Above It All

"Well," began the report, "we've got another two-car accident, oh boy! One driver is out of his car kicking the side of the other car. Now the car that was being kicked has pulled away. Now the other car is in hot pursuit. We're going to follow and see what happens. The injured party has apparently caught his victim or -- ha ha -- his aggressor. One car is crossways in the righthand lane and the other directly behind him. We'll keep an eye on the scene."

That was how the news looked to Barney Stutesman one recent morning as he hovered over Detroit in a helicopter outfitted with white carpeting and white Naugahyde upholstering. A onetime U.S. Army pilot who is now a traffic watcher for radio station WXYZ, Stutesman is one of a growing tribe of hardy newsmen (and women) who hop into a Cessna or helicopter in the early-dawn hours, brave snow, fog and smog to report the traffic below and watch for fastbreaking news stories like fires and explosions.

Gapers' Block. Veteran traffic reporters get a thrill out of unsnarling a traffic jam and speeding frustrated motorists on their way. "When I mention an alternative route, I can actually see the traffic swing, and I know they're listening," says Frank Burany of Milwaukee's WTMJ. "A guy has to be clean out of his head not to appreciate it." Often, a watcher cannot do much to unsnarl traffic. Even so, the reports can have a tranquilizing effect on a harassed driver; at least someone knows of his plight and seems to care. After her husband was stuck in the blizzard of '67 for five hours, a Chicago housewife wrote radio station WGN's two watchers: "How can I tell you boys just how grateful our city is? Bless you and your wings."

For some watchers, it is all business. They just give the facts, with no frills. Others develop a distinctive line of patter. They try to cheer up stalled motorists with a little humor. "There must be a lot of ladies out tonight," Warren Boggess of San Francisco's KSFO likes to say. "I see cars swerving in and out of traffic lanes." Reporting for New York's WCBS, Bob Richardson and Neal Busch call themselves "Orville" and "Wilbur," their helicopters "help-o-copters." Last month Los Angeles' KABC hired a pair of chatty girls, blonde Kelly Lange and brunette Lorri Ross, to be traffic spotters. Outfitted in snug, silver pants, the girls quickly mastered the special vocabulary used to describe the chaos beneath them. In the lingo of the traffic reporters, "gapers' block" is a tie-up caused by motorists slowing down to gape at an accident. "Spaghetti bowl" means an intersection where cars habitually pile up. "Carpool kamikazes" refers to autos overloaded with commuters who are not watching where they're going.

Hazards Aloft. When a helicopter broadcaster spots unusual activity below, he stops directing traffic and starts gathering news. Last spring Milwaukee's Burany heard a police report that a car had been stolen. He spotted the car below, tailed the thief after he had abandoned it, finally guided the police to him. "There just wasn't any place for him to hide," says Burany. Major Bruce Payne of Los Angeles' KGIL helped police pursue a herd of escaped horses that were galloping through suburban Burbank.

For obvious reasons, traffic reporting is one of the most hazardous jobs in journalism. In the past ten years, at least ten traffic reporters have died in crashes. "If we can see and the wind is under 40 miles per hour, we go," says John Wagner of Kansas City's KMBC. "I've had a few knots on my head from banging against the glass while I'm trying to look out." In addition to watching out for traffic below, a reporter has to worry about ice accumulating on his rotor blades, the wash from a jet that can upend a helicopter--and traffic above.

Yet for all the dangers, the satisfactions continue to lure traffic watchers aloft. "This is one job where you can see the results of your work," says Kevin O'Keefe of Boston's WHDH. "At dusk, when I suggest that motorists turn their lights on, it looks like a Christmas tree lighting up down there."

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