Welcome to the IBJ A&E corner of the blogosophere—a salon of sorts where arts and entertainment issues large and small, local and national, low-, medium- and high-brow, will be discussed, debated, argued about and wrestled with.
It’s a place I hope…
Last Saturday, my wife Cherà and awoke to a beautiful fall day. Having no o b l i g a t i o n s , w decided to take spontaneous trip to Orange County, to see the restored West Baden Springs Hotel Despite the rash of stoplights on State Road 37 and a flurry of pre-game traffic for the Old Oaken Bucket clash, the drive was a breeze. Cherà had never been to West Baden Springs. So the beautifully…
After Tuesday night’s vote tallies, after the candidates’ acceptance and concession speeches, after Wednesday’s Indianapolis Star trumpeted Greg Ballard’s upset of Mayor Bart Peterson in 120-point type, I pulled from my bookshelf my copy of John F. Kennedy’s “Profiles in Courage.” There were two courageous acts on the Indianapolis mayoral stage this year. First, there was courage by Ballard. When all the prominent Republican politicians chose not to challenge Democrat Peterson; when most of the usualsuspect Republican donors gave to…
I spent two days last week in Bloomington, visiting my alma mater. I walked tree-lined paths I walked 30 years ago, spoke from the front of an auditorium where I once faded into the middle-row masses, grabbed pizza for dinner with some journalism students and their professor. In my lectures, I told the undergrads how I got from there to here. How, at their age, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. How a…
Last weekend, my wife Cherà and I visited my son, Austin, and his girlfriend, Karolina, in New York City, where they’re first-year students at New York University. Whenever I land at LaGuardia, catch a cab into the city, ride the subway, shop on Fifth Avenue, or meld with the masses at Times Square, the iPod in my brain advances through Stephen Sondheim’s “Company” to a song called “Another Hundred People.” Amid the horns, sirens and white noise, I hear: Another…
If you’re reading this column in ink on newsprint, thanks. It’s the medium that inspired me to be a journalist, the one that still lands on my driveway each morning and the one I recycle each Friday afternoon. If you’re reading this column on a Web site, thanks. It’s the medium that’s revolutionized communications, the one drawing droves of ad dollars and the one I can turn to any time to learn what I want to learn as it happens-long…
In the waning days of August, my son and I drove across America. With Zach’s jam-packed Honda sedan bearing everything a college freshman could possibly need, we left Indianapolis on a Thursday morning and arrived in Santa Barbara, Calif., the following Monday afternoon. In the 2,465 intervening miles, we got a five-day dose of what modern air transportation has denied too many for too long: a chance to think, to listen and talk, and to marvel at this nation’s diverse…
Long ago, on a muggy Hoosier morning, my wife, Pam, and I packed the car, coaxed our reluctant sons into the back seat and drove three hours north from Indianapolis. Our destination was a summer camp in the far reaches of the state-a place where Austin and Zach would spend their first extended time away from home. When we walked into the camp’s registration area, we found two people we knew: Indianapolis Mayor Bart Peterson and his wife, Amy. They…
On a bookshelf in my office, I display a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, three packs of Benson & Hedges cigarettes and the program from my late wife’s memorial service. I display the pasta because, until the company was spun off earlier this year, Kraft Foods was part of Altria Group. I display the Benson & Hedges because that brand is part of Phillip Morris USA, which is also part of Altria Group. I display the memorial-service program because…
The nightstand clock reads 5:17. Too early to wake up. But hey, I’ve been tossing and turning for hours, so why lie here any longer, pretending? The cause for this night’s insomnia is money. Money for two kids starting college. Money to replace the Money to paint the house. Money for employees’ salaries. Money for employees’ parking. Money for employees’ retirement. Money for employees’ health insurance. Money for their families’ health insurance. Money to get the yellow highway paint off…
