by Ginger Zee
My mom picked me up from the hospital, and the fierce hug I got from her was everything. She told me how proud she was that I had made it through the week and generously offered to stay as long as I needed her to.
When we arrived at my new apartment, almost all the boxes had arrived from Chicago, and we started moving them in. In the process, I had my back slip and pull out. Have you ever had that? It is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. My mom got me comfortable, and I turned on the TV to watch my future coworkers on GMA Weekend. They all seemed so great, and I felt a wave of excitement rush over me. Then, when they flipped to the local ABC, a meteorologist named Amy Freeze (her real maiden name) popped up. I had known her when she worked at Fox in Chicago. I texted her and told her she looked great and hoped she was enjoying ABC. We texted back and forth and realized we were actually living in the same building. She asked if I wanted to go work out together. I told her I had pulled my back; coincidentally, her husband was a chiropractor. He worked on my back and fixed me up before I even got to work that week. It made me feel so at home. Take note; Amy Freeze will soon become another important part of my story…when it comes to my husband.
The week before my new job began, I had lunch with my new executive producer, Matt Frucci. We met “on campus,” as he called, it at PJ Clarke’s in Lincoln Center, and I liked him immediately. He was so intelligent and forward-thinking. He listened intently to my ideas for the show. He was so New York! I felt an instant connection, and he assured me I was going to adore my new coanchors.
It’s always so funny to me that in TV you rarely get an orientation when you start a new job. Gerard, my weather producer, met me in the lobby on the first morning I would be on air. Gerard had been a meteorologist at ABC for almost thirty years. He is a handsome, fit older gentleman with the gentlest voice and demeanor. I remember when Matt told me about Gerard’s being my weather producer, I was skeptical, because I’d always done it all own my own—the graphics, the forecasting, everything. But obviously I wasn’t about to ask them to fire someone, and I wanted to be a team player, so I told myself I would just test it out. About a week later I realized how crucial Gerard would be.
That first morning on the job, Gerard led me into his graphics space and we talked about meteorology and nerded out a bit. He gave me a rundown of what he thought we should cover, and I gave him my input. We planned for two weather hits; both were in the show for about two minutes total. Then he walked me down to hair and makeup. What a luxury! I had not regularly had makeup and never had hair in Chicago. Then I was introduced to Katia.
“Good morning. I am Katia. Sit.”
Katia, a petite woman with fiery red hair whose Russian accent was still so thick that she immediately reminded me of my oma, my Dutch grandmother who had recently passed. Katia was direct, cynical, skeptical, and full of pessimistic comedy. She is a true artist; she paints your face like she’s preparing you for an exhibit at MOMA. We had some good laughs and I felt at ease.
As I was getting made up, my new coanchors stopped by, one by one, to welcome me.
Dan Harris was first. Slight in stature, huge in dry wit and talent, Dan has a twinkle in his eye that just makes him so special. He dug right in, asking where I was from, where I was living now, how I was liking NYC. He told me NYC was the only city in the world, the best city, and that I was going to love it here. He took a funny jab at Ron Claiborne, the news reader for GMA Weekend, as he walked in. Ron has been with ABC for thirty-five years; he is the consummate professional but also has a very dry sense of humor. What a wonderful place this was! Everyone was sarcastic and hilarious, and self-deprecating like me. Ron and I chatted, and I felt great! Two down…now just the woman coanchor to go. As I had learned through several catty experiences in television news, women can be weird. I had all my antennae on high alert. And there she was: Bianna Golodryga. Bianna, also Russian, gave a good morning in Russian to Katia, then leaned in and hugged me. Right off the bat! She was so stunning! The most beautiful pout, high cheekbones, flowing gorgeous hair, and gigantic perfect eyeballs. She was playful and warm and everything that I didn’t expect.
And finally there was “Fonzie.” Alfonso Pena is his real name, and he’s the best stage manager in the business. A stage manager is a crucial part of a successful show; he’s not only the person who counts you down, but he is the direct connection from the anchor to the viewer. Fonzie isn’t just great at his job, but he also has a way of making the folks on TV look their best and feel even better. He’s a legitimate comedian and always knows how to lighten the mood. In my opinion, he is one of the best parts of ABC News, bar none. Whenever I would have a low moment, Fonzie was the one that kept me going. There were many days in my first months when I would finish a broadcast and his humor or kind words would deter me from wanting to drink or self-destruct. Thank you, Fonzie.
I went on the air with that team, and I felt like I was with family from the first moment. We all exchanged phone numbers and had lunch that week. It was so inclusive, and they all had such amazing experiences and life lessons to share. I was the newbie, but they already respected me. I will say right here and now that some of my best on-air moments at ABC are still with that team. Dan Harris is the ultimate in generosity. He finds your strength, makes you look good, and makes you look like part of the team. And in turn it makes him look great. It is a skill that few can achieve. He is heady and introspective on television, and it works for him without ever feeling pretentious. His vocabulary is annoyingly…huge. Mine is obviously not.
