Movie Review: "Patriots Day"

"Patriots Day": A-.  Will producers ever reach the point when they collectively determine that fiction script writers have run out of original ideas which can successfully be transitioned into a full length motion picture?  If that ever happens, people who enjoy attending movies will have nothing to worry about as long as there are real life stories with enough grist to provide the basis for films.  Patriots Day is an example of that possibility.  The bombing which occurred near the finish line of the 2013 Boston Marathon is the tragic centerpiece of the story.

The protagonist hero is sergeant Tommy Saunders of the Boston Police Department.  We meet him on the evening before the fateful day, as he leads a high risk entry team into the apartment of a suspect in a sexual assault case.  The man does not resist arrest, but is almost hysterical with his face smeared with blood.  He claims his female victim attacked him "with a smoothie."  After some prodding by Saunders, we learn that what this guy calls a smoothie is a scalding clothes iron.  The audience chuckles; it's always good to start off a crime story with a bit of humor.

Sergeant Saunders is played by musclebound Mark Wahlberg.  The actor is at his best when taking on his usual tough guy roles, and indeed, he does make an authentic cop.  Saunders is well-liked by his superiors and his peers.  He is genuinely committed to public service, not "just" going after criminals.  His responsibility during the Marathon is to monitor the activity near the finish line on Boylston Street downtown.  When the bombs explode there is chaos everywhere.  Bodies are strewn across the blood-splattered sidewalks, those still conscious are crying for help, glass and shards of metal and masonry fill the air, and smoke creates a wide haze hovering above the entire scene.  This is one of several riveting moments in the movie.  Amid the pandemonium, the police seem as stunned as the citizens.  They pitch in to help the wounded.  Catching the unknown perpetrators before they escape, even if they are still nearby, would be impossible.

The FBI, led by Special Agent Richard DesLauriers (Kevin Bacon), arrives on the scene almost immediately.  He is loath to label this an act of terrorism, fearing that will cause an even higher level of city-wide panic.  But when he discovers nails and other jagged chunks of metal in the street, he realizes they are bomb implements.  Terrorism it is, and therefore the FBI has jurisdiction.  This does not sit well with the sometimes hot headed Saunders, especially when DesLauriers orders that the body of a dead child, albeit covered by a sheet, shall remain in place until the entire crime scene can be combed for evidence.
 

The FBI sets up shop in a huge building on Boston Harbor.  The governor, the mayor and the BPD police commissioner are all present, along with a host of other agents, investigators and technicians.  At this point the story is divided between an educational police procedural and an insightful look into the terrorists' background.  Both facets are very well done.

As for the procedural, the first step for the FBI is to review security camera footage of the crowd near the explosions.  When the bombs go off the agents notice there are two individuals, "Black Hat" and "White Hat," who are the only people not looking in the direction of the blast.  Aha!  The FBI quickly has their initial suspects.  It won't be long before facial recognition technology enables the detectives to match names with the faces.  After spreading out on the floor a scale model of Boston's streets near Boylston, DesLauries asks Saunders to figure out where additional outdoor security cameras would be located within successive one minute walking intervals in the direction the suspects were leaving the scene.  Saunders, a home grown Bostonian who knows his city, meets this challenge rather easily using reverse chronology, resulting in ample film footage of the suspects at various downtown locations.

Director Peter Berg wisely devotes several minutes to establishing at least a rudimentary background for several of the characters who come into play. They include various policeman, victims and, most interestingly, the two suspicious Muslim brothers, Tamerlan and Dzhokhar (Themo Melikidze and Alex Wolff, respectively) Tsarnaev, who are the subject of the massive manhunt.  We viewers are taken into the Tsarnaev apartment both before and immediately following the blasts.  The real life news reports concluded that the younger brother, Dzhokhar, may have been under the influence of his radicalized older brother.  The film's version is that even though it's clear Tamerlan is in charge, his younger brother was a willing participant who, himself, was probably radicalized.  Even Tamerlan's wife, baby in hand, is a sympathizer in the movie.
 

If you asked four or five viewers what scene in Patriots Day is the most compelling, you would likely hear four or five different answers.  (In this regard it is similar to Hitchcock's North By Northwest, which contains so many memorable moments.)  The assassination of a policeman is contemptibly heartrending, the kidnapping of a civilian is nerve wracking, and the final showdown is tension-packed with a dose of humor.  My answer to the question would be the nighttime shootout between the heavily armed Tsarnaevs and a phalanx of overpowered policemen.  At the risk of hyperbole, it might be the best shootout I have ever seen.

In addition to Bacon, who counts as a personal highlight riding an elevator with me in the ABC Store in Manhattan circa 2008, the cast includes three co-stars who inevitably make better every movie in which they appear.  A slimmed-down John Goodman has too few lines as the police commissioner.  J.K. Simmons, as a wise-cracking police sergeant in suburban Watertown, is one of the true heroes whose brains and brawn help restore things to normal.  Michelle Monaghan, who deserves to be an A-list star, plays Saunders' wife, with just the right balance of anguish, resignation and bravery.

Sometimes when I view a crime film I come away thinking that, with an editing trim here, a nip there and the paring of a scene or two, the story would have been better presented as an hour long television episode on a show like NCIS, Elementary or Law & Order.  This is not that kind of story.  Its scope and historic importance command the production values that only a full length motion picture can deliver.  In the capable hands of Director Berg, with the assistance of exquisite cinematography by Tobias Schliessler, the finished product is one you should not miss.

Movie Review: "Hidden Figures"

"Hidden Figures": B+.  1961 was a pivotal year in American history.  I graduated from eighth grade.  John F. Kennedy began his ill-fated term as the first Catholic elected President of the United States.  Seven years after the landmark 1954 Supreme Court decision Brown vs The Board Of Education, which ruled that school districts structured on a "separate but equal" basis did not pass constitutional muster, America was still a racially divided country.   Segregation was evident in pockets throughout the country, most blatantly in the South.  It would be three more years before Congress passed the first Civil Rights Act.  In 1961 the Cold War was exacerbated by the construction of the Berlin Wall.  A subset of the Cold War was the Space Race, which the Soviets appeared to win on April 12, 1961, when they sent cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin into outer space.

That is the setting for Hidden Figures, a film based on the true story of three black friends who worked for NASA.  Katherine (Taraji P. Henson) is a math wizard for whom no abstract equation is too difficult to solve.  Mary (singer Janelle Monae, sporting a fluffy hairdo that must be the envy of the current Minneapolis mayor) is an aspiring engineer.  Dorothy (Octavia Spencer), who is a little older, is the manager of the pool of mathematicians, all black females including Katherine and Mary, on the remote West Campus of the NASA property in Hampton, Virginia.  Even though the NASA operation is a federal entity, the racism within its walls is flagrant.  There are "colored" bathrooms, "colored" computing rooms,and even a "colored" coffee pot which one of Katherine's co-workers labels on the second day of her new assignment.  When she first showed up the day before, someone rudely handed her a full wastepaper basket, mistakenly thinking she was a custodian.  Dorothy's manager, Ms. Mitchell (Kirsten Dunst), refuses to promote her to Supervisor, even though she is clearly doing the work of a Supervisor.  "That's just how it's done around here," Mitchell declares.  Mary faces hurdles too, needing to convince a judge for permission to take courses at an all white school in order to get started on her desired career.
 