My wife, Cheri, and I live in one of those newfangled, don’tstray-from-the-mainstream neighborhoods. It’s governed by wellmeaning “covenants and restrictions.” It has “architectural control guidelines.” These documents were formulated by a “development control committee” to “enhance the value and appearance of the community.” (We’re especially concerned with the “value” part, until our property-tax bills arrive, at which point we protest the assessed value.) Included among the controls in our neighborhood is a color palette. I imagine some designer back in…
The Vatican did something unusual last week. It issued a new set of Ten Commandments. Unlike the originals, these aren’t for everyone. They’re just for motorists. They weren’t delivered on stone tablets inscribed by the finger of God, either. They were issued at a news conference by the Vatican’s office for migrants and itinerant people. Why drivers’ commandments? Well, according to the Associated Press, the Vatican believes cars can be “an occasion of sin,” particularly when used for dangerous passing…
It was Friday evening, June 1, after 10 p.m. My wife, my son Zach and I were enjoying a late dinner at downtown’s Rock Bottom Brewery when all hell broke loose. We were seated indoors, near the front window. Many patrons were seated outside in the sidewalk section. I was looking toward the outdoor tables beyond Zach’s shoulder when I saw a skinny, shirtless young man zoom by on a bicycle. The bike was the size I rode when I…
Went to the gas station last week. Filled ‘er up. It’d been a few weeks since I’d done that. Seemed like the price had jumped pretty dramatically. The pump clicked off. The total read $48.75. Egad. Next day, Indianapolis declared a “Knozone Air Quality Action Day.” Some fellow at the Department of Public Works told the local paper there was “literally dirt in the air.” The paper described this gunk as “floating particles the diameter of a human hair,” particles…
Dear Austin and Zach: Well, my sons, it’s milestone week: your last day of high school; your 19th birthday; your mom and stepdad’s move to new digs designed for you as occasional guests rather than fulltime residents. Next up: “Pomp and Circumstance,” forgettable oratory and lots of unsolicited advice. And, of course, your big reward for 12 years of educational servitude: You get to move a tassel from the right to the left side of a rented mortar board. Inevitably,…
I once spent a day serving as an Allen County election official. I was 20-something. I worked for Fort Wayne’s mayor. And on Election Day, the mayor expected us to work the polls. For the sake of nostalgia and monotonyinterrupting conversations, I got myself assigned to the precinct at my high school. On the appointed Tuesday, I showed up at 5:15 a.m., did my voter-watching/guardagainst-shenanigans-by-the-other-party thing for 12 hours and helped with votecounting for two hours after that. Then I…
Last Monday morning, my work took me to West Lafayette. When I learned that Purdue University would name a new president that afternoon, I decided to stick around for the festivities. Hundreds of people gathered in the Loeb Playhouse for the one-agenda-item trustees’ meeting. The vote was unanimous. The introductory speech outlined an “out-of-this-world” resume. And out from behind the curtain emerged 59-year-old France Córdova: astrophysicist, university administrator, creative writer-someone Purdue board chair J. Timothy McGinley called “truly a Renaissance…
And you can’t leave until and unless you collectively make the hundreds and thousands of serious decisions that need to be made. And for this privilege, you go without a raise for 22 years. We complain aplenty about the legislative process and players. We compare it to sausage-making; lambaste the sausagemakers; and perpetually threaten to throw the bums out. What’s more, compared to all the cajoling and complaining that goes on during legislative sessions, there’s little gratitude after the fact….
Bruce Hetrick is on vacation this week. In his absence, this column, which appeared on March 4, 2002, is being reprinted. Once upon a time, there was a manager who worked in a big place. This manager directed a few dozen employees in a subsection of a department within a division beneath the left armpit of an organization. The manager admired the organization’s role in the world, but grew weary of fighting the other subsections of departments within divisions beneath…
By the time this column hits newsstands, I’ll be in Manhattan with my son Austin (the writer), who’s been accepted for admission to a university there. As we have at competing institutions in Indiana, Michigan, Massachusetts and Chicago, we’ll sit through the dog-and-pony show, tour the campus, talk with financial aid and chat with professors and students. A few weeks ago, it was Austin’s twin brother Zach (the photographer) who went college shopping. The three of us and one of…
