Bathed in the harvest-gold floodlights of Spring Grove, Minnesota’s century-old opera house, Pop Wagner looks more like an American cowboy of the 19th century than the subject of the Remington painting that adorns his set. A few minutes before showtime, he makes one last inspection. Gazing out across the sparsely appointed, tin-ceilinged auditorium, he tests...
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Still Riding the Rails
The only interruption in 32 hours of driving was a five-hour respite in a no-star motel somewhere in western Nebraska. Physically exhausted and emotionally inebriated by the nearness of the destination, I marveled at the sight of a Union Pacific freight train, eastbound, in the evening’s final thrust of amber sunlight. It steadily snaked its...