Matt (our executive producer) sat me down a few weeks after I started and said he wanted to get me out in the field for more than just storms. I was definitely down with that idea. He said he had been trying for years for one of his anchors to go paragliding. I had to look it up, too; don’t worry. Everyone always thinks it’s parasailing, the one where they pull you with a large parachute-looking thing behind a boat by a rope. Paragliding does not equal parasailing. Paragliding is the one where you actually run off the side of a mountain and fly, free of any boats or ropes. Parasail, paraglide, hang glide…I didn’t care. I loved that I was going to literally and figuratively spread my wings and fly.
Matt told me that he had a producer and shooter, Niels Dachler, who was connected to the Paragliding World Cup. That year it was in Valle de Bravo, Mexico. While I was there, he said, I could shoot a story about monarch butterfly migration and the very serious threat of their extinction. That way he could justify getting two stories out of one budget. This all sounded right up my alley. If I had to jump off a mountain to do it, I would, without question.
I traveled to Mexico with another producer named Rich McHugh. We flew to Mexico City and met the “fixer,” who would drive us three hours into the mountains southwest of Mexico City. A fixer is usually a person who can help you translate, navigate, and smooth your entry to areas that are not frequented by tourists. They help coordinate interviews and make sure you get treated well and not taken advantage of. Our fixer turned out to be two people, a couple in their midforties who didn’t speak English. I had a minor in Spanish, but it had been years since I had used it, so there wasn’t much communication. That was fine; we settled in because we knew it was going to be a long drive. As the trip closed in on four hours and we continued winding through the mountains, the road started to dangerously narrow, and the formidable cliffs around us plunged us into darkness. Rich and I kept staring at each other. We would type on our notepads instead of speaking just in case our drivers, in our minds now captors, could hear us. I typed first.
I’M A LITTLE SCARED.
He responded, ME TOO. DO YOU THINK THEY ARE GOING TO KILL US?
I responded, I DON’T KNOW. LET ME TRY TO ASK HOW MUCH LONGER.
“Diez minutos,” the woman responded.
Okay, ten minutes…but didn’t they say that ten minutes ago? Just as I was about to figure out a way to open the sliding door and duck and roll out of the moving vehicle, one of the winding roads became gr
avel, and in the middle of the night sky emerged one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever seen. We were alive and headed to a four-star resort! Phew, what a turn of events. Rich and I gave each other a relieved smile and chuckled.
We checked in and got to sleep immediately, because we knew we had a long day ahead of us. As soon as I awoke, I realized how special this place was. Deep in the mountains, we each had a chic cabin, fireplace, the works. I met Rich for breakfast and we laughed over how dramatic we had been the night before as we enjoyed the best huevos rancheros I have ever eaten.
We finished eating and Niels arrived. Tall with curly hair and a welcoming face, Niels is the world adventurer who happens to be the photographer and editor who would lead us through this journey. He gave us the lowdown, and twenty minutes later we found ourselves riding horses to the top of a mountainous forest where three hundred million monarch butterflies end their annual migration from North America. It was glorious. Our guide didn’t speak English, but I did my sbest at communicating as we rode. The mountain trail became steeper and the forest grew denser, and suddenly the trees in the distance looked as if they were covered in fur.
“Por favor desmonte el caballo ahora,” he said.
We got off the horses. As we approached the furry trees, I realized the trees were not furry at all; they were consumed by monarch butterflies. There was not a square inch of space that wasn’t covered by the creatures.
The monarchs not only blanket the trees, but their beautiful wings turn the ground into a fluffy graveyard after the butterflies pass.
“Holy crap, this is amazing!” I shouted to Rich and Niels, who were setting up the camera.
“Shhhhhhhhh!” Our guide hushed me and shot me a dirty look. He must have told me to talk quietly in one of those monologues he’d given that I didn’t fully understand on the way up. But okay, will do.
In a whisper, I begged Niels and Rich to get started. I was moved by the beauty of what was in front of me. Whispering, I brought the camera into the scene and spoke about the issues the butterflies are facing. I felt like I was doing a documentary for National Geographic, like I was finally doing what I was supposed to do.
All the hard work I had been doing with Dr. Wilson was starting to pay off. Amid these butterflies, I could feel myself fully emerging from the cocoon of depression. I was getting ready to fly.
Later that day, we met our pilots to discuss the paragliding slated for the next day. We enjoyed a delicious dinner, and Niels showed me some of his paragliding photos so I could get a sense of what I would be doing.
The Paragliding World Cup is an annual event where the best pilots in the world gather and take on a challenging virtual speed route in the sky. They carry GPS devices that show them where the virtual buoys are in the air, and they must fly to and around them through a course.
The course was too long for me to fly the entire route, but I was going to get the experience from one of the best pilots in the country. I signed the waiver that reminded me that death was a possible outcome, but it didn’t even faze me. I stepped into the bright orange one-piece suit made to keep its wearer warm high in the atmosphere and strapped on the helmet. Then my heart began to pound. Not with nervous energy, but eager energy. This is what makes me different, and this is what makes life worth living, I thought. My pilot asked me to stand in front of him as they hooked me into the harness attached to the “wing,” the colorful part that looks like a parachute. It was laying on the ground, spread out and ready for our flight. We waited for the perfect breeze to ride up the mountainside and toward us so we could use it to fluff the wing above us. It all happened so quickly. The wing inflated and my guide told me to run.
