Dear Julie Gammack,
Thank you...
Dear Julie Gammack,
Once again, you plucked me from my little corner of the universe in rural southern Iowa, which seems so small to others yet so vast to me, and set me down tenderly on the banks on the distant shores of Lake Okoboji, among my brothers and sisters for another Okoboji Writers Retreat.
All of us eager to teach and learn. From many walks of life, of many colors and hues, ages and genders, willing to share our knowledge and experience for the betterment of each other. And ultimately, humanity.
Where the most common greeting was, “What do YOU write?”
Here are some of the people I learned from:
Two young performance artists who opened their hearts, and in sharing their pain and joy sought to heal us all. They comforted us. They nurtured us. They inspired us.
More teachers than I can count, including one who courageously works in a district where more than 100 languages are spoken, and where some in the Iowa legislature and Congress work steadfastly to make her work more difficult.
A young arts reporter who is a work of art.
I sat on a panel with a man who started writing for newspapers before I was born and generations of Iowans have read and loved his work. Sitting next to him, listening to him speak, I wondered if my elbow brushed his, I might be able to gain some of his skills, wisdom, and kindness through osmosis.
A “retired” academic who poked the bear of the academy and the legislature one too many times for their liking, who now is a bigger thorn in their side than he ever was.
An explorer who shares his observations sailing in the Arctic, serving as a canary in a coal mine, coaxing humanity to wake up to the destruction we are causing as the ice melts before his eyes.
A novelist who looks and acts like a character who stepped out of one of her wonderful novels.
A woman who spoke of the geological, natural, and cultural history of Lake Okoboji in such a compelling way I left her presentation aching for more. As she spoke, a panorama of history passing filled my mind.
A reporter whose work writing about the outdoors in Iowa is unsurpassed. He came bearing gifts, reaching into his backpack to pass out copies of Aldo Leopold’s “A Sand County Almanac.” One time I stood beside him, slightly out of his view, and watched him. His eyes darted first to the sky, then the water, and then to the vegetation around us. Again and again. Eventually, his thoughts coalesced, and he pulled a notebook from his pocket, found a kayak to sit on, and started taking notes. He shared those writings yesterday, and I so value that I was able to watch part of his writing process and very much treasure the result.
A young man who when I hear his voice on the radio I know he will have a good story for us. In a near-miraculous way, it seems that he and I always know what the other is thinking, and there is often a mischievous element to it, so at times we find ourselves to be the troublemaking, naughty boys at the back of the classroom.
A political organizer friend along with a reporter I didn’t know but now seems like I have known forever sat under the night skies at a rooftop bar drinking beer, and my heart soared when they pulled out their phones and read beautiful poetry they had written while I could only offer a very short poem when they finished, which was ”thank you.”
A former newspaperman who laid out story structure so perfectly I learned how much I have forgotten, and now regained, thanks to him. How kindly he commented on the products of the assignments he gave us.
A woman who asked a panel for help with the subject line of an email pitch to a major network television show, and after pondering for a moment I recognized that I had no clue what a good subject line would be. I almost gasped when a veteran newswoman came up with the most perfect email subject line ever written. The suggestion was so brilliant, fighter jets should have flown over in tribute, a marching band should have played, and in memory of the most perfect subject line for an email ever uttered, a monument should be built at that spot.
An editor who has built one of the best and most successful news organizations in Iowa from scratch in just a few years.
A wonderful essayist who afflicted the comfortable and comforted the afflicted for a great many years told me she was “let go” when the corporate overlords of the organization she worked for, who likely never have ever set foot in Iowa, decided she was “making too much money.”
A small press book publisher who has done more for Iowa authors than any other press.
Several reporters who write brilliant commentary. One is a Pulitzer Prize winner. The others are his peers.
An agent who will hold our hand and guide us to the right book publisher.
A one-man-band newspaperman.
A television producer and videographer who taught me to always look at the barber’s shoes, and how to tell a story so compelling that it will bring a former soldier to tears.
A friend who wept on the floor of his home when his newspaper hit a financial crisis, only to rise again and start an effort that helped save other newspapers. He still continues to present some of the best stories ever written in Iowa.
Two women farmers whose advocacy for Iowans and rural life transcends generations. Thank God they are here for us.
