Mike at the pond
Saturday, February 6, 2010
As they say: What a difference a day makes.
I woke up, showered and hit the computer as if this project were a paying job. And I now have five mini-movies of Ray McDade, now my hero for a whole new reason. Editing (trying to edit) his interview, I was moved to tears. He was so candid, and open, and giving.
I am newly inspired. I packed up again, drove to the Soldiers Home again, and found Mike asleep—again. But today I woke him up. And as I waited for him to acclimate, I made an appointment to interview Ray Eickholt, a wonderful 90-year-old veteran who has stopped me in the hallway before just to tell me a story from the news.
Mike and I went down to the pond, which was amazingly crowded. We talked for a while, "on the record," but it was getting chilly, and Mike’s nose started to run, and my nose started to run, and we decided to yell "cut" for the day and pick up again later.
I headed into Ray Eickholt’s room—and he was asleep in front of the TV. I woke him up, too. (I might have veered to the other, ruder, end of the motivational spectrum, but I did apologize.)
Ray gave me a copy of the Soldiers Home newsletter, and his introductory profile, from when he moved in. (I will try to post it on his video page.) The first thing I noticed was that Ray had lived in Minnesota. And then I realized something a little spookier: Of the three people I’ve interviewed so far, two of them are named Ray. Which was my father-in-law’s name. And he lived in Minnesota.
As I work on this project, challenged by two computers going at once, two cameras plugged into various something-or-others and a baffling jumble of inputs and outputs and wires, I can glance over to the flag-display case on the desk. Below the flag from my father-in-law's memorial service is a photo of him, a beautiful black-and-white portrait taken at a fancy cocktail party. Ray is wearing a tuxedo, holding a martini and smiling wryly, as if he knows something the rest of us don't. That inspires me, too.
As they say: What a difference a day makes.
I woke up, showered and hit the computer as if this project were a paying job. And I now have five mini-movies of Ray McDade, now my hero for a whole new reason. Editing (trying to edit) his interview, I was moved to tears. He was so candid, and open, and giving.
I am newly inspired. I packed up again, drove to the Soldiers Home again, and found Mike asleep—again. But today I woke him up. And as I waited for him to acclimate, I made an appointment to interview Ray Eickholt, a wonderful 90-year-old veteran who has stopped me in the hallway before just to tell me a story from the news.
Mike and I went down to the pond, which was amazingly crowded. We talked for a while, "on the record," but it was getting chilly, and Mike’s nose started to run, and my nose started to run, and we decided to yell "cut" for the day and pick up again later.
I headed into Ray Eickholt’s room—and he was asleep in front of the TV. I woke him up, too. (I might have veered to the other, ruder, end of the motivational spectrum, but I did apologize.)
Ray gave me a copy of the Soldiers Home newsletter, and his introductory profile, from when he moved in. (I will try to post it on his video page.) The first thing I noticed was that Ray had lived in Minnesota. And then I realized something a little spookier: Of the three people I’ve interviewed so far, two of them are named Ray. Which was my father-in-law’s name. And he lived in Minnesota.
As I work on this project, challenged by two computers going at once, two cameras plugged into various something-or-others and a baffling jumble of inputs and outputs and wires, I can glance over to the flag-display case on the desk. Below the flag from my father-in-law's memorial service is a photo of him, a beautiful black-and-white portrait taken at a fancy cocktail party. Ray is wearing a tuxedo, holding a martini and smiling wryly, as if he knows something the rest of us don't. That inspires me, too.
Ray Eickholt
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