Every couple of months, I go to Indianapolis. It’s not an exciting trip or an exciting city, for that matter. Sometimes, I feel as if the whole state of Indiana hates the Region. This doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzy about sitting outside of the Irsay family YMCA in the hot sun looking at the Lilly pharmaceutical facility.
I hesitate to bombard the three or four of you with so many pictures. It may seem like I’m trying to show off. Maybe I am.
But remember the pledge –
It’s 8pm on Wednesday, June 19, 2019. And, you guessed it – it’s raining. This has been the grayest stretch of eight months in the history of the Region
It’s gray. It’s gloomy. And your feet are wet. Amidst such mirth, how is a person supposed to find the bright spot on your radio dial?
Every few years, Alexis and I take a pilgrimage to Berkeley, where I went to school. She visits the same sites with me each time and listens gracefully to the same stories. This means a lot to me.
Our Berkeley day last week started at the St. Francis Hotel on Powell Street, near Union Square. The streetcar runs up a big hill right in front of the hotel. Tourists camp at the east end with their cameras, looking to catch a shot of conductors manually turning the streetcar around. One conductor gets on one end, and another conductor at the other end, and they push the street car as you would an '04 Oldsmobile on a winter day in the Region.