I watched one young man exercise at dawn on the shore of the lake, and when he finished he rolled up his mat and walked toward me.
“You make me feel guilty,” I said. “Why?” he asked. “Because I should do that and all I do is go on my old man walk.”
“That’s OK,” he said. “Someday I’ll go on my old man walk too.”
A woman whose deep research skills, political analysis, and commentary are so powerful that some members of the majority party in the legislature fear they will turn to jelly should they catch her eye.
Another woman with similar strengths who is a watchdog for us all.
A woman who ran for office and lost but never quits fighting. Another woman who ran for office and lost but never quits fighting.
A man who stands seemingly alone at the threshold of democracy between the free press and Iowa political leaders who would deny the public the right to know.
A former pro wrestler who wants to tell the immigration story of his family, and highlight the unseen and unheard stories of his neighbors.
A woman who makes her community better one word, one sentence, one paragraph, and one article at a time.
A woman who met tragedy and wrote a book about it to heal and inspire us all.
Another woman who met tragedy and is writing through her grief to give us hope.
A woman whose writing takes me into wonderful worlds I have no access to and who counsels me when I write about sensitive matters because I prefer not to be a dumbass.
A young man who communicates differently from most of us, and while I didn’t understand him when I sat down next to him to chat, I believe he understood me when I told him of my appreciation for his work.
An electrician with stories to tell.
A young woman who bravely writes about her rare medical condition that could kill her at any moment so she can help others through their own medical and life journeys. She oozes courage.
Two young newspaper women who transcend print through their incredible work filming documentaries and storytelling projects.
A woman who has too many achievements to count over her career; among my favorites are plays about two women who are among the greatest American humorists of all time, whose work influences my own writing.
A woman who teaches about diversity, equity, and inclusion in a climate where white nationalists punish her and those who think like her because they fear and want to repress the truths of history and know their grip on power is tenuous.
A Pushcart Prize winner who sits humbly on his long list of accomplishments, teaching, teaching, teaching…
A former broadcaster and storyteller who worked for the UN in Africa with incredible stories to tell.
A woman of great accomplishments in radio and print, who lost her voice during the height of COVID, who announced that she had found her voice again among us during the retreat.
A woman whose many years of excellent radio reporting on agriculture, food and more has a new focus--writing inspirational stories from her farm.
A woman whose mother and maybe tens of thousands just like her are trapped in a legal quagmire related to their personal and economic freedom shared her story with me. I thought perhaps I could help, but wasn’t sure I had the time and expertise. I was relieved when I saw an excellent reporter talking with her and taking notes.
A young reporter commented after I helped her and a few others with a small thing on the computer that I seemed to “pay it forward a lot.” Not knowing what to say, I mumbled something dumb but should have said everyone at the retreat, including her, was doing it too. It’s our nature to teach.
A political reporter who stands above us all with astute observations about politics, peppered with delightful commentary about life, food, and athletic shoes, of all things.
A fifteen-year-old girl who could do a better job than any member of the legislative majority in Iowa. Because of her, I’m hopeful for the future. I feel her raw power as I stand beside her and hear her voice.
A man who teaches the power of brevity. I aspire to it someday…
And as I come to a close, a toast to Richard, your BFF, who is essential to it all; bringing wisdom, wit, and guidance with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Thank you, Richard.
And Julie, as the retreat drew to a close, you might remember you reached out to hold my hand as I told you thank you, and that during the retreat you had changed a great many lives in so many ways and that it would ripple forward through generations. You told me no, that we had all done it together.
Maybe technically true, but you are our guiding light. Our north star and we will forever be in your orbit, joyful.
Love,
Bob
I’m honored to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Please check out the work of my friends and colleagues below. It’s free, but if you can afford to have a paid subscription, please consider it. It’s inspirational and helps us poor scribblers pay the bills. Thanks!
Iowa Writers’ Collaborative Columnists:
Oh Bob, once again you have brought tears to my eyes as I remember the retreat through your eyes. I am blown away by the community of people we lived with for three days and their commitment to create a better world. Thank you for helping me raise my memories with your words. How fortunate we are.
Wonderful writing, Bob. Makes me want to reserve for next year right now. Thank you.