Things are different now than they were when I was a road deputy. You used to be able to call people and say, “I have this warrant on you. Where do you want me to pick you up?”
“As all of us change, this place stays the same. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to get in here. And one of the first times I bartended, my grandfather was sitting at the end of the bar watching everything I did. Which was intimidating. I just wish he could see me back there now.”
When Brainard first raised the idea of building a performing-arts center, the intent was to fill an immediate need: to give homeless arts organizations such as the Carmel Symphony Orchestra a place to play. It was a nice thought—quaint, really, considering what the city has now.
SO THERE’S THIS PICTURE. It’s of the 1954 Milan Indians, and it’s not the reserved, rigorously posed one everyone remembers. Someone—nobody knows who—took this other photograph right after the team had shocked the state, got it inside their Hinkle Fieldhouse locker room, where the players and coaches are tightly woven together, all arms and legs, wearing a set of expressions that show just how many different ways a human being can express joy.