“So, what is it that you actually do?”
It’s a question I hear almost every day — posed by friends, family, strangers in the grocery store, even people sitting across from me at the dinner table. From the outside, my work doesn’t fit neatly into one box. I forecast severe weather. I assist people with storm anxiety. I serve in emergency management. I work behind the scenes and out front in the moment.
So when people ask what I do, my answer is often short and sweet: “I help people.”
That usually satisfies the curious. But every now and then, someone leans in and asks the follow-up: How?
To answer that properly, I need to go back more than two decades. I’ve spent over 20 years forecasting severe weather — tornadoes, derechos, flash floods, snowstorms — you name it. While some people chase storms for the thrill, I’ve always chased understanding. My focus has been on providing reliable, measured and actionable information when it matters most.
In an age of clickbait, viral panic and social media hysteria, I try to be a voice of reason. When others are raising alarms that a catastrophe is guaranteed, I focus on what the science actually says. In a world where fear spreads faster than facts, I strive to ground people with truth, not speculation.
My professional foundation was laid under the mentorship of National Weather Service forecasters, who showed me how decisions made in a control room can ripple across entire regions. Later, I served as the on-site meteorologist for the Chicagoland Speedway and Route 66 Raceway — two venues where weather calls can impact hundreds of thousands of attendees. Those experiences reinforced a lesson I carry with me every day: forecasting isn’t just about reading radar; it’s about communication, accountability and trust.
But even with all that experience, one truth kept pushing its way to the forefront: Science alone isn’t enough.
Over the years, I began to notice a troubling pattern. People weren’t just watching the weather — they were fearing it. And not in a casual, keep-an-eye-on-the-skies way. I’ve seen people pack up and drive six or eight hours just to escape a slight chance of storms. I’ve had parents in tears asking if their child will be safe at school. I’ve spoken to adults paralyzed by panic because they saw a famous storm chaser roll into town.
In a country that’s already stretched thin in terms of mental health, weather has become a silent trigger. The uncontrollable nature of Mother Nature amplifies anxiety in people who already feel vulnerable or overwhelmed. Don’t like the heat? Too bad. Hate the cold? It’s coming anyway. Afraid of tornadoes? Buckle up and hope for the best.
Telling someone “the odds are low” or “you’ll probably be fine” doesn’t always help. In fact, it can feel dismissive to those truly struggling.
So this year, I took action. I partnered with a professional therapy group to create a set of resources that bridges the gap between meteorology and mental health. Together, we offer information that explains not just what the weather might do but how you might feel about it and what to do with those feelings.
We’re offering coping strategies, guided conversations and real-time support during high-stress weather days. It’s a holistic approach that treats storm anxiety as a valid, important issue. Because being there before the storm — and even during the storm — is no longer enough.
When I moved from the south side of the Chicago metro to Ford County, I didn’t expect things to move quickly. I figured I’d take time to get settled and figure out how I could help my new community. But less than 48 hours after arriving, my phone rang. It was Terry Whitebird, the coordinator for the Ford County Emergency Management Agency. He’d heard about my background and asked if I’d be willing to get involved.
That one call opened a door I didn’t even know I’d been waiting to walk through.
Emergency management is more than storm sirens and disaster response. It’s about proactive planning, education, community resilience and coordination. It’s about knowing where your community is vulnerable before a crisis occurs — and building systems that can stand when the pressure mounts.
My background in meteorology and firefighting gave me a good starting point. But emergency management demanded more. It pushed me to learn logistics, communications, policy and human behavior. It challenged me to think bigger and act faster.
More importantly, it allowed me to complete the circle of service:
— Forecasting and alerting before danger strikes.
— Supporting and calming people during the height of a threat.
— And helping communities rebuild, recover and learn in the aftermath.
This work isn’t static, and that’s exactly why I love it. If you know me, you know I don’t do well with routine. I thrive on challenges. I thrive on purpose.
One of the biggest misconceptions I encounter is that emergency management only exists for worstcase scenarios. The truth is that much of what we do happens long before the news cameras arrive — or after they’ve left.
We work on education, risk reduction and preparedness. We coordinate with schools, hospitals, municipalities and local businesses. We run drills, update plans and ask the hard questions: What if this fails? Where is the weakest link? How do we make people not just safer but feel safer, too?
Still, most people don’t know what their local EMA can do for them. That’s something I hope to change. My mission now includes not just forecasting and responding but communicating the value of emergency management to every household we serve.
If there’s one thread running through everything I do, it’s this: I want to be a source of calm in chaos. A reliable voice when fear threatens to take over. A steady hand in the storm.
Whether it’s watching radar at 2 a m., speaking to a room full of middle schoolers about tornado safety or helping a family find shelter after a disaster, my goal never changes. I want to be one of the first rays of sunlight after someone’s darkest hour.
That’s what I do.
And I’m proud to do it.
Danny Neal of Paxton is owner of Illinois Storm Chasers LLC and deputy coordinator of the Ford
County Emergency Management
Agency. He can be reached at dnealweather@outlook.com.