Walking in the fog

ST. LOUIS -- Most people will learn of the Cardinal's third World Series victory tonight either through television news or next morning's newspaper. A lucky few watched it in person.

I knew they won from the incredible noise made by all their fans' car horns that caught my attention as I wandered the waterfront of the Mississippi River near the Gateway Arch. I'm here in St. Louis until Sunday for a college news media convention that has been a blast.

I've been eating expensive meals courtesy of student publications and watching unreleased movies courtesy of a few companies that want to get in good with collegiate press. One representative admitted to me that their main hope is that we'll write reviews. We saw "Borat" and "Stranger than Fiction" tonight. The former was a raunchfest that burned several unpleasant images into my mind, the latter was excellent.

I went down to the river after the movies in search of something; a piece of my childhood, perhaps. I've been to St. Louis three times before, the most recent was about eight years ago. The place looks different now, I'm two feet taller, almost a decade wiser and the waterfront is much sparser. I remembered there being a lot more casinos and boats moored at the water's edge, now it was empty.

To the very edge of the river I went, stepping on loose stones slowly losing their uniform layout to the passage of time. A barge made its way upriver, a few tourists walked under the streetlamps and the two sides of the arch disappeared into the fog, their location marked by a big white blog made by the dozens of spotlights trained on it. The majesty of the scene overcame me.

I bent down and touched the Mighty Mississippi's surface, I let the great river coat my hand. I had been searching for that elusive soul that things develop over time. I'd found both the river's and the city's, and they were beautiful.

I walked downriver a ways in search of the floating McDonald's where I'd eaten breakfast so long ago. It was an unsuccessful effort, but there was a fun moment. About thirty yards ahead of me and on the other side of the street walked a nervous little mman who continually looked over his shoulder to make sure I wasn't getting eny closer.

He kept trying to walk quickly and keep away from me for about a hundred yards before walking square into a sign. It was then I decided to give up the search for fear I'd give this man a heart attack.

I remembered a trip with my brother Drew and sister Caitlin where our mother had us lean against one end of the Gateway Arch for a picture. I walked up the hill to the mighty monument while the sound of Cardinals fans' horns filled the air and made my way for the side of the arch where we'd taken the picture.

With no one but a cop standing guard to watch, I walked up to the shining surface and gazed into it. I stroked it with my hand, turned around and leaned backward. The arch caught me and I relaxed for a moment as I stared down a long gap in the trees. I imagined my siblings next to me and sighed.

You can never, ever truly go back. But you can come pretty darned close sometimes.

In other news, a travel columnist for the Miami Herald interviewed my father earlier this month and mentioned him in her column. You can read a copy of it here, or read the paragraph about him here:

"And at Adams Auto, the owner not only filled my tank and checked my oil, he stopped long enough to chat about my Florida tags and tell me about his son, away at the University of Kansas. His pride, and his time, made me feel that for once, I'd touched America on the shoulder, and it had grinned back."

Please note that she got the name of my father's business wrong, along with the fact that both his sons are at Kansas State University. Tsk Tsk.