A moment of silence, please, for the passing of a formidable ally in television news gathering.
We found you turned on your side in the middle of a freeway, wrecked by the combination of heat and friction that burst your tire and sent you careening along the road.
The giant plate synonymous with your work we found meters off, severed from your roof.
We lost you, fittingly, in the line of duty. Our convoy was en route to what was supposed to be a quiet event up north. But instead of covering a story the next day, you became part of that Sunday evening’s news.
Still, even with your untimely end, you proved dependable. Your sturdy frame kept your three passengers alive and a number of the equipment entrusted to you intact.
You were the only one of your kind in your fleet. You went where no microwave antenna could go up, beaming reporters and their stories live.
For more than 10 years, you roamed the island without fail–as far north as Laoag, as far south as Albay, and anywhere in the metropolis covered by high-rises and high-tension wires.
Available at a moment’s notice, you would move from one town to another as the news broke. And once you got back to base, you’d be at the beck and call of the next assignment.
You witnessed a country’s story unfold, from a landslide in Quezon to the glitches in Batangas leading to our first brush with election automation. Not to mention the bits of festivals, gimmicks, and calendar coverage in between.
Too bad–you were but a week and a half from seeing a change of leadership rare in your short-lived career.
Three days to one of the most historic coverages in recent memory, your presence, and your precious capability, will sorely be missed.