Paul said it would be like this
My Channel 3 friend Paul Barys hears it everywhere he goes: in the store, in the mall, and on vacation. “Paul said it would be like this!” It’s the catch-phrase used in some well-remembered promotional spots, with folks out in the sun, rain and snow, all well-prepared for the elements, giving Paul credit for their appropriate attire.
It is one of the most successful promotional campaigns in Chattanooga TV history. The promos aired only for a few years in the late 1980s, but they sure made an impression. Paul joined WRCB in 1985, and was the latest in a long line of weather forecasters. John Gray held the job for 12 years before leaving in 1970, and after that nobody stayed very long. The station used various men and women for about fifteen years. Some were meteorologists, and others were not. Some lasted a year, others lasted a month. Then came Paul.
Now in his 33rd year at Channel 3, the bearded weather wizard certainly knows his stuff. But in 1985, he was just another new weather person, and nobody knew if he would stay any longer than his predecessors did. Thankfully, he fell in love with the area, and he and his wife Sarah decided it was the perfect place to raise their daughters Maggie and Jamie.
Everybody has a favorite “Paul weather story.” In fact, I have two. On January 7, 1988 I had been at Channel 3 for about three months. Paul had predicted a significant snowfall the day before, so the station put several of us up at a hotel just up the hill from the studio. A steep hill, in fact. The news director had asked Paul and me to come in early to handle the weather and school closings. We got up in the wee hours of the morning and prepared to head down the hill. Paul, who had grown up in frosty Chicago, surveyed the heavy snowfall (12 inches!), took a few steps, and proclaimed, “Oh, this is nothing. This is the kind of snow you can drive in!” I figured he must be right, so I followed him to his car. He got behind the wheel, and I sat down on the passenger side. Down the hill we went, spiraling out of control, finally skidding into a ditch at the foot of the hill. There were no injuries, except to Paul’s pride. Needless to say, I never let him forget that. Every time it snows, I ask him, “Is this the kind of snow you can drive in?” He loves when I do that.
Then on Tuesday March 9, 1993, I had just returned to the station after doing a story in Rossville, Georgia. It was almost spring, and it felt like it. Sunshine and 75 degrees. I was ready to dig out the baseball equipment for my sons. That afternoon, I was passing by Paul’s desk just before the news. “Come here,” he said. “I want to show you something.” He displayed some computer printouts of squiggly lines on maps that I couldn’t possibly understand. “We’re going have 20 inches of snow on Saturday,” he said. That was still four days away, and it was short-sleeve weather outside. I patted him on the back, said something like, “Right, Paul,” and wondered if I should take his car keys.
You know the rest of the story. On Saturday March 13, we woke up to a white-out: twenty inches of snow, and even more in some places. He predicted it several days in advance, long before the Viper, Doppler, and whatever else they’re using today. To this day, people thank Paul for giving them enough notice in 1993, so they could stock up on milk, bread, and toilet paper.
He has become the longest-running weather forecaster in the city’s history. He and the other meteorologists certainly earned their pay on April 27, 2011 during the tornado outbreak. Paul was on camera for twelve hours straight, with no bathroom breaks, as storms kept forming, one after another. The loss of lives was terrible, but it could have been worse. Thanks to Paul and his colleagues, people were able to alert their neighbors, and guide them to the safest spot in their home (always lowest, innermost, with no windows). I’ve met several folks who survived the storms because they were warned in advance. In many cases, their homes did not withstand the winds, but the residents had enough notice to find a safe place. These days, when there is a tornado watch, there is no guesswork. If the weather forecaster says it’s coming to your neighborhood in twenty minutes, you better take it seriously, it’ll be right on time. Thanks to modern technology, when Paul and friends tell you what’s coming, trust me: it’ll be like that! Paul Barys in 1986
David Carroll, a Chattanooga news anchor, is the author of “Chattanooga Radio and Television” and “Volunteer Bama Dawg,” a collection of his best stories. Books are available at ChattanoogaRadioTV. com, or by sending $23 each to David Carroll Book, 900 Whitehall Road, Chattanooga, TN 37405. You may contact David at 3dc@epbfi.com.