Counting What Can’t Be Counted
On warnings, budgets, and the minutes that save lives
Everybody wants to save money. The government, the little old lady who lives next door, and your husband when you ask for yet another green plant for the fireplace mantel. Over Christmas our wallets may loosen as we realize we forgot to buy Aunt Jane a Christmas present. Again. Last year she was so offended she wouldn’t let us eat her Bundt cake after dinner.
Major life events catch us by surprise like when our water main broke and suddenly we were deep in an unexpected home renovation. Eventually, the numbers settle—and we start looking for places to cut.
Often budget cuts are made with choices as simple as, “If we don’t eat out this week, we can save $290.” Other times, the domino effect stretches too far for statistics to follow. For instance, what is the value of the National Weather Service (NWS), a division of NOAA? Can this be calculated from operating costs—such as payroll, building maintenance, and commercial insurance? Or perhaps we could view its value as an opportunity cost and calculate how many lives are saved per dollar spent?
In 2023, the National Weather Service across the U.S. operated on a budget of $1.3 billion (Spears). NWS offices, called Weather Forecast Offices (WFOs), are located throughout U.S., Puerto Rico, and Guam. One hundred twenty-two WFOs, placed strategically around the nation, provide local forecasts to their residents. More than 4,000 employees staff these offices 24/7, issuing forecasts daily and severe weather warnings when they matter most.
The NWS is the only forecasting body that issues official weather advisories, watches, and warnings.
In 2023, one of these warnings saved my son’s life.
Saturday, June 17, 2023, ended like most Saturdays. My three-year-old was not keen on the whole idea of bedtime and decided tag would be far more appealing after my time-for-bed announcement. I chased him across the upstairs landing. I considered how difficult bedtime is when the sun stays up past even my bedtime and made a mental note to buy better blackout curtains for his room.
The day had been sunny and easy, the kind that leaves a child overtired and wired all at once. When I caught my giggling son, I pulled him into a big hug. Momentarily distracted by my snuggles, he leaned into my chest and whispered, “Love you, Mommy.” Completely smitten, I barely noticed him wiggle right out of my hands and run away again. I sighed—but smiled.
Eventually he was snoring happily in his little bed. I adjusted the curtains by his head again, blocking out as much evening sunlight as possible. Stealing one last glance at his peaceful, sleeping face, I smiled again and wandered to my bedroom for the evening.
Three hours later, just after midnight, I was woken from a deep sleep by a tornado warning siren blaring from every device in the house.
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE HAS ISSUED A TORNADO WARNING FOR YOUR AREA.
I shoved my husband awake and ran in what felt like a slow-motion nightmare speed down the hall. I threw off my son’s blankets, scooped him up, and ran toward the stairs. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face against me, thoroughly confused. I could hear the wind howling against the brick exterior and felt as if the whole house were leaning. I yelled for my husband again and ran down the first flight of stairs. I turned at the bottom of the stairs and ran across the entryway landing, heading for the basement. My husband caught up to me, opened the basement door, and turned on the stairway light. We passed the basement stair landing just as a loud crash echoed above our heads and the strangest whistle of wind sailed through the house.
I could feel the wind on my face.
I whimpered as the house went dark.
I had to slow on the stairs, the stairwell now a black hole, the basement floor indiscernible. My son cried softly against my chest; I held him tighter.
Ssh, baby, it’s okay. We’re almost there.
I reached the bottom and glanced around trying to quickly decide what corner to duck in. I chose under the stairs, despite them being mostly disassembled. Crashing sounds continued above our heads as we dodged the construction equipment and two-by-fours studded with rusty nails scattered around the basement floor. We were only a couple of months from completing the basement remodel and right now the space felt like a slaughterhouse. I ducked under the staircase and sat down; my son curled into my lap. My husband sat behind me and draped a blanket over our son he’d grabbed on his way down. My son looked up at him and smiled briefly, then ducked back under the blanket and leaned into my chest. Rain forced its way into the basement at the west brick wall, driven sideways by the wind.
Four minutes later, the world was silent.
We survived because we had time.
I said earlier that the NWS saved my son’s life.
On June 18, 2023, at 12:18 a.m., straight-line wind gusts exceeding 100 mph wreaked havoc in midtown Tulsa, removing roofs and not only uprooting hundred-year-old trees but relocating them. The NWS later confirmed that three tornadoes were produced by the storm front.
Our four-story cottonwood tree was uprooted from the backyard and tossed into our house, the oversized trunk landing on the pillow warmed by my son’s head only seconds earlier.
So how do I put a value on the National Weather Service?
I do it with the reminder that if the NWS didn’t exist, neither would my son.
Before the National Weather Service issued its first tornado warning in 1948, storm-related fatalities approached one thousand per year. Since then, that number has dropped to fewer than one hundred. If a forecasting office were understaffed, or if the equipment failed because of budget cuts, I would be the one to pay the price.
What would it cost you if the National Weather Service were defunded to save money?
