Here’s another card from the Duluth Trivia game.
On my way to see Burning, the Korean movie adaptation of a Haruki Murakami short story, playing at Zeitgeist Zinema in January, I heard a woman yell “Somebody help me!” from the bus stop. I couldn’t see her well; she had made herself small, the way a rabbit might make itself small for fear of a predator who has entered the garden, too.
A man was looming over her while she cowered against the wall of the Greysolon Plaza. From behind, I couldn’t see much of him, either. He wore a jacket that looked not-quite warm enough; his agitated movements were likely keeping him warm. I felt my city instincts kick in.
I’ve lived in a city all my life: Milwaukee until I was 22, St. Paul until I was 32. Duluth is the smallest community I have ever lived in, and most days, it barely feels like a city. In the quarters of a city where poor people live, anytime someone calls “help,” I think, we check it out. We need each other.
Someone called for help. I needed to check it out. I started to cross the street, putting on my most booming voice.
“What’s going on over there?”
Wildwoods, the Duluth-area wildlife rehabber, recently posted its early-season stats: 1,260 animals have been helped by the organization this year, through Aug. 1. Migration season, a busy time for Wildwoods, is still to come.
Meanwhile, Executive Director Farzad Farr will be stepping down on Sept. 21 after 13 years with Wildwoods. He’s going back to California to be close to family. New director Jessica LaBumbard has already began.
The $5 bag sale happens a few times a year at Gabriel’s Books. I swung by on Saturday and filled a grocery sack with a book on new testament theology by Rudolf Bultmann (what kind of nerd has a favorite theologian, in this case an “existential theologian” committed to “demythologizing” the Bible?), and a book by Frederic Wertham (now that is comic nerd excellence right there) and a stack of 45rpm records.
Last night, I visited the Tweed Museum for the Ken Bloom retirement party. Normally, the retirement of a colleague at the university would not be something to draw attention to — but Ken Bloom is different, and I’d guess two hundred people were at the Tweed to share in the event.