Off we ran. Seriously, off the mountain.
Step, step, st—I hadn’t even taken my third step, and the strong wind had lifted us up at an alarming rate.
It was exhilarating, and once we were up, it was peaceful. And there was another unexpected positive—I was in the atmosphere. It was such a revelation for me. I was understanding the atmosphere like I never had. When I’m storm chasing, I see and feel it all, but only at the surface. Here we were flying on the thermals that I had studied for so long. I could feel the instability helping me fly. We climbed to twelve thousand feet; we were touching the base of the clouds. And again, pure joy and satisfaction rolled over me. This was what I was supposed to be doing. My pilot asked how I was feeling because some people get airsickness, but I felt fine. He asked if I wanted to have some fun. “This isn’t the fun part?” I yelled. He immediately collapsed the wing and we plummeted in almost a free fall toward the ground; then he opened the wing and we caught a thermal and rocketed back up. He took me on huge dips and flips, and it felt like the freest roller coaster I had ever been on. We landed without incident, stepping back on terra firma as softly as we had taken off. It was almost too easy. I talked to many of the other pilots that day and took another flight, just for fun, without the cameras. As we made our trip back to New York, I started thinking that I was perhaps supposed to be a paraglider in real life.
This trip was only the beginning. I told Matt when I got back that I wanted to do more. I helped craft the stories and was so proud watching them play back on TV. This was a part of my job that I hadn’t even anticipated but loved so much. From that moment forward, I became the adventure woman along with being a network meteorologist. I went iceboat racing on Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota, NASCAR driving, skydiving, hang gliding, parahawking in Nepal, diving with sharks, crabbing with the guys from Deadliest Catch, rappelling down a building, spelunking in the world’s largest cave, flying a drone into a volcanic fissure in Iceland, and more.
In each of these adventures, my will to live life grew. And that was saying something. I had come so close, more than once, to taking my own life and not getting to this place. What a shame that would have been for so many reasons. With every flight, every moment taking in some breathtaking vista in one of my adventures, my love and zest for life has flourished.
Of course, the reason Ben Sherwood had hired me was to cover storms. I had been at ABC for almost five months and it was late winter when my first big storm took shape. We were on the cusp of my favorite season to forecast and storm chase: spring, and tornado season in the Great Plains.
I started looking at the computer models in even more depth than I usually do and remember watching as a “huge Friday” started coming together. A “huge Friday” means that even a week out, I could see that the variables that make tornadoes form were already starting to rear their evil heads on the computer models. I talked to Gerard that Sunday and said, “This is the one. I’m going to storm chase.” I had learned so much from storm chasing in college and my time with the show Storm Chasers, and I was confident I could do it. I went to Tom Cibrowski and asked him to send me to Cincinnati by Thursday for the impending outbreak. Tom is a news lion, aggressive and tenacious; he is a staple of ABC News (he has worked his way up through the company from the very bottom) and just happens to be a fan of all things weather. So, I thought my request was an easy yes.
He thanked me for my excitement and passion but said no. He and the assignment desk already had a plan for me. They really thought it would be best if I covered the snow in Massachusetts.
What?
Granted, it had hardly snowed the winter of 2011–2012, and New England being in a snow drought was a big deal.
But how were three inches in western Massachusetts going to trump multiple tornadoes? Deadly tornadoes!
How could I convince him my instincts were telling me the story would be in the Midwest? I was still so new, so I didn’t want to push it. I figured they would see my point in a few days.
But nope, I ended up in Worcester, Massachusetts. Ugh. I kept writing him, though. I said, “Okay, I showed the few inches of snow. Please let me show you what I can do. Send me to Cincinnati tonight for World News. I hate to say this, Tom, but tomorrow, people will die.” It was a bold statement, but unfortunately most meteo
rologists knew it was true.
Tom agreed I should go. I flew from Boston to Cincinnati. On World News Tonight with Diane Sawyer, I was able to stand in front of the Cincinnati skyline and warn America that a major tornado outbreak was less than twenty-four hours away. I was able to show a concentrated region that needed to be on alert.
Within those twenty-four hours, at least forty-one people were dead, with many more injured. We were there, warning everyone as we chased the storms. We were there chasing the Henryville, Indiana, tornado as it took out Henryville High School. We were there just minutes after the school buses lifted by fierce storm winds skewered buildings. And that night I made it on air with Diane, confirming all that we knew so far. It was my first big storm for ABC.
Later that night I got an e-mail from Diane.
- - - - - Original Message - - - - -
From: Sawyer, Diane
Sent: Friday, March 02, 2012 08:25 Pm
To: Zee, Ginger
Subject: You were dazzling tonight—serious, informative, brave, caring. Bravo.
Diane Sawyer called me “dazzling.” And informative, serious, caring, and brave. And she was right. I was finally dazzling and believed it myself. I was healing and becoming the healthy, happy productive woman I knew I could be.
