Big Miracle by Tom Rose Page A

it cost two hundred dollars a week just to keep a car running. Stealing a car wasn’t a problem. There was nowhere for a thief to take a stolen car as the town had no roads out of it.
    Whereas Geoff was curious to find out who was carrying the television camera, Craig was more interested in the reporter. When they pulled up alongside them, Oran introduced Russ Weston and Julie Hasquet, the KTUU correspondent. After sizing up Russ, they focused on his attractive but obviously uncomfortable companion. She looked as if she had fallen off a spaceship and landed on the wrong planet.
    As strange as Barrow looked to her, her designer jeans, bright red ski parka, and blow-dried hair looked every bit as strange to Barrowans. She asked Russ to let her get back on the plane before it left her stranded in Barrow. If she missed it, she would be stuck there for the night. She wondered whether she could handle much more than fifteen minutes in Barrow. She ran to the check-in counter to see if she could still board the plane. She hurriedly climbed the stairs to the plane, thrilled that her short visit to Barrow would not turn into something worse.
    When Oran told Geoff and Craig that Russ had come to town because of the whales, Geoff looked knowingly at Craig. Could they both be thinking the same thing? If the whales were news in Anchorage, then the Coast Guard might be more receptive to their request for a ship to break them out. Fifty feet from where they said good-bye, Geoff and Craig’s truck vanished in the thick ice fog as it pulled away. The only proof of its proximity could be heard, not seen. Against a blank-white backdrop, the clear sound of the tires crunched crisply upon the snow-packed road. Oran realized he forgot to tell them that the whales were becoming a national news story, but he was reluctant to reveal too much of his excitement to Weston. Caudle tried to pretend as though the arrival of an outside TV crew under direct network auspices was not nearly the big deal he knew it to be.
    It was Oran’s job to escort outside media. The reason Barrow built the state-of-the-art television production and broadcast center was not only to ensure local’s access to the same television programming seen elsewhere but also to improve the town’s somewhat grimy image. Barrowans used their broadcast center to paint a portrait that relayed two images: a prospering Arctic community working hard to better itself while taming its hostile surroundings as well as a town with profound social scars that necessitated massive infusions of state aid to keep that model alive.
    Helping outside news agencies report on stories from Barrow was one of the NSB television studio’s most important functions. Was there anywhere else in the world where a news crew fly in and find a state-of-the-art studio and transmission facility ready for their use—absolutely free. As Oran drove the half mile up Momegana Street past the already frozen and litter strewn cemetery, Russ marveled at Barrow’s hard scrabble existence. He followed Oran into the broadcast center. A familiar but incongruous sight took him by surprise.
    â€œOh, this,” Oran remarked. “Welcome aboard the Arctic’s only elevator.” Before leaving to fetch a cup of coffee, Oran told Russ to feel free to walk around but not to touch any of the equipment—realizing only after he had said it that Russ probably knew the equipment much better than Oran did. It was a habit. Weston seemed not the least fazed.
    When Oran returned, Russ asked him where he should stay. With a comforting wave of his left hand, Caudle motioned all would be well as he used his right hand to dial the number of the Top of the World Hotel.
    â€œNo problem,” said the Colombian woman at the switchboard in her Spanish accent when asked by Caudle if there were any rooms and what they might cost. “A hundred dollars cash per night and that includes running water.” When