Harold Taft. That sure brings back memories from 1982 and '83, living in Ft. Worth, listening to great country music on WBAP, looking forward to Harold Taft's reports. A terrific dj named Mike Millard always introduced him as the "world's greatest weatherman." I believed it, with his thoughtful explanations and never-ending enthusiasm for the weather of north-central Texas.
In the spring of '82 and '83, Harold Taft's reports were about all I had to go on for my more-wandering-than-chasing adventures (I had moved to Ft. Worth for the sole purpose of seeing tornadoes). Seeing his picture reminds me of warm, humid, breezy afternoons in April and May, driving north or northwest, towards the Red River, listening to WBAP. And then sferics increasing as the afternoon progressed until I couldn't hear his reports any longer. So I would be on my own with no cell phone, no radar, no decent FM weather information, just an AM band blasted by dozens of lightning strikes every few seconds. But late at night, camping by a lake somewhere in Oklahoma, I would once again pick up clear channel WBAP and hear a weather update from Harold Taft.
One evening in southern Oklahoma, heading home with a fierce HP storm behind me, I remember picking up Harold Taft's voice through the static, hearing him describe how powerful a storm it must be to move due south against a 30 mph southerly wind. Memories of him are thoroughly entwined with those of north Texas thunderstorms, memories that pursued me until I took up chasing storms once again in the mid-1990s.
Okay, I better stop now before a mid-December bout of SDS takes over.