How KMOV chief meteorologist Steve Templeton strives to be a voice in the storm

Years ago, as the sky turned wickedly green and rising sirens pierced my ear, I turned on the television to hear the meteorologist tell me to “Turn up the volume on your TV so you can go into the basement and still hear my voice.” I texted my sister: “Wow, the Channel 4 weatherman is serious!”

That voice was Steve Templeton, chief meteorologist at KMOV. For the 300 or so days of the year when St. Louis’ weather is friendly, tune in and you’ll see a laid-back guy, with a classic anchorman’s haircut and bright smile, delivering the forecast along with pleasant chitchat. He might remind you to grab an umbrella for the evening commute. He might enthuse about his family—his wife and two sons—or cheer on the St. Louis Blues. But when severe weather threatens, Steve cooks.

During “active weather,” as Templeton calls it, he’s a man possessed: jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tablet in hand, eyes darting rhythmically to the radar feed. He shouts instructions to his studio team. He calls out “all-clears” once the storm has passed a community by. Good-Weather-Steve, with his easy smile, is nowhere to be found. Think of a werewolf right before the full moon makes its grand entry from behind a cloud. He’s still polite, but he’s tormented by the weight of his knowledge. During severe weather, Templeton might be more compelling than the drama outside the window.

Nearly 18 years ago, Templeton moved to St. Louis from Iowa to work at KMOV. He didn’t set out to be a meteorologist. While growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, Templeton thought he might study geology to follow in the footsteps of his late grandfather, for whom he was named. Professor Templeton, his dad’s dad, was a geologist at the University of Illinois who died in an accident of nature; the victim of a rockslide while he was working. 

“In hindsight, I think there might have been something in me as a young man trying to connect with the grandfather I never knew,” says Templeton. The only problem? He found he hated rocks. But his earth science classes introduced him to something that made him fall in love: the atmosphere.

Geology aside, he may have more of his grandfather in him than was first apparent. The day we spoke, he’d just finished taking a young boy interested in meteorology on a tour of the studio; one of the highlights of the job for Templeton is visiting schools to share his love of weather. And like his academic grandfather, Templeton often teaches as he forecasts by using high-level meteorological terms: rain-wrapped, debris ball, supercell, circulation, hook, inflow notch, radar-indicated, ground truth. During severe weather, it’s comforting to know the name for what’s happening—terms that transform atmospheric chaos into known scientific phenomena.

Scott Diener, Executive News Director at KMOV, suggests that it’s Templeton’s demeanor and transparency that make people turn to him during uncertain weather. “I get emails, phone calls, and messages after a severe storm outbreak, and people tell me how calm he makes them feel,” Diener says.

Long before severe weather arrives, Diener says Templeton is thinking about how the station can best communicate during a storm. “He’ll send me emails in advance, over the weekend or in the middle of the night, making sure we’ll have all the staff we need on hand for an upcoming storm,” Diener explains. “He’s always ahead of it. I don’t think viewers necessarily realize this.” 

Today, the voices of Templeton and his fellow meteorologists are more important than ever. Although the tools we use to forecast weather are increasingly accurate, the weather itself is becoming more extreme. We’ve always had tornadoes here, but the location, timing, and prevalence of severe weather have begun to shift, likely due to climate change. Lately, tornadoes have arrived out of season instead of bullying us during the spring. One crashed the holidays here on New Year’s Eve in 2010. Another in December 2021 stole six lives at an Amazon warehouse in Edwardsville. Flash floods surprised St. Louis in July 2022, and the region experienced its share of a global, record-breaking heat wave this past summer.

According to Templeton, the purpose of his training is to help people through those dangerous times by explaining with the clarity of science what’s happening in their communities. He says he doesn’t enjoy severe weather, though people sometimes think he does. “That’s the farthest thing from the truth,” he tells me, “especially if you’ve seen damage and been on the ground right after suspected tornados like I have.”

The night when the tornado hit the Amazon warehouse in 2021 was a hectic Friday in December, full of holiday to-dos. A dusting of snow would have added to the cheer, but it was far too warm for that. On TV, Templeton was up to his usual business of explaining nature, talking to his colleagues on the ground, and begging viewers to take shelter to “play it safe rather than sorry,” as 1.3 million of them went under a tornado warning. The system was a wily one, with cells dissipating quickly and reanimating as they traveled into Illinois. Six hours after the storm began, long after it destroyed the Amazon warehouse, Templeton was still on camera. 

As the storm traveled past New Minden, a tiny town of around 170 people in Southern Illinois, Templeton mentioned a 2013 tornado that killed two people there. Nearly a decade later, two victims who could not be saved were still at the top of his mind. 

Ultimately, Templeton sees his role as a protector. A weather forecast is meant to help you figure out anything from how much sunscreen you might need, to whether you should evacuate to a safer location. “Meteorology is a responsibility, and I take it that way,” Templeton says. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get people to stop and pay attention.”