Retirement in forecast
Beloved weatherman preparing to leave morning news show to focus on church, charity
Steve Stucker is New Mexico television’s gabby, grinning and gregarious King of the Green Screen. So it’s only natural to suspect that when the makeup comes off and the red light goes dark, he retreats to some cave to rest up for the next appearance.
Nobody’s that on, that up, all the time, right?
Well, yes. And no.
“There are times when I really crave and desire privacy for some reason,” he says. “You know, if I’m at the hospital and my wife is having surgery or my kids are being treated, I really don’t want to be messed with then. But otherwise, if I’m seen at a Walmart or a restaurant, or whatever, I think it’s great fun most of the time. And I get a kick out of it.”
Stucker, 67, has been a kick on KOB’s morning news show for 33 years; the Zero Dark Thirty weatherman bringing you a forecasted high of 71 in Farmington and a low of 26 in the … wait for it … “beautiful Española Valley” since before anyone had ever heard of Bill Clinton.
But like all weather phenomena, Stucker, too, shall pass. Except he’s headed into retirement.
Stucker being Stucker, he won’t land on the recliner. Actually, the reverse is true. The biggest reason he’s ambling out KOB’s door is that he’s got other things to do, seeing as he’s heavily involved in his church and a nonprofit that provides beds for those who need them.
Sure, he acknowledges there’s plenty of emotion in the decision to give up the deep and daily connection he has with the audience but also knows he can hear the clock — and not the alarm clock that wakes him up at 2:30 a.m. — ticking away.
“I’ve had a series of health issues the past six or eight years,” he says. “I never say much about it, and I’m in a better situation than most people. But I don’t want to wait until I can’t do something else. And yeah, I do hope that in the scope of things I still have some mileage left.”
Stucker was full of tread when he joined KOB in 1990. Raised in Iowa, he’d ventured to the Southwest largely due to radio, bouncing from Amarillo to Santa Fe to Albuquerque. A lot of locals first heard that avuncular voice on a Top 40 station called Q-106 in the ’80s, but what they didn’t know was the guy behind the mic was going through a difficult, maybe erratic, period.
When he got the gig on TV, he’d been selling radio advertising to make a living.
The offer from KOB came at a time when morning news and weather were a sidelight in the daily life of a TV station. The first newscast started as late as 6 a.m. Now, it’s 4:30 a.m., with early risers (and the advertisers who follow them) creating a media landshift — and thus, increasing Stucker’s visibility, popularity and for the station, importance. Ratings? That’s so 2000s. Now, advertisers look for the new term — impressions.
Stucker’s made a lot of impressions, first and otherwise.
Along the way, he’s built an audience with his ability to yuk it up with his on-air colleagues and through his many schticks — dressing like an Elvis impersonator while eating a peanut butter sandwich comes to mind. But more important, some say, is his ability to give viewers a sense he cared about them.
For most TV personalities, the job doesn’t stop when they leave the station. They emcee the award shows and fundraisers; show up at the Christmas parades in Truth or Consequences and recognition events in Moriarty; dive deeply into the world where Josephine and Johnny point and stare at the neighborhood Smith’s and ask the News Lady or Sports Fella or Weather Guy about what’s happening with the governor or the Lobos — or in Stucker’s case, whether it’s going to be windy in Chama next Thursday.
Unlike some in his business, Stucker always seemed to love the attention, the connection. It wasn’t an act.
“I always wondered about Steve when I was managing the competing operation: the persona of somebody who is so wrapped up in the community,” says KOB Vice President and General Manager Michelle Donaldson, who once headed the news division at across-the-street rival KRQE-TV. “I would see it in our research every year. I’d be like, ‘Man, I can never tackle that.’ People just really think that he represents community. And I get over here, and I’m like, ‘Oh, that’s because he really does.’ ”
It’s been a good trade. Stucker, a devout Christian and now an associate pastor at New Covenant Church in Albuquerque, says TV and the audience helped him fall into what has become a consuming passion: a nonprofit called Beds4Kidz. Its origins point to the funny way the baton gets passed on his life.
One day on his social media page, Stucker received a private message from a woman who told him her 12-year-old niece, suffering from spina bifida, needed a hospital bed, and could he help?
