In the wee hours of the morning on a cold January day in 2002, a train carrying anhydrous ammonia, commonly used as a fertilizer, derailed near the town of Minot, North Dakota. Hanging in the air was a dense cloud of hazardous gas, but when residents turned on their radios to find out what was happening, there was no emergency alert system (EAS) warning. What Minot residents heard instead was a syndicated program that was also heard in New York City at the same time.

It’s hard to believe that something like this could happen again, but it could. The concern has shifted from fertilizer to flammable crude oil from the Bakken formation in western North Dakota. In December of 2013, a train hauling Bakken oil crashed into a derailed train and caused a mushroom cloud explosion near Casselton, ND. In April 2014, another train transporting Bakken oil derailed in downtown Lynchburg, Virginia, resulting in oil spilling into the nearby James River. But the most dramatic train accident involving Bakken oil happened in July 2013 in Lac Mégantic, Quebec, and tragically killed 47 people. What would happen if a train exploded in places such as Fargo or the Twin Cities? Would the people in these cities hear about it right away or would there be a delay like in Minot all those years ago?

As in 2002, one of the problems now, at least where the media are concerned, is absent owners who operate their stations from a distance. The consolidation of radio ownership in the largely rural state of North Dakota is especially acute. The center of the North Dakota oil boom is the town of Williston, where KEYZ-AM has long been a mainstay in the community. But contrary to popular belief, the station is not locally owned. According to the Federal Communications Commission’s ownership reports, which go back until 2001 for their electronic copies, KEYZ is owned by Arlington Capital Partners (Washington, D.C.) and is operated by its radio ownership subsidiary Cherry Creek Radio (Denver, Colorado). KEYZ flipped format from a country music station/farm radio to talk radio. The reason cited for the flip was the change in the type of economy in the area, from agricultural to oil-driven.

In Fargo, ND, the state’s largest city, the two competing radio station groups swapped radio station ownership with each other not once, but twice. The first time, in 1999, the purpose was to maintain balance in the market. The second time, in 2013, one local owner wanted to retain ownership of a particular radio station. The same owner sold one station group and purchased the competitor within a year. One reason the swap took place was that there was a distant owner involved who looked at the market solely from a business standpoint.

Both of these cases of ownership are symptomatic of the problems with the Telecommunications Act of 1996. The passage of the Act lowered the standards broadcasters must meet when applying for and renewing their licenses, with a lot hanging on the ever-vague PICON standard. Radio is being treated as a business first and a public resource second – if that – more than ever before. With an increasing number of absentee owners there is little incentive to provide local news coverage of disasters – both natural and manmade – other than broadcasting an EAS. But even then there is proof that the EAS can fail people that are dependent of up-to-date information. When did making a profit become more important then public safety?

There is a need to study the dynamics of small, local, rural markets because little is known about them. As scholars, we have neglected them and focused on big markets. But there are more markets like Fargo (ranked number 204 by Nielsen Audio) than ones like New York City (ranked number 1). Fargo’s proximity to the Bakken oil fields makes the prospect of exploding trains even more real, but there is a greater concern. These trains are traveling throughout the US and Canada. Cities close to the railroad tracks are in danger of a train derailment that could be transporting hazardous materials. Regardless of the size of market, there still is a need to have access to radio’s EAS in times of disaster. Exploding trains are not the only risk we run, but they are a dramatic reminder that we need to study small radio markets because they show the flaws of current radio regulation.

To give us all a sense of perspective, though, before we start throwing around the inevitable terms like “has-been,” “washed up,” and “former”: At one point in time, Corey Haim was a very talented actor.  That talent may have vanished in, or at least been obscured by, his decades of substance abuse, but at one point in time, it was there.  Roger Ebert’s review of Haim’s 1986 film Lucas becomes especially prescient, and especially poignant, in this light: “If he can continue to act this well, he will never become a half-forgotten child star, but will continue to grow into an important actor. He is that good.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t continue.

By the end of the 1980s, he was an addict.  By the end of the 1990s, his addictions had so isolated him from Hollywood (and a reliable source of income) that he tried to sell his hair and teeth on eBay.  Haim’s 2001 E! True Hollywood Story showed the 30-year-old heavily under the influence of something—unable to walk or speak in complete sentences—while being interviewed for the episode.

Most THS episodes (at least those of living celebrities) focus on narratives of redemption, ending with the actor/singer/model having successfully battled his or her demons, serenely playing Frisbee with a devoted golden retriever on the beach at sunset.  At the end of Haim’s interview, though, we saw him at home, in an unfurnished two-room guesthouse he shared with his mother, sitting on the floor with a Casio keyboard, talking about his future in “music.”  There was no illusion of redemption here; instead, the story ended with the apparently unredeemable portrait of a clearly broken man.

What’s so heartbreaking is that that portrait stuck.  Even the A&E reality series The Two Coreys (2007 – 2008), which was supposed to help revive the careers of Haim and his 1980s “Corey” counterpart, Corey Feldman, concluded with Haim’s friends and therapist begging him to return to rehab.  That he seemed to be an unwilling participant in his own redemption is undeniably problematic, but it underscores the saddest thing about his death this week: Corey Haim’s decline was long, drawn-out, highly visible, and apparently unstoppable.

We’ve become accustomed to watching celebrities spiral out of control.  Who doesn’t enjoy a good train wreck, after all?  But the problem is that we don’t really want to see the casualties.  Celebrities who can come back from the brink like Drew Barrymore or—I say this tentatively—Britney Spears earn our devotion.  We know how cruel the entertainment industry is, how easily it can crush you, so to see someone un-crushed becomes a testament to her strength and resolve.

But what about those who don’t have the strength or resolve?  I would argue that we don’t really want those train wrecks to end up at their seemingly logical conclusions.  It would be nicer to pretend the celebrity in question has moved to rural Idaho, taken up carpentry, adopted a golden retriever, and taught it to play Frisbee.  Crisis averted, and everyone’s hands are clean.  Instead, though, we’re left having to deal with the carnage.

The 2004 single by The Thrills, “Whatever Happened to Corey Haim?,” asks a great question, albeit one without any real answer.  It’s hard to say what happened to him, how he went from talented child actor to teen heartthrob to unredeemable addict.  But the fact is, we watched it happen, and we were unable to stop it.