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Ken Love
Dick Goddard
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Ken Love
Dick Goddard
Described by his inner circle as having “no sense of social propriety,” Dick Goddard is almost as famous for being him as he is for being a meteorological legend.
Dick Goddard is about the closest thing Northeast Ohio has to a deity.
He doesn’t quite walk on water, but he can estimate with reasonable accuracy when the next great flood will be coming. He hasn’t built an ark, but you can bet that in the event of a flood, he would try to save every animal he could find — woollybears and all.
Clouds (and doors) part when he enters Kent’s well-known watering hole, Ray’s Place, for our interview. In that deep, comforting tone, he announces to the crowd: “Thank you for coming!”
Later, he would promise a group of ladies with his impossibly grand smile: “You’re all getting a stray dog or cat as you leave. Won’t that be nice? The van will pull up here any minute now.”
He would distribute at least six woollybear festival stickers (personally designed by him) in less than an hour and said he planned to give away hundreds more that night at an Akron Aeros game.
There’s a certain intimacy about the work of a local meteorologist, especially one who’s been at it for 50 years. Goddard is welcomed into people’s homes every day, so when the audience sees him out and about, they feel comfortable enough to walk right up to him.
He’s compulsively cordial and magnanimous, obviously basking in the attention.
“I hope I come across as a kind, decent person,” Goddard explains. “The three most important things in life are be kind, be kind, be kind.”
Author's Collection
Author's Collection
Author's Collection
But beneath Goddard’s otherworldly exterior is an acute awareness of his faults. The title of his latest book, “Six Inches of Partly Cloudy,” is a play on the inherent fallibility of the meteorologist. The title is illustrated in a cartoon featured in the book, where an angry viewer shovels six inches of snow from his driveway after Goddard forecasted partly cloudy skies.
The book is a compilation of a lifetime of stories, quotes, cartoons and wisdom. Apart from the sections on religion, junk science, astrology and psychics, the book is lighthearted and playful, with each page chock-full of anecdotes and interesting tidbits.
Tim Taylor, a friend and former broadcaster at WJW Fox 8 in Cleveland, states in the book that Goddard has “no sense of social propriety,” a sentiment Goddard doesn’t disagree with.
“They ask where I went to school, and I say Chaos-U. That’s how I got the chaotic [outlook]. I love when things are falling apart,” says Goddard. “I didn’t know I was such a screwball until I started reading these [stories people told about me in the book].”
During our interview, Goddard speaks in well-rehearsed phrases, i.e. “carbon-based mammalian bipeds” (people), “quadripeds and feathered flock” (animals) and “that big weather bureau in the sky” (whatever happens when we kick the bucket). It’s no surprise that some of his phrasing is verbatim from his book — he does speak for a living.
Author's Collection
I tracked Hurricane Gladys on the weather board at KYW in September 1964. I’m holding a piece of chalk, which is what I used to mark the map. It took hours to do it, and after four years I was on the verge of white lung disease. I would chalk four hours a day.
Born in Green, graduated from Kent State University, residing in Medina and working in Cleveland, Goddard epitomizes Northeast Ohio. And at 80, Goddard has lived through some incredible moments. He observed the H-bomb test from 140 miles away and describes the sound as nothing more than a rifle shot. He flew with the Thunderbirds upside down in an F-16 at 500 miles per hour. He also flew into Hurricane Flora in 1963 with the Navy Hurricane Hunters and was caught in a tornado by his farmhouse in 1943.
“I point this out because none of those are big deals,” he explains. “You wanna see your life pass before your eyes? Be on television for the first time with no training. They hung me out to dry at Channel 3. I thought they would send me to charm school or something.
“I said to myself, ‘I’m not cut out for this. I’ll do one show, and then I can tell my grandchildren about it.’ I was so uptight when I did my first weather back in ’61, my voice was up several octaves. They said small animals began to gather outside of Channel 3.”
During his years at Kent State, Goddard took a single speech course that wasn’t in broadcasting. A tip from former boss Virgil Dominic encouraged Goddard to lower his voice, as it’s much more pleasing for the broadcasting audience.
Goddard started out with a 13-week contract at Channel 3, KYW-TV, during which, people called the station to say that he was so bad it was entertaining. When KYW moved to Philadelphia in 1965, Goddard tagged along — only to return to Cleveland after being on air only three months, due to homesickness.
