Fraters Libertas

When Worlds Collide

Garrison Keillor is blogging. As is their style, MPR is calling it a “Travel Diary”, but when you read observations like this about his book tour in London, there’s no other word for it than blogging:

Walked to the train station to catch the return train and bought a box of sushi from a café near the station and took it aboard the train and the third piece I ate was bad fish and I spat it out and didn’t eat anymore and have now waited two hours for the projectile vomiting to start and it hasn’t. Sat with my brothers and sister and had a two-hour conversation about family history ---- this trip is turning into a seminar ----- and waited to vomit and didn’t. So I guess I’ll go to bed.

Sushi and vomit stories? He’s definitely got a future in the medium. If this guy ever leaves the cozy, tax payer subsidized cocoon of public radio broadcasting and devotes himself to writing personal anecdotes for no compensation whatsoever, well, he could be the next Atomizer.

Coincidently (or not?), I know for a fact the Atomizer and Garrison Keillor once were on the same flight together, from London to Minneapolis back in March of 2001. I know because I was on that flight too. We were coming back from a pre-Fraters organizational meeting/travel junket. (JB Doubtless, then a Boston resident, had already made his departure on a previous flight). Turns out Garrison Keillor was returning from a Prairie Home Companion show in Dublin (and getting a connecting flight out from London). Our worlds collided in front of the departure gate at Gatwick.

I remember he looked exhausted and he was scowling, but he was polite to all the Minnesota folks who came up to fawn over him. Due to the 6 previous days of carousing and near constant gin imbibing, I remember being exhausted and scowling myself. Although on the positive side, I didn’t have to deal with anyone bothering to fawn over me. The Atomizer seemed strangely unaffected by the alcoholic toll of the previous week. Not sure if that was because he was used to 6 straight days of carousing and gin imbibing or because he always looks exhausted and scowling. But there we three were, all looking the same, and all within 15 feet of each other.

Wish there was more to the story, but there isn’t. The crowd continued to swell for the sold out DC-10 heading back home. He got swept up into one line, we into another. By the time we boarded the plane, he was gone and I didn’t see him again. I always assumed he was escorted into 1st class and had a relaxed, luxurious trip back. But apparently that wasn’t the case.

It seems Keillor has been doing a travel diary for MPR for years, including during his trip back in March 2001. So, through the miracle of technology, I know the real story of how his trip ended, and why he looked so tired in the first place.

Sunday, March 11, En Route to St. Paul

A porter bangs on my door, it's 6 a.m. and I was supposed to be in the lobby at 5:45 to go to the airport. So I hustle around and hurtle downstairs and jump in a taxi and get out there in plenty of time. Check two bags through to Minneapolis and get on the plane to London.

The great thing about staying up late the night before is that you can sleep on the plane, even in tiny coach seats. I slept to London, then boarded the Northwest flight, a DC-10, which was packed. I sat in my tiny aisle seat, 16H, and felt the old claustrophobia and nearby a child screeched and then the plane lifted off and I eased the seat back and slept.

It was a good trip. I left the U.S. knowing that Dad was in bad shape and he died Thursday but I know where he was and how he died and who he was with and what was on his mind and it was all for the best. And my wife and little girl had to cancel coming over, but that was for the best too ---- to have a sick child in a strange city is a horror. And someday we'll come back to Germany and Ireland and do more shows. A person has all sorts of regrets in life but you never regret the adventures, the foreign cities, the ambitious trips.

And now this one is done. The taxi rolls up in front of our house in St. Paul and a little girl and her mother stand bundled up in the driveway, waiting for me. Good luck to all of you and try to make peace with your fathers.