The Midwest, Again

We have returned, one more time, to this great Heart of the American Heartland — Ames, Iowa. This time, our trek took five days, during which we traveled 2032 miles in mostly good spirits through eight states, had lunch with a former boss who happens to be the best one I ever worked for, ate an unforgettable dinner at the Route 66 Casino outside Oklahoma City, and got forced off an interstate by a remarkably virile and ominous-looking thunderstorm, before we finally motored into Ames this past Friday afternoon.

And every hour and every mile our of latest trip was worth it, because tonight, the fireflies are out in full and lovely force, illuminating, if oh-so-briefly, every lawn in our Old Town neighborhood. Now, that’s something we can’t see in our most-of-the-year burg on California’s Central Coast.

Sharon and I have been coming to Ames for the summer for several years.  We have history here — brief, but so important that we have chosen to embrace it, not purge it from our memory banks. Decades ago, I somehow became a quite-young faculty member in the Department of Journalism and Mass Communication at Iowa State University here in Ames. Actually, that “somehow” was largely due to Al Buch — a graduate of that same department who had, during his time as a TV news director in Fresno, gotten to know me. He recommended me to the journalism people hereabouts, and they decided to roll the dice.

No, I had not worked with Al in Fresno. I had been at a competing TV station. But we’d become friends, and so he put in some very good words to the people at the university, who were, after all, quite proud of him, since he had become successful in the TV news biz.

Anyway, we came to Ames way back then — we’re talking late ’70’s — and we had a great time. This was, and is, the quintessential Midwestern university town. It is smart, it is cultured, and it is safe. Its main street downtown — and its main street is, indeed, “Main Street” — fronts on buildings constructed in the 1890’s — and which have been wisely preserved to look just like they did then. The city’s Old Town neighborhood, just north of Main Street, still has many of the homes built when Ames was first developed. They are lovely structures, indeed — Victorians of all shapes and sizes, with giant front yards that are — after the spring rains — almost indescribably green. Giant trees — maples, ashes, sycamores — canopy many Old Town streets.

But in spite of all this beauty,  Sharon and I suffered from an incurable malady that prevented us from seeing how good things were and how lucky we were. That malady — we were young and stupid. So — after only two years in one of the best university journalism programs in the nation, we decided to return to the broadcasting biz, which Al Buch had enabled us to leave. And who should hire us back into “the biz”? Why, that same Mr. Buch, of course.

By then, he had migrated from Fresno to Phoenix and was, as news director, in the process of turning KPNX-TV into a true innovative and ratings powerhouse. Al’s offer was too good to turn down, so we left Ames and trekked to the desert. And it was a great move. Though we later would come to miss Ames so much we decided we had to return –being at KPNX — in those years and with Al — was exciting beyond words. Back then, money was no object in TV news. If you needed to spend it to beat the competition, you spent it. And we did, at KPNX.

Al made me executive news producer — and gave me great leeway. He was the most “affirming” news director I ever worked for — always instilling confidence not just in me, but in everyone in that newsroom. I worked in other, bigger newsrooms later in my career — but the most fun I ever had — and the best work I ever did — was in Phoenix, with Al, at KNPX.

Now, the “rest of the story.” Sharon and I grew older, and finally “old” — at least, old enough to retire. We picked a  retirement spot in a small town on the Central Coast — whose downtown somehow reminded us of Ames. And we love it there. But Ames had always loomed in our minds, and finally, several years ago, we decided to follow those crazy technicolor dreams of living here again — by living here again. But not full-time. Seems Iowa’s winters are still as cold as we remembered them to be — and neither of us enjoys anything below freezing these days, unless it’s ice cream.

So, each of the last few years, we’ve traveled back to our past, in Ames. And the remarkable thing is, this town looks exactly the same as it did “way back then” — at least downtown and the Old Town neighborhood do. And friends who were friends then are still friends today. They seem to have gotten older — as we did — but their friendship still seems young and vital and important to us.

We’re not sure how much longer we can make these long trips by car. By the end of our fifth and last day this time, we were tired. But we had some remarkable adventures along the way — perhaps the most remarkable being lunch in Wichita with an old friend and mentor. Yes, it was Al Buch — whom we had not seen since those grand and glorious Phoenix days. After Arizona, Al went on to even greater acclaim in Miami and, yes, in Kansas — where he really went “big time” and started owning stations. Yeah, that’s success.

And Al had gone on to even greater success by marrying Sally — whom he had known decades earlier in Des Moines. Theirs is one of those Hollywood “how is this all possible?” stories — and we were delighted to hear it with them at Café Bel Ami in Wichita.

Then, it was back on the road again — toward Kansas City for one more overnight stay before we undertook the final 250 miles of our trip. The next morning, a giant thunder-boomer  forced us to get off the I-435 . It was simply too dangerous to go any farther.  We took refuge in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, and, of course, I had to avail myself of several of the  available goodies inside.  Sharon showed more restraint.

And so, here we are, one more time, in Ames. We’ve been here  only a couple of days, but already  had lunch with friends at Hickory Park — a legendary Midwest barbecue place — gone shopping at our neighborhood Fareway grocery store — and spent a bit of time and money at Target. And, oh, yes, walked.  I’m the walker in the family, and I’ve already hit the streets of Old Town three times. And, sure enough, the usual suspects were there: kindly residents, extending Midwestern-style greetings wherever I strolled; squirrels and rabbits,continuing to roam the giant front yards, as they always have; and those fireflies, brightening up the night as they are prone to  do in June.

Is this heaven?   No, it’s — oh, heck.  You know how that line goes.