The Soviet launching of Gagarin is the proverbial punch in the gut to the American space program.  The Russian cosmonaut not only became mankind's first spaceman, he also orbited the earth.  At that point, the US had not even attempted a sub-orbital mission.  Enter Katherine, the only black and one of the very few women to join Al Harrison's team of mathematicians and engineers.  The research team is charged with, among other things, coming up with the calculations to get the astronauts of America's nascent Mercury Program into space, and back.  After the frustrated Harrison (Kevin Costner) informs his underlings that they have just finished second in a two-country race, he announces that they will double down, working even longer and harder.  The Soviets may have beaten the US into space, but the Yanks can still win the race to the moon.
 

Although Hidden Figures tracks all three friends, it is Katherine's story.  She proves invaluable to the Mercury Program, but it is a struggle, not only because of her skin color but because of her gender.  She doesn't get credit for her work.  She initially is kept out of key planning sessions, ostensibly because she does not have security clearance.   The nearest women's bathroom for blacks is a half-mile away.  She has to work twice as hard as anyone on Harrison's team.  But in a room full of math wizards and wonks, she is the best and the brightest, virtues that do not go unnoticed by astronaut John Glenn or, eventually, the gruff Harrison.
 

We weren't a quarter of the way through the story when it became apparent that Hidden Figures should be compared to Sully (reviewed here December 13, 2016; B-).  Both films are based on true stories involving a hero who, against the odds, averts disaster.  In Sully, the pilot is forced to land his commercial flight in the Hudson River.  His skill as a pilot is the difference between life and death for over 150 people on board.  In Hidden Figures, the mathematical genius of Katherine comes into play several times, particularly when Harrison's group is trying to establish the best maneuvers to enable Glenn to breach orbit earlier than planned and return to Earth.  In what may be Hollywood license, Glenn even asks Harrison to ask Katherine to confirm the calculations of Harrison's group, even though at that moment she had already been reassigned.  There is no margin for error. Miscalculation will likely result in Glenn's capsule, with its iffy heat shield, burning up upon re-entry into the earth's atmosphere.

My main problem with Sully is that the depiction of the NTSB members was way too heavy handed. Each of the people on the panel was made to look extremely foolish, if not stupid, in the manner in which they interrogated Sullivan and conducted their investigation.  It is very hard to believe there wasn't one single NTSB member who went to bat for Sully.  Does Hidden Figures pass the Sully Test?  Not really.  We realize that Virginia was once a Confederate state and that racism remained a huge problem in 1961.  Still, was there not more than one compassionate white person who interacted with any of the three principal black females?  That one person was a Virginia Highway Patrol officer who, at first, appears to be ready to issue citations to the trio on the roadside, but who ends up doing something unexpectedly nice.
 

Why does Hidden Figures deserve a higher rating than Sully?  Here are two reasons.  Tom Hanks was his usual excellent self in the former, but Henson as Katherine is too precious a performance to take for granted.  I love the way she occasionally pushes her glasses up her nose, just as Katherine did as a little girl.  And what about when she has to jog to the remote West Campus restroom, taking baby steps in her high heels while toting several thick files?  An indelible vision.  Secondly, the dialogue between Katherine and her love interest, Marine Officer Jim Johnson (Mahershala Ali) is clever, as is the exchange between Dorothy and the cop referred to above.  I don't recall any cleverness in the more straight-forward Sully script.
 

Unlike Sullivan's river landing, the story of Hidden Figures reveals a background to the successful Mercury Program which heretofore was under wraps.  We knew from history and the media that the flights of the first three American astronauts, Alan Shepard, Gus Grissom and Glenn, were successful, but we did not know about the contributions of the three black women. The US may never have put men on the moon, or even sent astronauts into orbit around the Earth, without Dorothy and especially Katherine.  In fact, even sub-orbital flights may have never been achieved.  Katherine was born to be a hero.  Harrison said he needed the people in his group not only to solve equations but to "look beyond the numbers."  Katherine was the only one who answered the call.  Finally, in case you're wondering, yes, I wrote that gratuitous second sentence merely to see if you are paying attention.

Movie Review: "La La Land"

"La La Land": A.  SHE is stuck in a job her heart isn't in, but being a coffee shop barista on the Warner Brothers studio lot earns her enough dough to pay her bills. HE is pianist stuck playing background music in a restaurant, hoping the patrons will toss a buck or two in his tip jar. SHE wants to be an actress, but every audition generates nothing other than curt rejection and a gradual wounding of her spirit. HE aspires to own a jazz club where real jazz, not Kenny G-style pop jazz, will be performed by acclaimed musicians.  SHE takes a gamble by writing and acting in a one woman play, Goodbye To Boulder City.  It's not exactly what she had in mind in terms of becoming an actress, but it seems to be a step in the right direction and it's better than schlepping coffee.  HE takes a gamble by hooking up with a jazz ensemble called the Messengers, whose leader is Keith (John Legend).  The Messengers' music is a little too pop oriented for his tastes, but it's better than working under the thumb of the restaurant owner (J.K. Simmons) who had no appreciation for or desire to hear real jazz.

Mia and Sebastian (Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling) are the young adults living those parallel southern California lives.  They each have big dreams, little cash and high levels of frustration.  They are impatient with their current life stages in which they're indefinitely stalled.  Their desired careers are on hold.  You might doubt two busy young people like them, traveling in different circles in gigantic LA, would ever meet, but they do -- three times, in fact, during the first twenty minutes of the story.

The phrase "La La Land" is commonly used to mean a make believe, unrealistic environment.  It's the opposite of "real."  The film is a musical, true, but it's a magical fairy tale as well.  Lest there be any doubt, the very first scene is a gridlocked traffic jam on LA's Interstate 105.  A young woman gets out of her vehicle, stands on the pavement, and not only breaks into song but starts dancing as well.  Other drivers follow suit, singing, clapping, dancing, performing somersaults, jumping on cars' hoods and rooftops, and having the best time.  Yes, this is going to be a high-spirited story, and we shouldn't make harsh judgments about what will surely be a dearth of realism.

Once the dancing is over and the traffic starts clearing, Mia is inattentive behind the wheel, and the guy behind her leans on his horn.  She flips him the bird as he pulls his car around to pass her.  That guy turns out to be Sebastian.  It's the future love birds' first "meeting."

 

Later that evening Mia walks into a fancy restaurant and is mesmerized by the music being played by the pianist.  This occurs only seconds before the pianist is fired on the spot for his failure to follow the owner's instructions to play only Christmas music.  The pianist is Sebastian.  Mia attempts to speak to Sebastian but he gruffly brushes by on his way out the door.

