It started as a murmur.
On the police scanner, there was some chatter about an incident on the far side of town.
Seconds later, the newsroom phone rang. I picked it up, recognizing our resident tipster’s voice instantly.
Hey. There’s something going on across town. Might be worth checking out.
I assured the tipster I was on it. But that wasn’t entirely true.
You see, I’d danced this waltz plenty in my nine weeks on the job. Each day, as I compiled my newscasts, the police radio would buzz about some incident. The tipster would hear the chatter on his scanner. Then he’d call me — the evening producer — and ask me to look into it.
Initially, I did. I’d send a news photographer all over the area, following up on the cryptic words of a dispatch officer.
But those photographers rarely found anything of note at the scene. So lately, I’d stopped calling them each time the scanner buzzed.
Such was the case on this afternoon. Instead of redirecting a news photographer, called a police spokesperson. That spokesman had little to update me on, so I carried on with my work.
It only took a half hour to discover I’d made the wrong choice.
A rival station cut into daytime TV coverage, announcing that there was a standoff on the edge of town. Shots had been fired, law enforcement was involved, and that station’s news crews were on scene.
In an instant, our News Director appeared at my desk.
You see that? We need to be out there.
I sensed the intensity in his eyes, and I panicked. I nervously told him I’d call the news photographer.
The News Director was not having it.
No, no! We need to send a reporter there now. And we need to find a way to go live.
Oh yes, I’d forgotten that detail. Our station’s live truck had been out of service for weeks. It hadn’t been an issue before. But now our competitor was reporting from the scene of a standoff, and we couldn’t do the same.
I was up a creek without a paddle. I just didn’t know how far.
I ultimately did get a reporter to the scene. And we got a live report on our evening newscast via telephone.
But it was too little, too late.
It was the first breaking news event of my career. And I’d blown it.
For weeks after this blunder, I found it hard to sleep.
I’d lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. I’d replay everything I did and didn’t do. And I’d grapple for answers.
I had to be better at breaking news if I wanted a career as a news producer. I knew that.
But I also tended to freeze each time I was caught off-guard. That trait was paralyzing my breaking news response. And it would continue to sabotage my goals if I let it.
How could I turn hesitancy into action? How could I become selectively impulsive?
I’d think. I’d pine. I’d strategize. But it all got me nowhere.
Then, one night, I remembered I’d faced this paradox before. I encountered it as I was learning to drive.
Most teenagers couldn’t wait to get their license and tool around town on their own accord. But not me.
I was so terrified of the unpredictable open road that I resisted getting a learner’s permit or signing up for Driver’s Education classes.
You see, I’d ridden in enough vehicles to know that sticky situations could arise suddenly on the road. Other drivers could stop short with no warning. Pedestrians and bikers might dart in front of moving traffic.
Most drivers reacted quickly to this mayhem. But I figured I’d freeze up and crash into another car. Or worse, I might run someone over.
Eventually, I did get that permit and those driving lessons. Still leery of the unknown, I tried to prepare for every road hazard ahead of time. Yet, despite my best efforts, a couple of those hazards did sneak up on me.
As I faced these situations, I could feel myself starting to freeze up. But I never actually did.
Instead, my foot hit the brake. Or my hands turned the wheel to avoid danger.
These were reflexive responses. My instincts were guiding my reactions more than my brain was.
I realized that if I harnessed those instincts while anticipating road hazards, I’d turn into a proficient driver.
I’d worked hard at that over the years. And as I lay in bed on this sleepless night, I recognized that I’d become that proficient driver.
Maybe I try the same thing for breaking news situations.
I could plot out my thought process ahead of time. And I could coax my instincts to come alive on the fly when needed.
This revelation changed everything.
I reported to work the next day with a new mindset. Instead of praying for normalcy, I embraced chaos.
There was still no inkling of when the next breaking news event might hit. But whenever it did, I’d be prepared to react.
Over the ensuing years, my plan did come to fruition. Breaking news events occasionally popped up, and they still caught me off-guard. But I got better and better at responding to them. And I gained more and more confidence throughout.
Eventually, I broke a story that gained national attention. A freight train collided with a parade float downtown, killing four people and injuring 16 more.
As soon as the scanner buzzed with word of a Possible train accident, I leaped into action. I was making calls, coordinating coverage, and updating text on the station’s website even before I’d personally processed the gravity of the event. I was acting on the fly.
This was all critical in getting the story out first. And it helped my station share new developments in real time.
I’d come a long way. The days of dropping the ball were over.
As I write this, I’ve been out of the news business for nearly a decade.
Those frantic breaking news events are distant memories to me now. But the protocols for handling such chaos are not.
It turns out those skills are as useful outside the walls of a TV station as they are within them.
Indeed, there have been plenty of times in my second career when I was caught off guard. The same goes for my personal life.
My employer might shift priorities for my segment, put the kibosh on a major project I was working on, or even lay me off. All have happened to me in my time in the business world.
And outside of work, I might get a concerning medical diagnosis, hear something worrisome from a friend, or learn of the death of a loved one.
Each of these scenarios is a jolt to the system. And we tend to respond to them in one of two ways — stunned silence or a wave of emotion.
But that’s not quite true for me anymore.
Now, I spring into action.
I ask follow-up questions. I coordinate logistics. I think on the fly.
I’ve already done the legwork to respond in this way. I’ve taken little for granted in my life. And I’ve imagined what it would look like if what I cherish was taken from me.
I haven’t done all this to soften the blow. I’ve done it to sharpen my instincts and to hasten my response.
It might sound calculated or cold. But it’s effective.
Not just for me. But for all of us.
Yes, it’s important for all of us to consider this approach.
For there is a time to process the information that knocks us to our knees. To pause. To grieve. To absorb the emotional blow.
But there is also a time to respond. To take the tactical steps needed to move forward.
If we insist on acting in sequence — in processing everything before taking our next steps — we’ll be left behind. We’ll remain a shell of ourselves as we attempt to pick up the pieces. We might not recover at all.
It’s imperative that we not let shock preclude us from action. That we prime our instincts to work, even when our mind is overrun. That we maintain our ability to respond on the fly.
It’s not a desired assignment. But it’s a needed one.
Let’s heed the call.