As you read today's column, I'll be over the Atlantic Ocean en route to Johannesburg, South Africa. I'm high on anticipation, and I thought I'd share my plans and my hopes with you. Will reality prove to fall short, reach or surpass my expectations? I'm counting on a "reach," and hoping for an "exceed." While Jim and I spend 10 days hunting plains game on a large ranch an approximate two-hour drive from Windhoek, the capital city of Namibia, my long-time partner Doug will be hunting dangerous game on the Caprivi Strip where it borders Angola and Botswana.
In spite of the images you might conjure up in your mind, Chicago wasn't a bad place to grow up. We knew our neighbors and interacted with them. Our local city park hosted Little League and Babe Ruth League baseball teams where we had good volunteer coaches, neat uniforms and parents who pretty much behaved themselves at the games. I attended great schools, and the neighborhood held together until racial conflict turned it into a war zone in the late 1950s. I'll never forget the spring smelt fishing on the Lake Michigan waterfront.