 

Weeks go by and the two have probably forgotten about their extremely brief encounters.  But then Mia attends an outdoor party and recognizes that the keyboardist for the hired cover band is none other than that former restaurant pianist.  Mia playfully makes a request for a song (I Ran by A Flock Of Seagulls) that she suspects Sebastian will not want to play.  During a break they actually have a conversation.  When the party ends, she makes the first move by asking him to find her car keys.  By the time they walk to her car, the match has been made.  Given their circumstances, this is not an optimum time to begin a relationship-- especially true in Mia's case, since she already has a beau -- but Cupid won't be denied.

 

It is not always smooth sailing, but Mia and Sebastian do make time for each other.  She shows him the Warner Brothers lot.  He tries to change her avowed dislike for jazz by taking her to a club.  They even sing to each other and slow dance every once in awhile, including a memorable scene at a planetarium where they float above the ground, Tinker Bell style, toward the star spangled ceiling. There's no denying they are likable and cute, a good combination for this kind of story.

 

An important, superbly written moment in the film occurs when Sebastian surprises Mia with a homemade dinner in their apartment.  She thought he was away on tour with the Messengers.  Their candlelight conversation starts out as a romantic dialogue, but their celebration of being together after weeks of being apart abruptly goes south.  They truly want what's best for each other, but Sebastian reveals he's decided to turn his Messengers affiliation from a short term gig into an extended commitment.  That means touring all over the world, hardly ever being home in LA.  When he senses her sadness about this news, he tells her he's only doing what she wanted him to do, viz., holding down a steady well-paying job.  How else would he ever be able to come up with the financing to start the club he's always dreamed about?  Sebastian also says a few things he shouldn't, and Mia takes that as her cue to leave.

 

There is a scene where Mia and Sebastian each tell the other that, even though they're unsure where they are headed as a couple, they will always love the other, words that we viewers have in our consciousness throughout.  We mentally pull for these "kids," and want them to reconcile.  We spend the remainder of the movie with our fingers crossed.

 

There is much to like, even love, about this movie, and it's easy to see why it is considered a favorite for the Best Picture Oscar.  With a nod to Jennifer Lawrence, Emma Stone is arguably one of the two best American actresses in her twenties.  Low key Ryan Gosling is an expert at conveying emotions with mere subtlety.  (By the way, if Gosling really is doing his own piano playing, he is stellar.) 

Their on-screen chemistry cannot be questioned.  The writing brilliantly succeeds in combining dramatic reality with clever illusion. Exhibit A is the story's ending.  What a masterpiece!  I saw this movie six days ago yet I can't stop replaying the last scene in my mind.  Kudos to writer Damien Chazelle, who also directed.  He spent six years perfecting his written word.

 

Finally, a word or two about the music.  The original score was written for this film by Justin Hurwitz, a Wisconsin native who roomed with director Chazelle at Harvard.  There are several scenes in La La Land in which we are treated to entire jazz works.  The theater's sound system enabled the audience to feel the music just as if we were at a live event.  One song, Mia And Sebastian's Theme, is played at significant moments in the story.  It definitely reminded me of how the song As Time Goes By was such a key element of Casablanca.

Movie Review: "Fences"

"Fences": B+.  August Wilson, the late St. Paul playwright, wrote ten plays about the American black experience, each of the plays occurring in a different decade of the twentieth century.  Hollywood superstar Denzel Washington has announced his intention to help produce movie versions of all ten of those plays, and Fences is the first offering in the proposed series.  The story takes place in 1950's Pittsburgh, with the central character, Troy Maxson, played by Washington himself, who also directs.

Maxson is a fifty-three year old sanitation worker who, along with lifelong friend Bono (the superb Stephen McKinley Henderson), rides on the back of the city's garbage trucks, lifting the heavy refuse cans and dumping the contents into the back of the truck.  Troy aspires to one day be promoted to driver, a position which he claims is reserved exclusively for the white guys.  Troy gets paid every Friday, and he routinely brings home his entire wages to wife Rose (Viola Davis), who in turn grants him an allowance.  Most of that allowance is spent at the local saloon.

 

Even though being a garbage man is not the most glorious of vocations, Troy is pretty proud of himself, and isn't bashful about boasting of his accomplishments.  He is what I like to call a "pontificator." He is a self-proclaimed authority on everything, especially life.  Most of his verbal opinions are unsolicited, but Bono and Rose are willing listeners.  Some of the most enjoyable moments of the film are those showing the three of them having animated discussions in the Maxsons' tiny back yard. The same willingness can't be said for Troy's two sons, Lyons (Russell Hornsby) and Cory (Jovan Adepo).

 

Lyons is an accomplished musician who annoys Troy by frequently stopping by on his father's payday.  We first meet Lyons on a Friday, and sure enough he has asked Troy for a twenty dollar loan, with assurances that the loan will be repaid quickly.   Troy at first refuses to lend his son the money, essentially calling him a deadbeat, but thanks to Rose's intervention, the loan is made.  This is the first of many times Rose steps forward as the more level-headed of the married twosome.   Lyons, who is an adult, is able to overlook Troy's abrasiveness.  In contrast, the younger son, Cory, lives under Troy's roof and has a harder time digesting his father's mean, arbitrary and hurtful rules.  Troy's refusal to permit Cory to play high school football because doing so would cut back on his after-school job hours has a direct impact on the youngster's future.

 

One might mull over the question of why Wilson titled his story Fences.  There is a real fence which Troy has promised to build for his wife around their property, but he has placed that project on the back burner.  The title is obviously a metaphor, with one possibility being that Troy has built an imaginary fence separating what he considers to be his role as a parent-enforcer from what should also be his role as a loving parent.  He is unable to execute both roles, even going so far as to ask young Cory if there is any law which requires a parent to like his son.  In Troy's mind, putting a roof over his son's head, clothes on his back and food in his stomach should suffice.  As for Lyons, Troy rejects Bono's suggestion to go to the jazz club to hear Lyons play.  Only top notch musicians are invited to play there, but Troy quickly dismisses Bono's wise counsel. Opportunity lost.

 

The other running metaphor throughout the story is baseball.  Troy was a Negro League star thirty years ago.  He claims he could still, in the present, hit better than the white outfielder who starts for the Yankees.  Troy has a baseball tied to a string hanging from a tree in his yard.  As he swings a bat at that ball, he pontificates that life's problems are like a two-strike fastball on the outside corner.  You just have to learn how to hit it.  When he and Cory get into a physical confrontation, he tells his son he's down to his last strike.

 

There is a revelation half way through the story which turns Troy's world upside down.  Even then he has a hard time finding fault within.  This is a prime example of a man being his own worst enemy.

 

The third act of the movie is weak, cliched and mostly unbelievable.  Maybe Wilson felt that his ending was the only way to tie things up, but compared to the rest of the story it almost seems written by another author.  Notwithstanding those shortcomings, I will be surprised if the film is not a contender for most of the big awards in the next couple of months, and deservedly so.

 

The film's greatest asset is the performance of the two leads.  Ordinarily Troy would be an unlikable person, but in the hands of Washington he almost wins us over.  Even more impressive is Davis as the loyal wife who knows when to put up with her very flawed husband and when to assert herself in the interest of her family.  In every scene in which the two of them appear, Davis is the equal of the great Washington.  In most of his pictures, Washington is a scene stealer; Davis does not let that happen here.  Davis is most effective when Rose is suffering from a broken heart.  Washington is not called upon to do that in this story, as Troy is a man without a heart.

Quarterly Cinema Scan - Volume XXVI

Red River, a 1948 western, is considered a cowboy classic.  The film was directed by Howard Hawks, an elite motion picture director whose most valuable professional asset was versatility.  A look at Hawks' filmography shows that he was not afraid to take on any genre, be it comedy, war stories, gangster films, mysteries, film noir or westerns.  Equally as big a name in 1948 was the Duke, John Wayne.  Although he was only thirty-nine years old when Red River was made -- its release was delayed two years -- Wayne's screen presence in his preceding films had already established him as a star.  His bigger than life aura suited him well for the silver screen.

 

Red River is the story of a cattle drive covering a thousand miles, a lot of it over what became known as the Chisholm Trail.  Wayne plays Tom Dunson, a hard nosed cattle rancher who decides to move his huge herd from Texas to Missouri because the Civil War's aftermath has rendered the southern beef markets almost non-existent.  Duncan's right hand man is his adopted son, Matt, played by Montgomery Clift.  Clift was only twenty-five years old when the movie was shot.  Although he'd appeared in more than a dozen Broadway plays, he was a film novice.

 

So, why is Red River considered a classic?  There are many reasons, but here are four of them:

 

a. Wayne always had played the good guy, the everyman hero whose judgment was beyond reproach.  In Red River, his character has a soft side which is overcome by a dark side.  This opportunity to play a darker character is the main reason Wayne signed on for the project.  Until Red River, Wayne was considered by many producers, including those with whom he'd worked, to be a successful actor but not necessarily a good actor.  With the help of Hawks, Wayne's performance in Red River changed that.

 

b. Red River was Clift's coming out party as a screen actor.  Hawks, who not only directed but also produced the movie, took a gamble by casting the relatively unknown star.  Neither Wayne nor Clift was nominated for an Academy Award for their work in this film, but Clift was nominated four times for subsequent performances in relatively quick order thereafter.  His most famous role was in 1953's From Here To Eternity.

 

c. Unlike most westerns of its day, the scope of the cinematography for Red River, especially the scenes involving hundreds of head of cattle, is breathtaking.  We actually see the gigantic herd fording a river, stampeding, and tumbling over a ridge.  One has to wonder how capturing all this on camera was accomplished.  Even by today's standards, the filming the cattle scenes would be an amazing feat.

 

d. The plot of Red River has sometimes been compared to Mutiny On The Bounty.  Dunson has taken on an unimaginably difficult task with a three-pronged set of potential problems: keeping the herd alive as they drive over rough terrain with no end in sight, dealing with Indians and outlaws who have their eyes on Dunson's precious assets, and keeping the ornery disgruntled cowboys in line with a strict set of rules that Dunson feels are necessary to accomplish their goal.  Does this sound like Captain Bligh's situation on board the Bounty?  Yes.  Is there a Fletcher Christian in Red River?  You will have to see it, then decide.

 

Hawks and Wayne made five films together, spanning four decades. Red River was their first collaboration, and Hawks' first western.  I recommend Red River, especially if you like westerns and don't mind spending almost two and a quarter hours on it.  I'm giving it a B+, dropping it down a notch from where it was heading.  The weakness of the female character played by Joanne Dru, and the less-than-satisfying ending cause me to do so.  The only other Hawks-Wayne joint effort I've seen is Rio Bravo (included in my Quarterly Cinema Scan on January 2, 2014), which I prefer a little more, as evidenced by my grade of A-.

 

***

 

Here are the films I've seen at the Quentin Estates during the fourth quarter of 2016. 

 

1. Blowout (1981 mystery; John Travolta is a sound engineer who, from a distance, records audio of a car crash (in which a presidential candidate drowns), so  he dives in the creek for a rescue attempt and pulls out a hooker, Debbie Allen.) C+

2. Brief Encounter (1945 drama; Trevor Howard is a married doctor who meets housewife Celia Johnson in a train station, and every Thursday they rendezvous again.) A

3. Candles On Bay Street  (2006 romance; Eion Bailey is a married veterinarian who is surprised to learn that his high school crush, Alicia Silverstone, has returned to town, Balmoral Cove, Maine, after thirteen years.) B-

4. Four Days In November  (1964 documentary; footage, including some rarely seen, of President Kennedy's tragic trip to Texas in November 1963.) B+

5. The Long Hot Summer (1958 drama; When drifter Paul Newman arrives in Frenchman's Bend, Mississippi, his questionable reputation precedes him, but Orson Welles, who owns most of the town's businesses, figures he'd make a great husband for his reluctant daughter, Joanne Woodward.) B

6. Murder Ahoy (1964 mystery/comedy; Margaret Rutherford, a trustee of a British ship in the town's harbor, suspects foul play in the murder of her fellow trustee, so she invites herself on board to pursue various clues, much to the displeasure of Captain Lionel Jeffries.)  B

7. Rain Man (1988 drama; Tom Cruise is a financially desperate California wheeler dealer who finds out that Dustin Hoffman, an autistic savant in Ohio, is the brother he never knew he had and is the main beneficiary of their millionaire father's will.)  A

8. Red River (1948 western; John Wayne is a despotic Texas rancher who, with his son Montgomery Clift and a dozen other men, leads a thousand mile cattle drive north, destination Missouri.) B+

9. Yours, Mine and Ours (1968 comedy; Navy officer Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball, both widowed with lots of kids, marry each other and face the challenges of melding their families.) C+

Four Days In The Corn, Part II: The Irish & The Germans

It's Wednesday in Iowa City, with all morning and afternoon to kill until the 8:00 tipoff of the Notre Dame-Iowa women's game tonight.  There is no shortage of possible ways to spend the time.  Our quarters, the Sheraton Hotel, is one of two hotels centrally situated along the pedestrian mall in the heart of downtown.  The mall also provides shoppers and diners plenty  of choices with a number of stores, bars, restaurants and even a small movie theater, the nonprofit FilmScene.  A large section of the four hundred fifty acre University Of Iowa campus borders downtown.  Included among the school's buildings is the Old Capitol, where the first state legislatures convened in the mid-1800's before the politicians decided to move the capital to Des Moines.

We have always enjoyed exploring college campuses on foot.  Illinois, Purdue, Penn State, West Point, Missouri, Texas, BYU and the Air Force Academy are some of the ones we have visited on our travels, in addition to the four where our kids attended school.  Unfortunately, due to the frigid winds which are sweeping through town on this last day of November, we wuss out on our planned campus visit this morning and choose a more laid back agenda.  After downing what passes for coffee in our room, we brave the cold gusts and traverse the two block long mall.  Other than the college kids who seem immune to the effects of the arctic breeze, there are hardly any walkers or bikers.  We duck into a few stores, but make no purchases until we arrive at Prairie Lights bookstore.

 

Tattered Cover Book Store in Denver probably still remains my favorite, but Prairie Lights isn't far behind.  This two story building just north of the pedestrian mall is the kind of place where one could spend an entire morning.  Every genre of book with multiple titles can be found here.  The store is also host to a number of events, most notably book readings by authors, many of whom are affiliated with the famed Iowa Writers' Workshop.  Some of the older the employees could easily pass for literature professors and research scholars, not that a finance major like me would know.

 

Since we've skipped breakfast, an early lunch is in order.  We happen upon a place which looks like a classic urban hot spot, the Pullman Bar & Diner.  It has the same vibe as Ike's in downtown Minneapolis, only smaller.  Just as in Decorah's La Rada two nights ago, we score the best table for two next to the front window.  The restaurant is long and somewhat narrow, probably designed to invoke thoughts of a Pullman car.  All that's missing is the clickity-clack of a train's steel wheels on the rails.  Mary selects one of her standbys, a croque madame, while I can't pass up the Frisco melt.  The food is hot and delicious, just what we need to thaw out from our stint outdoors.  We long for a real cup of coffee.  Our friendly young server, Arlinda, suggests that we order a French press, "because I love to push down the plunger into the pot!"  If that's all it will take to make her day, who are we to stand in her way?  Turns out to be a good choice for all concerned.

 

Back outside, we continue to investigate what downtown IC has to offer, this time outside the perimeters of the pedestrian mall.  It is not getting warmer despite the fact that we're now under the afternoon sun.  If anything, the wind has picked up.  Active Endeavors is a top drawer clothing store, specializing in outdoor apparel from name brand companies like North Face and Patagonia.  The floor manager spots my Notre Dame hat and informs me that the husband of ND coach Muffet McGraw was in earlier today.  We walk by the "second" downtown Italian restaurant, Basta Pizzeria Ristorante, and decide to return for dinner tonight.  Then we check out AKAR, which a 2014 travel article had billed as "a gem of an art shop" with "great children's clothing."  There's no question the place offers an array of brightly colored contemporary art goods and Iowa-centric wares, but the selection of children's clothing -- my main area of interest here in light of the travel article --  is much lower than my expectations.

 

Upon leaving AKAR we make a final decision to scuttle our plans to meander around campus, but Plan B is brilliant:  Return to the ped mall and have a beer in the Bread Garden Market.  I can't think of any place in the Twin Cities that's quite like BGM.  Most of the spacious interior is a beer and wine off-sale shop, with concentration on beer from Iowa breweries.   There's also a nice deli and hot food section which is doing a brisk business.  Along the lengthy side of the premises which faces the mall, there's a glassed-in, high ceiling dining area where almost every table is occupied by college students.  Some of them don't appear to be eating or drinking anything and have probably been camped here for hours, but virtually all are pouring over a laptop or a smart phone.  Mary and I, the oldest folks under the roof, take in the great people-watching scene while we sit at the bar and have a couple of locally produced tap beers.

 

After a short break at the Sheraton we head out for Basta, straight north via the pedestrian mall's one block north-south walkway which we hadn't seen before.  The ambience of Basta appears more authentically Italian than last night at Baroncini.  The place is divided into a bar area and a larger dining room, both of which have the lights down low and are furnished with dark wood.  As is true in many restaurants with such a floor plan, the bar area is more appealing.  After whetting our appetites with the stuffed dates appetizer, we order the salsiccia pizza, which is topped with homemade sausage and some peppers to give it more than a little kick.  Good thing I was washing dinner down with a Deschutes Fresh Squeezed.

 

The Iowa River splits the University Of Iowa campus in two.  Carver-Hawkeye Arena is situated across the river, much too far away for us to walk on a cold winter's night.  From the outside, the building doesn't look anything like a sports arena, yet this is where both the men's and women's teams play. It is barely one story high, hiding the fact that the basketball floor is in a bowl, located at what must be the equivalent of a good four or five stories below street level.  With the spectators' seats totally surrounding the court, it must be extremely loud if filled to capacity.  Unfortunately, that probably happens only for some men's games.  Tonight's attendance for the women will be no more than a couple thousand, if that.

 

The Notre Dame-Iowa game tonight is part of the Big 10-Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC) Challenge.  Before the season starts, the honchos from those two leagues try to pair up teams from each so that the pre-season favorites play each other, the teams predicted to finish second in each league play each other, etc., all the way down to the cellar dwellers squaring off.  For unknown reasons, that blueprint has been disregarded for this matchup.  Otherwise, the Irish would be playing Maryland, as those two women's teams are far and away the pre-season favorites in their respective conferences.  (Incidentally, the pairing of last night's men's game in The Bend between Notre Dame and Iowa was also part of the Big 10-ACC Challenge.  It is merely a coincidence that the men's and women's teams from those two schools were paired up this season.  It usually does not happen that way.)

 

One of the best parts of attending an Irish Lasses game is to watch the grand entrance of ND's coach, Muffet McGraw.  She does not make an on-court appearance when her team goes through the twenty-five minute pre-game warm up.  The task of overseeing the warm up is left to her assistant coaches with the help of the student managers.  Following the warm up each team clears the floor, heading to their locker rooms. Shortly thereafter, about five minutes before tipoff, the team's re-enter for layup lines and team introductions.  It is only until then that Muffet walks in, looking like a million bucks with her coiffed trim auburn hair, a silk scarf draped over a silk blouse, an above-the-knee skirt and, impossibly, high heels.  The sixty-one year old, not looking a day over forty-five, has been Notre Dame's head coach for the past twenty-nine years.  With the exception of the incomparable Geno Auriemma at UConn, Muffet has run the most successful women's basketball program this century.  They say that a lot of sports teams reflect the disposition of their coach.  The Irish hoopsters are calm, confident and savvy.  Currently ranked as the number one squad in the country, another adjective you might use is "good."

 

Notre Dame's two best players are All American junior center Brianna Turner, and All ACC point guard Lindsay Allen, a senior.  The Lady Hawkeyes are an above average, albeit unranked, team which gives the Irish a challenge for about thirty minutes before ND pulls away as expected.  I am curious to keep an eye on two Hawkeye reserves, senior forward Hailey Schneden and sophomore forward Hannah Stewart.  They are alumna from my two former high schools, Assumption and Bishop Ryan, respectively.  Final score: ND 73, Iowa 58.

 

The night is not over just yet.  We have discovered that Iowa City, despite its small size, is home to a speakeasy!  Okay, maybe speakeasies went out with the end of the Prohibition Era, but that's the motif which the Clinton Street Social Club is shooting for.  We have to check it out!  The Club is located near the edge of downtown at the top of a narrow set of dimly lit stairs, the entryway to which off the sidewalk is about as wide as a pencil.  Once on the second floor you can tell that this place is geared for the old time cocktail crowd.  Sure, there is a person or two with a beer or a glass of wine, but spirits are in order here.  The Club's website calls itself "an apothecary of enlightened libations." Sounds serious.

 

Everyone in the place is sitting at the bar.  Our bartender, Ryan, looks like he, himself, would be carded if he walked in as a customer.  Ryan says he graduated seven or eight years ago with a business degree, but after an unfulfilling short-lived career in other cities, he returned to IC, the place he missed too much to stay away from.  Mary orders a French 75, and I try the Club's version of an old fashioned.  I have the same thoughts about this place as I had earlier today at the Bread Garden Market.  I can't think of a Twin Cities establishment, at least none that I've been in, which resembles this speakeasy.  Maybe that's why I like it.

 

 

***

 

Momma Cuandito calls me The Linear Guy.  She's poking fun at me, but I consider it a badge of honor.  I like to have my ducks in a row.  I am also big on symmetry.  Every debit should have a matching credit, every zig calls for a zag, for each Republican there should be a Democrat.  Well, scratch that last one, but you do get my drift, don't you?

 

Tuesday was our getaway day from Decorah.  What was our final task there?  Picking up some beer to go from Toppling Goliath.  It seems natural (and symmetrical) that on this Thursday morning on which we are leaving Iowa City, we should do something similar.  Lucky for us there is John's Grocery, an IC institution and my favorite grocery store of all time!  We had been there once before ten years ago when we visited Jill at Loras and set off on a day trip.

 

True, John's is a grocery store, but its calling card is the huge selection of beer stocked on its shelves both in the room temperature store proper and in their bank vault size walk-in cooler.  It's a pretty safe guess that almost every one of the thirty-five-plus beers made in the state of Iowa is there, and dozens from all over the Midwest and other regions.  Belgian and German beer also occupy a generous section.  What is most unique about John's is the bevy of beer glasses, steins and mugs to match dozens of the beers available for sale.  Wine lovers won't be disappointed either.  John's has expanded its wine inventory since our last visit, and it's now pretty impressive.

 

After making a sizable purchase of liquid refreshments at John's, we jump into our Lexus... I mean our 2005 Toyota Corolla ... and hit the road.  We are 305 miles from home, but our first destination on this final day is a place we've been meaning to visit for years, the Amana Colonies.

 

In 1855, only nine years after Iowa became a state, a group of twelve hundred religious refugees of German descent created a settlement on fertile lands along the Iowa River.  They called themselves the Inspirationists.  Their main occupation was farming, but they set up seven villages along a sixteen mile loop.  The villages were spaced about a mile and a half away from each other, roughly the distance which an ox-pulled cart could traverse in an hour.  The settlers developed a variety of skills concomitant with village life, such as baking, weaving, carpentry, teaching and preaching.  Unlike the Amish, another German group often confused with the Inspirationists, the Amana colonists not only adapted to technological advancements, they embraced them.  The most important event in the Inspirationists modern history occurred in 1932 when the people elected to separate their church from their economic activity.  Following that separation (sometimes called "The Change"), one of the colonists started an appliance business which grew into world famous Amana Corporation.

 

We make a quick drive through Homestead, the first village one encounters by driving counter-clockwise on the loop.  The main drag, V Street, is about a half-mile long, terminating as one might expect at a corn field.  With a population of under 200, Homestead looks like any other tiny midwestern town.  Neatly kept houses and a few churches line the road.  There is also a church museum and a country inn.

 

Next along the loop is Amana, the hub of whatever action the Colonies have to offer.  We have the extremely good fortune of hitting the Amana on the day before its biggest weekend festival of the year, Prelude To Christmas.  Many of the residences and retail buildings are decked out with wreaths and lights.  People are outside attaching garlands and decorations to the fences along the perimeter of their yards.  The Christmas spirit is infectious.

 

We don't want to go store hopping on an empty stomach.  The Ox Yoke Inn looks like our best bet.  Inside there are several dining rooms, most of them filled with customers.  The atmosphere is somewhat like the Norski Nook in Osseo, Wisconsin;  jolly rotund waitresses serving an older crowd many comfort food entrees followed by home made pie,  Behind us is a long table occupied by ten women who are playing a raucous dice game, apparently to decide who picks up the tab.  Good thing for the loser there will be no bar tab here.

 

Mary orders the chicken lunch plate while I pick the sauerbraten.  Both are excellent and filling, but that does not deter us from ordering two pieces of pie, coconut creme and rhubarb meringue.  I wonder how many folks from IC and Cedar Rapids drive over here for lunch; they are each only a half hour away!

 

Before we return to our car we walk across the street to check out the General Store and a children's shop called the Red Wagon.  At Amana Meat Shop & Smoke House, Mary buys a huge ham which she plans to serve the famdamily when we congregate at Brainerd in January.  Our final stop is the Amana Woolen Mill on the edge of town.  The enormous building houses both a manufacturing facility and a retail room.  Mary tosses a hint my way that we should spend $200 on a thick red woolen blanket, but I feign a hearing problem.  Yet, it's hard to walk out of that place empty handed, so I buy her a Stormy Kromer hat, which its label modestly describes as a wollen baseball cap with ear flaps.

 

The Millstream Brewing Company is located in a quaint cottage across the street from the Woolen Mills.  I have been sampling some of their product over the past few days, and it goes down easy.  I wouldn't mind checking out their tap room, but then reality sets in.  I've already made a mental note to put Decorah's Pulpit Rock on the itinerary for our next trip to Iowa.  Now I'll have to add Millstream to the list.

 

We do a quick drive through Middle Amana, the next village on the loop.  Its population of 581 makes it the largest of the seven hamlets.  Then finally our explorations are over and we point true north.  It's time to find our way home.  Who would have ever guessed we could have such a good time spending four days in the corn?         

Four Days In The Corn, Part I: The Land Of Ole & Goliath

For many Minnesotans, heading south for a winter break is as natural as going "up to the lake" in the summer.  Which southern sojourn did Momma Cuandito and I consider this season?  The list of possibilities included Mexico, the Caribbean, Arizona and Florida.  Even Cuba got a mention.  We chose Iowa.  It's more than where the tall corn grows.

 

Decorah.  For several years we passed through Decorah when our daughter, Jill, attended Loras College in Dubuque.  Both of those cities reside on US Highway 52.  Usually we zipped through, or even by-passed, Decorah in our hurry either to get to Jill or to return home, but on those few occasions when we did make a stop in Decorah, including once for a swim meet when Jill swam for the Duhawks against Luther College, we recognized it as a town worth visiting.  In addition to Luther, this small city is home to two other well known points of interest, the Vesterheim Museum and Toppling Goliath Brewing Company.

 

We arrived early on a Monday afternoon and checked into our Air B&B, Vossheim.  Located on a residential street a few minutes south of downtown, Vossheim is owned by a friend, Linda, whose mother lived in that house for ten years.  The Norwegian word "heim" means "house," and "Voss" refers to the family's ancestral village back in the homeland.  The one-level rental quarters features two bedrooms, one and a-half bathrooms, a huge updated kitchen and a comfortable living room.  Flying in the breeze outside the front door is the flag of Norway.

 

My inclination is to make Toppling Goliath our first stop, but we both acknowledge the folly of such a plan.  It just might be too hard to leave.  So instead, we decide to check out what downtown has to offer.  The main drag in Decorah is Water Street, "not Main Street" as a few locals advised us.  For a small city, Decorah's shopping district along Water Street extends for more blocks than I would have guessed.  It kind of reminds me of Galena, Illinois, a regional shopping mecca, although Decorah is smaller.  Most of the buildings lining Water Street are dark brown two story structures, housing gift shops, clothing stores, art galleries, book stores, cafes, bars and banks.  Oh boy, there is no shortage of banks.  The money must be rolling in from many of the hundreds of nearby farm families.  Radio station KVIK plays classic rock from its studio across the street from the Vesterheim at the west end of Water.  Shades of American Graffiti?  The Winneshiek Hotel is the place to stay if you're looking for conveniently classic lodging.

 

It is not hard to spend half a day downtown, and that's not even including the Vesterheim, which is on our agenda for tomorrow.  Since I became a grandparent I have developed an entirely new outlook on shopping.  My old strategy, pre-grandkids, would be to suck down a beer or two in a bar while Momma Cuan visited the stores.  Now, I actually go into many of the stores with her, not to shop for myself but to see if there's any potential purchase with the beautiful granddaughters in mind.  It isn't until that curiosity has been satisfied that I step outside and wait for my better half.

 

After popping into a few Water Street stores like Modish, Revelation, J.Tupy's  and Margaret's, it's at last time to quench our thirst. The lucky denizens of Decorah are blessed with two microbreweries. So many brews yet, for us, so little time. We decide to save Pulpit Rock for another visit -- I'm confident there will be one -- and make a beeline for Toppling Goliath, just across the bridge spanning the Upper Iowa River from downtown.

 

Walking into Toppling Goliath, we immediately sense a cozy atmosphere.  We sit at the small bar, as is our custom in any tavern, and it doesn't take long for the fellow next to me to ask where we are from.  Did our Minnesota accents give us away, or are we the only strangers in the bar?  I suspect the latter.  It turns out the inquisitor knows the same family that owns our b & b; that family, the Istads, also owned the Whippy Dip ice cream stand in town.

 

My pre-trip research for Toppling Goliath has consisted of reading a 2015 article from the Chicago Tribune, in which it was reported that a Beer Advocate survey named seven TG beers among the top one hundred in the world.  Another website, RateBeer, calls TG's Kentucky Brunch the "second best beer in the world."  I am not too disappointed that Kentucky Brunch is not available during our visit, because its style, imperial coffee stout aged in whiskey barrels, isn't one of which I'm fond.  I do find a few draughts to my liking today, particularly an American pale titled Pseudo Sue.  I wouldn't know a citra hop if it was sitting right in front of me, but its refreshing taste is the keynote to the delectable Pseudo Sue.  Momma Cuan hedges her bets by ordering a flight of six small pours of different offerings.

 

We strike up a conversation with a couple at the bar who tell us they live within walking distance of both TG and Pulpit Rock.  Location, location, location!  I am envious.  When they ask how we'd found out about the TG tap room, I show them the Tribune article, pointing out that the story includes reference to a husband and wife, Tim and Carol Stoddard, whose practice is to bring growlers of TG beer with them on road trips to share in other breweries' tap rooms.  The couple laugh and inform us, "Yeah, we are Tim and Carol."

 

Our fellow beer drinkers are quick to offer their suggestions on Decorah restaurants for us to have dinner.  Some even call a place or two to determine if they are open on Monday; others give us directions.

 

The downtown bistro, La Rada, is our choice.  There, we are seated at the room's best table, tucked into a nook next to a ten foot high bay window.  The outdoor Christmas season scene, with a light snow falling against a twilight sky, could be a postcard.  We enjoy everything about our dining experience, from the tatted up server who totally digs our desire to ease through cocktails before ordering, to the hum of conversation among fellow diners, to Mary's penne with lamb and my flank steak.

 

Back at Vossheim, I magnanimously tell Mary that we should watch the last hour of her favorite show, The Voice, instead of the Monday Night Football Game.  The fact that Vossheim's cable TV package does not include ESPN has absolutely nothing to do with my suggestion.

 

***

 

Our first stop Tuesday morning is back downtown to Impact Coffee on Washington Street, next door to La Rada.  I have been to dozens of coffee shops in the Twin Cities, and I would place Impact right up there with the best of them.  The space is divided into two rooms.  The front is equipped like NASA's Mission Control in Houston.  You must need an advanced mechanical engineering degree to know how to use all their heavy duty coffee brewing gizmos.  We settle for lattes and a couple of scrumptious apricot almond scones that melt in our mouths.  An artsy arch between Corinthian columns separates the front room from the back, where all the comfy chairs are found.  Colorful paintings by local artists adorn the walls of both sections.  If we weren't headed for the Vesterheim, I would camp out on one of Impact's sofas for sure.

 

The Vesterheim is the national Norwegian-American museum, hosting over 24,000 artifacts.  The main building, which is the only one of the twelve open year round, is spread over four levels in a grand old brick structure.  The English translation of the museum's name is "western home."  The first floor focuses on the life that the Norwegians had before emigrating to the States.  Because of their rural cold weather environment, it was a hard existence.  On top of that, their government imposed many restrictions which they were eager to escape by heading across the Atlantic.  The first to do so was a group of fifty-three brave souls in a fifty-four foot sloop christened the Restauration, on which they sailed west in 1825.  A large replica of the Restauration and two other ships are displayed on Vesterheim's first floor.  One of those other ships is the actual Trade Wind (not a replica), the twenty-five foot vessel sailed to America in 1933 by the Hamran brothers, Harald and Hans.  Ships like the Restauration were crowded, limiting the physical possessions the new settlers could bring with them to the new land.  The museum teaches us that the most valuable assets those people had were not what they could stuff in a trunk.  Rather, it was their stories, artistic and mechanical talents, music, recipes and other elements of their Nordic culture which now live on, two centuries later.

 

The second floor picks up the narrative once the Norwegians have reached the New Land.  Two of the museum's most interesting displays are houses located on the first two floors showing a typical family residence both in the old country (on the first floor) and in America (second floor).  The Norwegians were expert craftsmen, as evidenced by the many pieces of furniture in the museum.  Cabinets, tables, desks, chairs, stools, and wardrobe chests are just some of the items housed at Vesterheim.  The folk art known as rosemaling, the practice of decorative painting, adds appeal to things like headboards, walls, lampshades, table tops, picture frames, even refrigerator doors.  The early Norwegians were also master wood carvers and jewelry designers.  Hundreds of those artifacts are displayed nicely on the second floor.

