When I was in high school (always a bad way to begin a paragraph, I admit, but. . .) When I was in high school and a winter storm approached, the radio was our best and sometimes only source for no-school news. We would stay glued to WBZ where an announcer started with the "As" and worked his way to the "Zs." If we were listening for, say, Dighton-Rehoboth, and happened to tune in at "Eastham" or "Easton," we were done for 20 or 30 minutes until the list recycled. Some schools might call in at 5 a.m., some at 5:30 a.m. and yours at 6 a.m., which meant real vigilance in being present for each recycle of the "D" schools. TV would sometimes help but it seems like there was less local news competition and less chance of a local affiliate bumping a network show for "big storm" ratings. Today, big storms are apparently the best advertising and ratings-boost a local station can have.
Last night our daughter had Facebook up; theoretically, no student on FB should have any inside information on school closing, yet it's strange how often someone seems to "know," or at the very least, the consensus of the chatter turns out to be correct.
She had another website open, this one operated by a classmate whom friends call "the Weatherman." Apparently he loves all things weather and has become something of an oracle when it comes to no-school closings. So, the kids turn to this "peer expert" for insight.
She also had the school's website up, but finds that to be the last and worst source for school-closing news.
The wisdom of crowds. Inside information. Peer experts. Big Data. Not a radio in sight, the TV turned off, and the "official" school site largely ignored.
When I went to bed last night it had not even begun snowing. Facebook was mixed but mostly positive. The peer expert had predicted no school. The "No School Number," much to my daughter's delight, was at 99. At 5:45 this morning I received a text (as did thousands of other kids and parents, I assume) from the school saying classes had been cancelled.
Once upon a time, the school superintendent believed he (or she) made the final determination on school closings: get up early, look outside, chat with the arthritic knee, call the local street departments, listen to the radio, and make the call.
Now, in the age of Facebook, the Web, and Big Data--well, it doesn't take a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing.