Traveling through Northern Minnesota I come upon a homemade sign that may be
the friendliest, most welcoming invitation I've ever encountered along the roadside.
Once a monk roaming the Vatican grounds, he's now a rebellious University professor,
and his office is everything you would expect from such a rogue and raconteur.
A June sunset illuminates Lake Harriet, in Minneapolis, after a summer rain.
Up close with just one of countless numbers of flies found in the man's basement.
They're just across the room from his thousands of pet worms.
Call it the desert of the Midwest, or call it Kansas. Either way, it can be a long haul, and some never make it across.
Somewhere along the line this man decided he didn't like who he was, and where he came from.
So, he invented a new story, and he told it for 20 years. It brought him attention and acclaim; until he
died, and the shattering truth was revealed at his memorial service.
Singing a last farewell song to an American cultural institution; the piano bar. Nye's, in Minneapolis, closes its doors after more than six decades. Episode 41.
91-year-old Larry Lee Phillipson: Episode #22
Terrance Griep taking control of his opponent: Episode #19
Sonny Knight and the Lakers, in Chicago: Episode #17
Corey Adam does his stand-up act: Episode #15
Pete Labak, Midwestern Barber: Episode #11
Victor Sluder, American loner: Episode #10
Alien abduction victim, Curtice A, in his basement: Episode #9
Street Philosopher Mad Pierre: Episode #6
Bob Dylan's childhood home in Hibbing Minnesota: Episode #4
If he were a doctor of dermatology it would have been “Kills Crow’s Feet.”
There’s something oddly soothing about this plaque. Perhaps there’s too much happening in the world already.
A call from on high. Last desperate attempt to save a dying art.
Is this a not so subtle way of saying God has been swindling you?
It’s the utter lack of formality in this sign, as it predicts your death, that makes it so memorable.
A church in the small town of Decatur Iowa. It was the way the blue on the building matched the blue of the sky that first attracted me to it. The humble simplicity of the structure was also appealing. But mostly it was the idea of being “redeemed.” One walks in the front door, filthy from sin, and strolls out the back, a clean soul. It’s a human car wash.
A house in Kansas. Never have I been more certain of finding kindred spirits waiting on the other side of a door.