by MAX SPARBER
Community News Editor
The Twin Cities share a legacy of unaccountably famous television weather forecasters. There was Paul Douglas, formerly of WCCO, who provided weather simulations and briefly appeared in the movie Twister. There is KARE11’s Sven Sundgaard, who is turning into something of a minor Instagram celebrity.
But first there was Barry ZeVan. A former child performer, ZeVan came to Minneapolis as a weatherman in 1970, working at KSTP-TV for four years, and then returning to Twin Cities television in 1983, performing a variety of jobs at KARE-TV. His television appearances were enormously popular — the Pavek Museum reports that his weather reports brought in “a record-breaking 51 percent share of the audience.” ZeVan also went on to produce award-winning documentaries with former news anchor Sam Donaldson.
ZeVan was somewhat legendary for his connection to the entertainment industry, with promotional commercials featuring Sammy Davis Jr. and Gregory Peck. He wrote about his experiences a few years ago in a book called Barry ZeVan: My Life Among the Giants, a Memoir. Published by 4 Square Books and available through Amazon.com, ZeVan’s memoir is a dazzling collection of personal reminiscences of many of the 20th centuries most famous people.
On the book’s cover is an image of ZeVan embracing the legendary comic performer Jerry Stiller and the text “Thank you, Jerry Stiller, for urging me to write this book.” In an interview with American Jewish World, ZeVan explained:
“Jerry Stiller and I have been friends forever, since the 1950s,” ZeVan said. “He would say to me, ‘You’ve had the most incredible life. People have to know it’s not just weather reports. They need to know your history in every facet of life, the people have to know your blessed and cursed life.’”
The comment is offhand, but ZeVan’s life has had its ups and downs, with downs piling up recently, when they are the least welcome. ZeVan lost a daughter to cancer last year and has been struggling with financial woes recently.
“Money has always been a problem,” ZeVan explained. “I knew Mickey Rooney. He died with eighteen thousand dollars in his pocket. He made millions for the studios.”
But ZeVan has always been a dynamo, ready to look for opportunities with seemingly boundless energy. He grew up in Pittsburgh, the son of a Jewish woman and a French Catholic man.
“My mom from the earliest days wanted to instill in me Judaism, the fact that we were Jewish,” ZeVan explained. He struggled in Hebrew school, discouraged by a teacher who was more interested in talking on the telephone to his girlfriend than educating.
He wouldn’t have a Bar Mitzva until a decade ago, by St. Paul rabbi Manis Friedman. “He Bar Mitzva’d me twice,” ZeVan said. “He said, ‘You’re way past 13, so let’s make sure we do it right.’”
ZeVan’s book relates his childhood, which coupled heartbreak (his father abandoned the family) with near-constant encounters with celebrities, many of whom became friends, and often helped him in his career.
He went to school with Elliot Gould and Sal Mineo, the latter of whom ZeVan counted as a very close friend.
ZeVan joined the Air Force toward the end of the Korean War, getting trained in meteorology, which started the career he is best known for. When he got work at a television news station after the war, ZeVan’s meteorological training soon found him on the air forecasting the weather.
Concerned that he would seem rude if he spent the entire time pointing to a map with his back to the audience, ZeVan began to look over his shoulder as he talked, which gave him a nickname that has stuck with him: The Peek-a-boo Weatherman.
If there is a story that happens throughout his book, it is of ZeVan struggling with missed opportunities and bad luck, eventually leading to a new opportunity, invariably involving somebody famous. He does emcee work. He sings, and credits Robert Goulet. “He taught me how to sing properly,” ZeVan explained. “He was one of my best friends. Frank Sinatra, Jr. was a friend. Nancy (Sinatra) tried to get me to Vegas on television.”
So ZeVan has prospects. “I Just turned 81. I don’t sound 81, I know I don’t look 81, thanks to the black shoe polish on my hair.” He paused, just a beat, to allow the joke to land. “If Kiwi ever runs out, I’m in trouble.”
Currently, he is developing a YouTube program, again with a celebrity’s help. This time it’s local comedian Louie Anderson, enjoying a recent career high and having recently won a Primetime Emmy. Anderson will introduce the program, a “retro weatherman” show. “I’ll be doing the weather the way I used to do it,” ZeVan explained. “We’ve been filming at a studio at Rosedale where they have been donating their time and energy.”
The back of ZeVan’s book includes testimonials from famous friends, and they detail the book’s frequent shift from despair to opportunity, a cycle he seems to be repeating now. Former U.S. Vice President Walter F. Mondale summarizes ZeVan’s story this way: “I heartily recommend (the book) to anyone who thinks they know about survival.”
It has been, as Jerry Stiller told him, a blessed and cursed life.