Goddard has been with Channel 8 now for 45 years and celebrated his 50th anniversary on television May 2011. He’s had the longest career as a TV weather forecaster in history.
Like any deity, Goddard doesn’t like false idols or prophets. Prognosticating entertainers like astrologists and psychics get little respect from the meteorological legend. Televangelists, too, are not to be trusted.
“These televangelists are trying to blame tsunamis and tornadoes and storms on sin. These people are scientifically illiterate — it’s called nature. These people lose in the court of common sense and reason.”
Goddard confesses to being an interdenominational skeptic and says religions have caused more misery than good, alluding to religious conflicts in the Middle East and American involvement.
“I can’t believe I haven’t had more responses to my skepticism. I say that I believe Humpty Dumpty was pushed. I’m surrounded by wonderful Christians, but I’m also surrounded by agnostics, freethinkers. Now that I’m 80 years old, I know I don’t have that long to go, so I don’t think I have anything to lose at this point. What are you gonna do, fire me? Okay, no big deal.”
Perhaps adding to his distaste for facets of Christianity is his claim that the Bible mentions dogs 40 times, but never in a favorable light. His love of animals is well-known and well-documented.
“I’m a vegetarian — I don’t even eat animal crackers anymore. I hope to start an animal foundation before I go to that weather bureau in the sky.”
(The proceeds from his latest book go to animal charities; a glossary of organizations can be found in the last few pages.)
One of Goddard’s wackier legacies — and an extension of that love of animals — is the creation of the Woollybear Festival, now held in Vermillion every year. Rooted in meteorological lore, the woolliness of the woollybear supposedly predicts the coldness of winter. While returning from the frog jump in Hinckley with 11-year-old daughter Kim in 1973, Goddard suggested they start a woollybear festival. She said, “Why not?”
The annual family-friendly gathering now boasts a reported 100,000 spectators to the hours-long parade, caterpillar races and throng of woollybear costumes. (This year’s festival was Oct. 9.)
Beside animals, Goddard also loves sports — he’s in his 44th year doing stats for the Browns radio broadcast and, perhaps not as well-known, part owner of the Cavs. He doesn’t, however, take them as seriously as many Clevelanders, particularly the collective reaction to what many believed to be a televised betrayal.
“LeBron gave us seven years, what more do you want? Sports fans are nuts. Sports are for enjoyment. Too many people let their lives revolve around athletic teams.”
Goddard has come a long way since his first weather forecast in 1961 — refusing to exaggerate the severity of weather for the sake of ratings and becoming NEO’s most trusted
source (In Goddard We Trust) for local weather conditions.
“I do a pretty decent forecast,” says Goddard, “but I get more response to the little things I throw in” — which often include weather tidbits, like the patron saint of lightning or the man who was struck by lightning the most times.
Goddard has also been known to make a few slips of the tongue from time to time — enough to give him three appearances on Dick Clark’s television bloopers show.
He refers to these gaffes as spoonerisms, named after the verbal misadventures of Oxford lecturer William Archibald Spooner, who became known for his tendency to muddle words together. Goddard recalls a few of his favorites, including the intended phrase “cold air mass” — which became “cold mare’s ass” when on air.
On the other hand, once calling someone a bastard on the air was no mistake. The station did a story about a company selling stuffed animals made out of real fur, and Goddard couldn’t resist revealing his true feelings. Interestingly, the station received only three phone calls in response.
Taylor once told him that he’d be the first to get away with using “the fudge word” on air, though Goddard doesn’t have any plans to follow through on that.
But he does have his last lines for his last show all mapped out:
“99.9 percent of the people have been so good to me, but to that .1 percent that thinks I’m really bad, you wanna know what the weather is?
“Look out the goddamn window.”
Dick Goddard, Chronic Sufferer, Spoonerisms
HIS FIRST
When: radio broadcast at Akron-Canton Airport Weather Bureau
The intended phrase: City Chevrolet (their new sponsor)
The verbal gaffe: “Shitty, uh, City Chevrolet.” (Happened numerous times. “[City] can get you in a lot of trouble,” laughs Goddard.)
HIS FAVORITE
When: 1989 Fox 8 Jerry Lewis Telethon, 21½ hours into it
The intended phrase: Stouffer’s Tower City Plaza
The verbal gaffe: “Come on down to the beautiful, newly renovated Stouffer’s Sour Titty Plaza.” (“Thank goodness this was very early in the morning, 5 a.m.,” says Goddard.)
