knew where he was headed. And when. It does upset me that he was never really respected in the community of Spencer, but Paul used to say that it was what he was called to. Not just the weather thing, but the obscurity and ridicule as well. One thing is certain. He didn’t live with any illusions. Didn’t die with any either, I guess. Not many people know this, but he wrote a novel in his early 30’s called The Epidemic of Love. In it, he not only explained his whole process of gauging the weather, but he also foretold his death. It’s uncanny. Really. Did you know that his parents used to leave him out in the rain for hours. He was four. We hadn’t talked in quite a while, but I’ll miss him. I will miss him.”
The nation, this week, is mourning the loss of a newscaster they grew up with. A newscaster that got them through so many hard times in our tumultuous history. A newscaster with a face. A newscaster that mattered. A newscaster that buried Gelata with is fame. Now, they will both be buried.
Paul Gelata’s funeral will be held this Sunday at Boheme Episcopal. Outside on the front lawn. Few, other than Jameson, are expected to be in attendance. Chance of rain - 66%. According to Paul’s forecast yesterday.
On the bright side, the slot formerly held by Gelata, over at channel 14, is now open. Those interested should send their request over to city hall in downtown Spencer. Shining stars are on the horizon. I can feel it.
posted by The Passenger at 10:50 AM
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