 

The third floor is primarily devoted to beautiful textiles, while the basement level concentrates mostly on military exhibits.  A fascinating narrative describes how many young Norwegian men were drawn into the War Between The States, fighting for both sides, even though they were new to the country and did not share the passions which drove most of their fellow soldiers.  Another basement exhibit details the 99th Infantry Battalion in World War II.  This battalion, comprised of about a hundred Norwegian Americans, were expert skiers and mountaineers who helped liberate Norway from Nazi control.

 

Once we are inside the Vesterheim gift shop, it is hard to leave.  I could spend an entire paycheck -- if I had a paycheck -- going crazy buying fabulous sweaters, knit stocking hats, books, dolls, games, toys and souvenirs.  As you might expect in this town heavily populated by Norwegians, there are entire sets of Ole and Lena cards with humor in varying degrees of taste, good and bad.  Exercising a little self discipline, we escape without too much damage to our pocketbooks.

 

For lunch we decide on a place recommended to us last night by our new friends from Toppling Goliath.  It's the Good Times Grill, located just down the College Drive slope from TG.  Good Times is what I would call a nice sports bar, if such a label is not an oxymoron.  I am impressed with their food choices, and end up with a chili and tacos combo.   My gold standard for chili has been Pecos River Hot from the Loon in Minneapolis.  (The Loon's menu description for their Pecos River is, "No beans, no B.S.")  I am happy to report that Good Times' recipe edges closer to the Loon's than 90% of all the other chili I've had.  My only disappointment with Good Times is that I am unable to sample the beer from their ample list, due to this afternoon's travel plans.

 

Speaking of beer, our last stop before we head out of Dodge is to return to TG to pick up a couple of bombers for our birthday boys, Luke (November 26) and Michael (November 28.)  Being risk-averse, I choose Pseudo Sue which, based on last night's experience, I know the young lads will enjoy.  I also pick up a tall boy four pack of Golden Nugget, one of TG's two widely acclaimed IPAs (the other one being Intergalactic Warrior), for my own consumption.  As we pull out of town I am proud of myself for remembering to bring a cooler from home.  Got to protect the newly acquired precious cargo!

 

Iowa City.  I would be remiss if I did not give a tip of the hat to northeast Iowa.  This is not your father's farmland.  Traveling south from Decorah to Iowa City requires negotiating over ninety miles of country highway, mostly on State Route 150, before hooking up with Interstate 80 near Cedar Rapids for the last short leg.  Although the crops have been harvested long before this late November afternoon, there is no mistaking the beauty of the rolling hills, the plentiful trees -- yes, trees! -- and the well kept farm houses that dot the landscape.  I can't help but make the mental comparison of what we are viewing to the northeast quadrant of North Dakota.  There the land is flat, the farm houses are miles apart, and the one tree is barely visible near the horizon, about fifteen miles from the road.  I love both parts of the country, the undulating topography of Iowa and the wide open plains of North Dakota.  Public Service Announcement:  If time permits, get off the interstate and enjoy the view!

 

Now that I'm in the twenty-first paragraph of this post, I suppose it's about time I disclose the main reason for our Iowa excursion.  Since the turn of the century, the Notre Dame women's basketball program, under the leadership of head coach Muffet McGraw, has established itself as one of the top two in the country, behind only perennial power UConn.  This season the Irish are ranked # 1 in the pre-season polls, and have won their first six games so far.  They have only one regular season game scheduled west of the Mississippi River, and that happens to be against the Iowa Hawkeyes.  What better reason for us to head south?  This will be the first time Momma Cuan and I have ever seen an Irish Lassie game in person.  Tip off is tomorrow night in Carver Hawkeye Arena.

 

We pull into Iowa City around 6:30 p.m., surprised Iowa City has any rush hour at all, let alone one that extends past 6:00.  We are reminded of home as we come upon downtown, where construction has blocked several streets and detour postings are everywhere.  We are staying at the Sheraton in the heart of downtown on the pedestrian mall.

 

Both of us are in the mood for Italian food, and there are two ristoranti within a few blocks.  We select Baroncini, which we find out after the fact from the hotel concierge is the preferred choice of the dual option.  (Don't ask why we checked with the concierge after, instead of before, we ate; that's just how we roll.)  My first impressions once inside the place are (i) nice but unremarkable ambience, and (ii) wonderful aromas pervading throughout.  Pre-dinner cocktails seem like a good, even if not novel, idea, so Momma Cuan chooses an Americano while I opt for a Bloody Boulevardier, which is made with bourbon, campari and sweet vermouth.  After enjoying a few sips, our server inquires how I like the drink, to which I respond positively.  He is proud to announce that he is the one who talked Baroncini's management into putting that concoction on the cocktail menu.

 

Momma Cuan enjoyed her hanger steak entre.  I keep to my personal tradition of ordering a pasta dish whenever I'm in an Italian restaurant.  This time it is agnolotti di Manzo.  Molto buona!  I am also impressed by the fact that Baroncini has Moretti Rossa on tap.  Not all Italian eateries do.

 

Our final stop of the night is to locate a sports bar to check on the Notre Dame vs. Iowa men's basketball game, which is being played in South Bend as part of the ACC-Big 10 Challenge.  We retrace our steps to the pedestrian mall and land in Brothers, a chain-operated watering hole across the street from our hotel.  Apparently Hawkeye Mania has not overtaken Iowa City, because only one of several TV screens is tuned to the game on ESPN.

 

I find it interesting to note the differences between the schools' veteran head coaches.  Mike Brey, the Irish boss, is about as congenial and easygoing as any coach in Division 1.  He rarely raises his voice, remaining calm even when a game is unraveling.  He is gracious with the media, possibly preparing for a post-coaching career in broadcast journalism.  Sometimes his announcer buddies make fun of his attire -- he used to be known for his mock turtlenecks -- and his recent "look," an unshaven countenance.

 

The Iowa Hawkeyes are coached by Fran McCaffery who, like Brey, is fifty-seven years old.  With his silver hair and expensive suits, McCaffery looks more like a Wall Street banker than a gym rat.  It's no real surprise that he holds an economics degree from the Wharton School Of Business.  I always enjoy watching Fran in action because he is hot tempered and not afraid to pick up a technical foul if he thinks his team needs a spark.  He is the quintessential feisty Irishman.  McCaffery has a twofold Notre Dame connection.  He was an assistant coach at Notre Dame for eleven years, starting in 1986.  Also, his wife, the former Margaret Nowlin, was a superior basketball player for the Irish.  On this night, Fran's Irish heritage, coaching resume and relationships do not provide him or his team enough luck.  The Hawkeyes are outmanned and fall to ND, 92-78.