d+ The Second Surge: At 10:55 PM, Another Lineman Fell — And a Community Realized the Storm Wasn’t Done
At 10:55 p.m. CST on Thursday, the lights were still flickering across town — but inside a freezing stretch of storm-ravaged grid, something far more violent was unfolding.
Just days after Hunter’s widely reported 13,000-volt encounter left him fighting for his life, another lineman climbed into a bucket truck to push back against ice-choked lines and a grid on the brink. His name was Denny McGuff. By 11:05 p.m., he would be struck by what coworkers are now calling a “second massive surge.” By 11:15 p.m., surgeons would make a decision that would change his life forever.
His left arm could not be saved.
Two families. One brutal storm. And a community now forced to confront the hidden cost of keeping the lights on.
A Grid Under Siege
The storm had already earned a reputation. Sheets of ice clung to power lines like glass armor. Tree limbs bowed and snapped under the weight. Transformers groaned in the cold. For linemen — the men and women who climb poles and ride bucket lifts into the dark — this was not just bad weather. It was a battlefield.
Hunter’s earlier 13,000-volt incident had shaken crews across the region. He survived, but only after a harrowing rescue and intensive medical intervention. The message was clear: the grid was unstable, unpredictable, and carrying hidden dangers.
Yet the calls kept coming. Homes without heat. Hospitals relying on backup power. Families huddled in darkness.
So at 10:55 p.m., Denny McGuff went up.
The Moment Everything Changed
According to preliminary accounts from those on scene, Denny had positioned the bucket to address heavy ice buildup and restore a compromised section of line. Conditions were treacherous but not unfamiliar. Linemen are trained for this — for wind, cold, and the ever-present risk of live current.
Then, at approximately 11:05 p.m., something went wrong.
Colleagues describe it as a “phantom current” — an unexpected surge that tore through the system without warning. Whether caused by load shifting, line contact, or storm-related instability is still under investigation. What is certain is that the surge found Denny.
Electrical trauma is ruthless. High voltage doesn’t simply shock; it devastates. It can destroy tissue from the inside out, leaving catastrophic internal damage even when the exterior appears deceptively intact.
Emergency protocols activated instantly. Fellow crew members lowered the bucket and called for rapid transport. Every second mattered.
Inside the ICU
By 11:15 p.m., surgeons were faced with an impossible decision.
Electrical injuries of this magnitude often lead to what doctors refer to as “terminal amputation” — a last-resort measure when tissue destruction is too severe to repair. In Denny’s case, the damage to his left arm was extensive.
The operation was not about restoration. It was about survival.
As midnight approached, Denny lay in the ICU, heavily monitored, stabilized but far from safe. Machines traced his heartbeat in glowing lines. Burn specialists and trauma surgeons coordinated minute by minute. Outside, coworkers and family members waited in stunned silence.
Another lineman. Another life altered in an instant.
The Brotherhood in the Buckets
Among utility crews, the bond runs deep. They call it brotherhood — forged not in comfort but in shared danger. Nights like this tighten that bond.
The phrase “Voltage Curse” has begun circulating informally among crews, not as superstition but as shorthand for a brutal truth: when storms escalate, the risks multiply. Load transfers, damaged insulation, unseen cross-connections — any one of them can turn routine restoration into catastrophe.
For the public, the grid is a switch on the wall. For linemen, it is a living system that can turn lethal without warning.
And yet they go up.
They go up because hospitals need power. Because elderly residents cannot endure freezing homes. Because the modern world depends on an invisible web of wires that must be defended in the worst conditions imaginable.
A Community Confronts the Cost
The storm has now taken two heroes in rapid succession — Hunter, still recovering from his 13,000-volt encounter, and Denny, facing life after amputation.
In neighborhoods where lights have finally stabilized, conversations have shifted. Gratitude carries new weight. The convenience of electricity feels less automatic, more earned.
Community members have begun organizing prayer chains, meal trains, and support funds for both families. Utility companies are reviewing procedures, examining the surge event, and assessing additional safeguards. Investigations will determine technical causes. Reports will be filed.
But no report can fully capture what it means to watch a coworker fall.
Beyond the Headlines
Electrical infrastructure work has always ranked among the most dangerous professions. High voltage, elevated work positions, extreme weather — each factor alone carries risk. Combined, they demand precision and courage few ever witness firsthand.
What happened at 10:55 p.m. was not just an accident. It was a reminder of the fragile line between order and chaos during natural disasters.
For Denny, recovery will be long and complex. Burn care, rehabilitation, prosthetic evaluation — the road ahead is measured not in days but in months and years. For Hunter, healing continues. For their families, life has been divided into before and after.
And for the rest of us?
The next time a room fills with light at the flick of a switch, it may carry a different meaning.
The Storm Isn’t Finished — But Neither Are They
As crews continue restoration efforts, safety briefings are sharper, glances longer, prayers quieter but more urgent. The grid still hums with tension. Ice still clings to lines in outlying areas. The work is not done.
But neither is the resolve.
Denny McGuff went up at 10:55 p.m. to fight a storm most people experienced from behind closed doors. At 11:05 p.m., that storm struck back. At 11:15 p.m., doctors fought to keep him alive.
Two families now carry the scars of one brutal system-wide surge. One community carries the weight of knowing what was paid to keep it warm and lit.
The investigation into the “Second Surge” will unfold in the days ahead. Technical answers will come.
What remains, long after the ice melts, is the human cost — and the quiet courage of the men in the buckets who climb anyway.