“I just burst out, ‘Well, no, who do you think I am, lady?’ ” Stucker recalled. “A hospital bed? That’s crazy. And I walked away upset that a total stranger would ask me for something that seemed so absurd. And I don’t know what it was, but a couple hours later, it’s almost like God tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘You know, you could ask and you shall receive things, Steve.’ ”
So, Stucker asked, via social media. Next thing you now, within 30 minutes, one was made available. Stucker reached out again, asking for help to deliver it. A few minutes later, offers of help arrived.
“It still makes me cry to this day to talk about it,” he said. “It was just so perfect. So sweet.”
The story got out, with others asking how they could get a bed. Or help get someone a bed. Before long, a charity was born. To date, Beds4Kidz has delivered 16,000 beds.
It’s a time-consuming passion, one that creates plenty of demands for a guy whose lights need to go out before most people finish dinner.
Stucker said Beds4Kidz, plus his ministry work, will fill his days plenty once he makes the break from KOB.
Still, the truth is, it could be the longest farewell in history, a Tom Brady sendoff. “It a little muddy, because I really don’t want to say goodbye to Steve,” Donaldson admits, almost unwilling to give the date of the last signoff.
Here’s the lowdown: Stucker’s final day of doing the morning weather maps is March 31. In April and May, KOB is sending him on what amounts to a goodwill tour of the state, where he’ll get to smile and laugh with locals in the beautiful Española Valley and beyond. And come Balloon Fiesta time, Donaldson said he’ll wade into the crowds with the goofy hat and cascade of balloon pins — the ambassador to New Mexico from the United States of Stucker.
In truth, though, Stucker’s life hasn’t always been a bowlful of belly laughs. The weatherman says he had a loving family as a kid, but one that didn’t have a lot.
“We drove a blue car with one red door for about three years,” he says.
Even when he got into Albuquerque TV, it wasn’t as if his career was lined with roses, though his marriage to his wife, Rose, 30 years ago, changed everything. Still, there are no certainties in TV work: He hung on to a side gig as a dog trainer well into the ’90s.
Like a lot of things for Stucker, one thing led to another. Decades ago, when TV stations assaulted their viewers with nonstop promotions about their new Doppler radar providing the earliest warning of a rainstorm over Rainsville, Stucker turned to his miniature white schnauzer Andy for forecasting help as a onetime gag.
“But people loved it and went crazy,” Stucker said.
There have been a lot of weather dogs on Fridays ever since.
Still, nobody gets a thumbs up all the time, and Stucker acknowledges he’s been criticized. His tag line — “Take some time to really enjoy your life, and may God bless” — bothered some, though he says its origins were meant as a nod to 20th-century entertainer Red Skelton more than his faith.
“There were those that complained to the station,” he recalls. “But every time a complaint was brought up, people would come out in droves and say, ‘Leave him alone. What’s this hurting? It’s a nice thing. And we like it.’ They stuck up for me numerous times.”
People inside and outside the TV business marvel at how he’s bonded with the viewers he’s never met. From a distance, it seems easy enough: Just wave your hand at a green screen while keeping one eye on an off-camera monitor and get the forecast close to correct.
Truth is, it’s way more complicated than that. But he’s done it his way, uncontrived, unrepentant — and it’s worked.
“Steve’s basic rule in life is go ahead and do what you want and ask for permission later,” says Monica Armenta, Stucker’s on-air partner, and often, straightwoman, for 18 years. “That’s how he operated, and he’ll tell you that. And that really proved to be positive for him.”
Stucker doesn’t sound like a rebel as he talks about the final days. Actually, he offers the vibe of a guy who’s about to wake up to a new world, one that doesn’t start at 2:30 a.m.
“I’ve been very fortunate,” he says. “You know, the broadcast business being the way that it is, there’s a lot of people that are suspicious: ‘Well, are they forcing you out?’ And I have seen people at all three stations that have been pushed out. Sure, it happens. But I’ve been … they’ve been very generous to me. As a matter of fact, they made a beautiful offer for me to stay. And it was really hard to take a deep breath and swallow and say, ‘Thank you, that’s, that’s very generous, but no, I’ve made up my mind, I gotta go.’
“And so, it’s a blessing. And the response from people, oh my gosh, it’s making me laugh — and it brings tears to my eyes. It’s just hilarious. I always say, you know, most people have to die to get people to say this many nice things about them. So I feel very fortunate. It’s been a blast and I look forward to these last couple months.”
‘Til then, Elvis hasn’t left the building.