Because the clip is unedited, there is a bit of introductory small talk (about John Prine) while the camera and lights are being adjusted. Our conversation runs 24 minutes. Glen died in a motorcycle accident this morning.

Glen Hansard

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(Mike and Jack()

In the mid-1950’s, my older brother Jack and I were shipped off for a two week survival test at a summer camp in the woods of northern Wisconsin. Like many other camps of that era, ours was named in honor of a Native American Indigenous tribe long since driven from the land of whispering pines by those who foresaw a day when little Midwestern white boys could paint their faces, beat plastic drums, dance around a mosquito infested campfire before getting yelled at for peeing in the lake.

The lake.

Of course it had a muddy bottom, fertile breeding ground for blood-sucking leeches, spike-jawed catfish and slimy crayfish (or crawfish), which we called junior lobsters. Early on, I developed a phenomenal ability to keep my feet from sinking into the muck by furiously bicycle-kicking in as little as three feet of dirty, rotten-egg smelling water.

During our “swimming sessions,” a teenage camp counselor sat in a folding chair on the edge of Lake Scum, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. After exiting the water, we would line up in front of Mr. Counselor who used the glowing hot tip of his cigarette to burn two-inch leeches off our necks, backs and thighs.

(postcard from camp)

We campers (ages 8 or 9) slept twenty to a cabin, jammed with rows of metal bunk beds. I took the upper birth because it was a steeper climb for the squads of daddy-long-leg spiders scurrying along the creaking, splinter-filled floorboards. Meals were served in a main dining hall situated in the middle of the compound. Each cabin’s inhabitants ate at their own assigned table. During one lunch meal, the ever-inventive camp commander thought it might be fun to see which table of campers could eat the most food in the fastest time. Our table devised a flawed strategy. Each one of us would consume a single food item. My assignment was creamed corn.

Buckets of it, first spooned, then poured down my throat.

I can’t remember if we won or even finished in the running, although there was some running involved - to my upper-bunk, where I curled into a ball waiting for the stomach cramps to subside.

They didn’t.

I don’t remember groaning, but there must have been some audible sound of distress because the kid in the bed below me leaned his head out to assess the situation above…just as I barfed a firehose stream of creamed corn off his forehead.

Other camp stories include a field trip to the nearby town of Ironwood, where Jack and I went to an Army/Navy surplus store to spend our emergency money on a World War 2 bayonet and Bowie knife.

(Bayonet and Bowie knife)

Our fellow campers were thrilled with the purchases, happily joining us in a series of bayonet/Bowie knife throwing contests into the walls of our cabin.

Today’s summer campers get their kicks in different ways.

Instead of throwing knives or vomiting on their bunkmates, they learn to play the stock market while plotting corporate takeovers.

How do I know? Well, in July of 1995, I went to Iowa City to film a story about a new kind of summer camp…for young entrepreneurs.

Entrepreneur Camp

(Runs 3:08)

For paying subscribers, another camping story…this one involving our son Brendan and the harrowing night spent in a front yard tent.

Story below.

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Front Yard Wilderness

(Runs 4:46)

Fog.

It was bewildering.

It was unsettling.

Imagine a sparkling display - without the sparkles.

Brief Clip of Foggy Fireworks

(Runs :31 seconds)

In the days that followed, I pondered the metaphorical connection between our diminished view of a celebratory fireworks show and the current efforts by some to cloud our hopes for a more unified America.

• The intentional use of misinformation and scare tactics to blind us from seeing the good in each other.

• Bad leaders who profit from division.

• Corporate “bottom-liners” cutting TV News budgets while eliminating small town newspapers.

Without reporters and photographers to document shared, unifying experiences, we are left with in-studio headline readers, live reports from trouble spots, opinionated pundits and fewer local news sources.

And the divisions widen.

During my time at NBC News, a 32-year career lasting until 2012, I was permitted to cover whatever was of interest to me. Many of the stories seemed small on the surface, but had larger sociological and philosophical significance.

This is one of them.

It’s about an ice cream store.

It’s about taking a huge financial risk to bring a community together.

It’s about the American dream…fulfilled.

It’s about hope.

Nothing can cloud the impact and importance of good people making life better.

Capannari’s Ice Cream (now called Caps Ice Cream)

Aired on NBC TODAY in May of 2010.

(Runs 3:56)

To honor of all that is worth celebrating in our country, there is no paywall on this post.

Here is a brief home movie of a “normal” July 4th in Winnetka, Illinois. It was filmed in 2010 and involves two of our nine grandchildren.

A Small Town Celebrates America

(Runs 1:26)

View Blockers.

For some reason, standing-up throughout a sporting event became a trend with student sections at college athletic contests. After graduating, the stadium-standers spread throughout the land and into professional arenas. I don’t attend games anymore because I’m tired of telling some twerp in front of me to sit the hell down. And I don’t watch many televised competitions because I’m tired of yelling “sit the hell down” at the TV screen.

Unsocial Media Types

It isn’t cool for gym-goers to use exercise equipment as “viewing chairs” while scrolling through their phones. I’m not a gym employee, and it shouldn’t be my job to police this abuse, but I do, and have not yet been hit with a barbell…the one gathering dust.

Crosswalk Turtles

Once upon a time, youngish, able-bodied pedestrians picked up the pace when a car stopped to let them walk across the street…maybe even with a little crosswalk wave of thanks to the driver. No longer. Now it seems as if people downshift their gait to super slow-mo saunter mode. Have you noticed that? Or am I an impatient lunatic?

Wrap Rage

This deserves a deeper dive…involving video. Opening packages was once somewhat fun and exciting, but times have changed. The following is a condensed version of my 2001 NBC TODAY story on the challenges of opening stuff.

It’s only gotten worse since then.

“A Package Deal”

(Runs 3:05)

For paying subscribers, my 1981 NBC story about the dangers of flying champagne corks…and how to safely uncork a bottle.

Story below.

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“Cork It”

(Runs 4:01)

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