In the ratings for class, meteorologist Harry Wappler is going out on top

I'm just wild about Harry.

No, this isn't one of those obligatory, say-something-nice-about-the-guy moments that attend the retirement of a local star from public view. Recitations of drinks named in Harry's honor or what other Seattle celebs say about Harry are not about to follow.

In fact, the hoopla attending meteorologist Harry Wappler's departure from KIRO-TV is itself a slightly curious affair.

KIRO is giving Wappler a sendoff in the form of a special at 10 tonight. The one-hour tribute airs four months after his last onscreen report and follows a series of untelevised exits for other longtime KIRO staff members.

The station's talent overhaul coincided with Wappler's 65th birthday last December and KIRO's hiring of a new meteorologist, Rob Mayeda. Wappler also had personal issues to handle — notably the health of his wife, Mary, who passed away from cancer March 22.

Whether the man jumped or was pushed into official retirement is now a closed subject; the graceful take is that it simply was time.

"I don't feel I'm getting pushed out," said Wappler yesterday by telephone. "Or, if this is getting pushed out, it's a lovely way to go. They've been paying my salary since mid-January, which is about the last time I was on the air."

He's in good company, at any rate. Walter Cronkite handed in his microphone at age 65 by decree of CBS' then-parent company.

Besides making classy farewells, the two have in common an exit that is symbolic.

Wappler belongs to the pioneering generation of meteorologists that brought respectability to a profession previously characterized by gimmickry and weather bunnies. At KIRO, he replaced a cartoonist that drew the weather.

That was in 1969. As for how it happened — let's give the floor to Harry Wappler.

On getting into TV:

"I was a divinity student at Yale while my wife, Mary, was teaching to support both of us. There was a Rockefeller Foundation fellowship designed for people uncertain about the ministry and that paid for my first year at a seminary to see if this was what I really wanted to do. Well, the first two rectors I worked under had nervous breakdowns.

"Going from that to TV wasn't such a stretch. It was another way of speaking to people."

On getting his big break:

"In May 1969, KIRO had nothing to lose — nobody was watching. So they changed all the talent, and I was offered a chance to do weather. When they told me, I leaned against the wall and started laughing and said, 'I'm much more profound than that.'

"Station manager Lloyd Cooney just answered, 'You look like a weatherman.' "

On the best and worst of doing weather:

"Despite what my friends say, it's not getting to wear makeup. Weather is one of the last things on television that's live, unedited and unscripted. You can say what you want, unless they turn off your mike.

"The danger is saying something dumb. We used to show weather dials on the air as part of the report. Well, once the wind dial wasn't bouncing around like I thought it would and I said, 'This wind dial isn't working. It must belong to a union.' I spent the next 10 minutes explaining what I really meant to say. Lloyd, who was not big on unions, thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard on the air."

On the best and worst of doing weather in Seattle:

"People in Seattle actually use the weather reports to plan their activities. I was at WNBC in New York in the early 1970s, and those folks just don't take their weather seriously. The challenge is that weather in the Northwest is just the difference between rain and drizzle. You have to put an individual stamp on it or your viewers get bored."

On who does the most accurate weather:

"Not to slam a rival, but KING-TV has on its Web site that their weather is proven most accurate by a University of Washington study. That makes me laugh, because that study was a freshman homework assignment, and it took place a long time ago.

"I think the difference is personality and interpretation. We all get the same facts."

On retirement:

"It's obviously not the same without the person you love. Mary and I had a wonderful, wonderful marriage; 43 years last August. What I will miss the most is having an intelligent woman to talk to 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

"My son Andy and I have talked about writing a book on Puget Sound weather. I also belong to a classic-car club and now can attend more of those events. Mainly, though, I want to spend time with my five grandchildren."

On tonight's TV special:

"It's going to be like a history of broadcasting. I just hope I don't break down and get all weepy."

Kay McFadden may be reached at 206-382-8888 or at kmcfadden@seattletimes.com.