Thursday | 10:55 PM CST — Somewhere along an ice-choked stretch of power lines, the night turned from dangerous to devastating.
At exactly 10:55 p.m., as freezing rain glazed transformers and wind howled through skeletal trees, another lineman rose into the dark in a bucket truck, answering a call most people never hear. His name is Denny McGuff. Like so many utility workers across the Midwest and South, he was doing what linemen do in winter storms: restoring power, one hazardous climb at a time.
Ten minutes later, the storm struck back.
According to colleagues on scene, a violent electrical surge ripped through the line around 11:05 p.m. What happened next unfolded with terrifying speed. By 11:15 p.m., surgeons were performing what doctors later described as a terminal amputation to save Denny’s life. His left arm was partially gone. The ICU lights replaced the storm lights. Another family joined the waiting.
This was not the first shock of the week.
Just days earlier, a fellow lineman named Hunter survived a harrowing encounter with approximately 13,000 volts during another restoration effort. His story had already shaken crews across the region—a reminder that even veterans of the trade operate inches from forces powerful enough to stop a heart in a blink. Many believed lightning had already struck once.
Now it had struck twice.
The Ten-Minute Window
In storm response, time compresses. Calls stack. Outages spread like fractures in glass. Linemen move from pole to pole in bucket trucks, navigating ice-slick roads and live lines under brutal conditions. The work is technical, calculated, and disciplined—but it is never routine.
Shortly before 11 p.m., Denny reportedly climbed into the bucket to clear ice accumulation and secure a compromised line. Ice storms create unique electrical risks. Weight bends lines. Branches snap onto conductors. Insulation weakens. Hidden current can behave unpredictably when infrastructure is stressed.
What investigators will ultimately determine about the surge remains under review. But for the men and women working that night, the details are less abstract. They heard the crack. They saw the flash. They understood immediately that something catastrophic had happened.
By 11:05 p.m., emergency protocols were in motion.
By 11:15 p.m., surgeons were racing against tissue damage that spreads rapidly after high-voltage trauma. In such cases, amputation is sometimes the only way to prevent further systemic collapse. It is a brutal, life-saving decision measured in minutes.
A Second Shock to a Shaken Brotherhood
Utility crews often refer to themselves as a brotherhood—and not lightly. Storm response requires trust that borders on instinct. When one falls, the entire crew feels it.
Hunter’s near-electrocution had already left linemen across the grid on edge. His 13,000-volt encounter was described by coworkers as “a miracle he survived.” Now, with Denny in intensive care, many are struggling with the emotional whiplash of back-to-back disasters.
“This job has always been dangerous,” one crew member said quietly outside the hospital, declining to be named. “But two in one storm? That hits different.”
The phrase circulating among some online—“the Voltage Curse”—reflects the raw shock of timing more than superstition. Storm systems do not curse. Infrastructure does not conspire. Yet when tragedy clusters, human beings search for patterns to make sense of chaos.
What remains indisputable is the cost.
The Hidden Price Behind a Light Switch
For most households, the end of a storm is marked by a familiar click. Lights return. Heat hums back to life. Refrigerators restart. Relief settles in.
Rarely does anyone see the hours preceding that moment—the ice-splintered branches, the live wires sagging under weight, the bucket trucks parked beneath lines carrying thousands of volts. Rarely does anyone witness the split-second decisions made forty feet above frozen ground.
Electrical current does not announce itself. It waits in silence. A line thought stable can carry residual charge. A surge can travel faster than reflex.
High-voltage injuries are among the most severe trauma cases emergency physicians face. Beyond burns, they can cause deep internal damage, muscle necrosis, cardiac complications, and long-term neurological effects. Survival itself can be a narrow victory.
Denny survived.
That fact, amid the devastation, matters.
Two Families, One Community
Inside the ICU, the language changes. Storm maps and outage grids give way to monitors and ventilators. Hard hats sit beside hospital chairs. Families wait under fluorescent lights, absorbing updates in careful medical terms.
For Denny’s loved ones, the next chapter will not be measured in voltage but in rehabilitation, adaptation, and resilience. Partial limb loss reshapes daily life. It demands physical therapy, prosthetics, and psychological adjustment. It also demands community.
Across social media, messages of support have poured in for both Hunter and Denny. Fellow linemen from other states have shared photos from their own bucket trucks, gloves raised in solidarity. Some call it prayer. Others call it backing their own. Either way, it is a collective acknowledgment: the men and women on the lines do not work alone.
Investigating the Surge
Utility companies typically conduct thorough internal reviews after serious incidents. Engineers will analyze load data, weather conditions, line integrity, grounding systems, and switching sequences. They will ask whether equipment malfunctioned, whether ice stress altered current flow, whether safeguards functioned as designed.
Storm conditions complicate everything. Ice can mask damage. Wind can trigger cascading faults. Restoration itself involves temporarily rerouting power—an inherently delicate process.
In the coming weeks, answers may emerge.
But even if the technical explanation proves straightforward, the emotional imprint will not fade as easily.
The Brotherhood Endures
There is a quiet ritual among linemen at the end of long shifts. Gloves are peeled off. Faces are streaked with grit. Someone checks in with the crew—“You good?” It is not small talk. It is a safety check layered with care.
This storm has forced that question into sharper focus.
Hunter continues his recovery from a near-fatal jolt. Denny begins life after an amputation that saved him. The community watches, shaken but resolute.
The grid will be repaired. Ice will melt. Trucks will roll out again.
But behind every restored light is a story most of us will never see—a ten-minute window in which everything can change.
At 10:55 p.m., Denny McGuff climbed into the dark to fight a storm.
At 11:05 p.m., electricity reminded everyone how unforgiving it can be.
At 11:15 p.m., surgeons chose life over limb.
And somewhere beyond the headlines and hashtags, a brotherhood tightened its grip—determined that even when lightning strikes twice, it does not strike alone.
