Recalling moon on a ‘fall' day
From the editor ...
All I've got time for today are a few random thoughts from the gorgeous fall of 2009 we've been enjoying recently ... oh wait, it's July, isn't it?
You could have fooled me and countless others this past weekend, and two mental snapshots come to mind to prove my point.
Start with the Puckerbrush baseball tournament. As I umpired the bases on Friday night, looked into the crowd between innings and could have sworn I was at a football game. Parents were huddled together with blankets and pretty much everyone - including this umpire - wore a sweatshirt.
Now don't get me wrong. My fellow umpires and I have worked Puckerbrush tournaments in years past when the mercury was in the 90s, and trust me, we'll take 2009 weather every year.
The next night, we made it back in time for the fireworks show, and as we sat and listened to the Forest City Municipal Band, my son Noah shouts out, “Hey Dad, you can see your breath.”
Sure enough, I looked up at the lights, exhaled and saw my breath. I hadn't felt the cold until then, but after that, I shivered ... until the fireworks began exploding.
And Tim Petersen's show (see, Tim every now and then, I do actually get the name right!) was simply spectacular.
MY GOOD BUDDIES Jason Slater and Karl Wooldridge joined former Forest City resident but still current Forest City High teacher Steve Kappos as umpires at the state softball tournament on Monday afternoon.
I know Kappos and Wooldridge have worked the gala in Fort Dodge before, but this is Slater's first appearance on the big stage at Harlan Rogers Park.
If today weren't a production day, I'd be there to razz the men in blue, although, in all actuality, they're the men in white these days.
Two years ago, I accompanied Karl and Jason to Webster City to do a story on a night in the life of an umpire, and it remains one of my favorite pieces. I doubt very much I have ever laughed as much as I did in the car to and from Webster City on that July night.
But being me, I had to give Slater a little grief before he departed for Dodge.
“Hey, blow your first call and then ...” I began, but he was too quick to let me finish. “... yeah, I know, then there's nowhere to go but up.”
I'M WRITING THIS on Monday morning - my publisher is cringing if he's reading this - and I can't wait for tonight, which marks the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moonwalk.
That night remains the first memory I have of my late father. As he watched two of his peers walk on the moon, he was like the proverbial child in the candy store. I've written this before, but I still wonder what Dad was thinking that night; after all, he had been born on a Depression-era farm with no running water or electricity and, 36 years later, there he was watching two guys walk on a world 225,000 miles away.
It still gives me goosebumps, and I love watching the old Walter Cronkite coverage of an event that maybe more than any other showed America's “can-do spirit.” With the death of the longtime CBS anchorman last week, it was almost as if we got an early taste of the anniversary.
SPEAKING OF CRONKITE, I, like many Americans, was saddened to hear the news that he died at the age of 92.
We were a CBS family when I grew up, and every night at 5:30 p.m., Mom and Dad would faithfully get their news from a man who seemed like he was a member of our family and everyone else's family, too.
In today's jaded world, I'm pretty sure we'll never see a Cronkite again, and even though he left CBS almost 30 years ago, I can still hear that distinctive Cronkite voice that gave my family a snapshot of the news for the day.
Along with the daily newspaper that came to our house every day at 4 p.m., Cronkite helped make me a fan of the news, and as much as I whine about my job sometimes, I'm grateful this is that path I took.
Bob Fenske is the editor of the Forest City Summit. He can be reached by phone at 585-2112 or by e-mail at editor@forestcitysummit.com .
Story created Jul 21, 2009 - 12:43:35 CDT.
|
