Return to Duluth

The sequel can never meet the standard set by the original.

Nonetheless, for those friends, colleagues and Minnesotans who want to know, I offer "Slimeball II--The Return to Duluth."

This piece is, I swear it now, the last on the subject and as I tap it out on the keyboard, please know that I relate the following story not to perpetuate my own absurd tale but rather to wrap up the proceedings for the curious.

In March, 1985, I went to Duluth to cover the men's hockey team's quarterfinal series with the University of Minnesota. One of my preview pieces was a column about the Bulldog mania then infesting Duluth. Some of the comments about Duluth were harsh.

Circumstances and editors beyond my control gave the Duluth paper permission to reprint the piece. Overnight I became the hottest topic in Duluth.

Banner Time

I was attacked in print, on the radio and on television. At the hockey games, I was derided on the electronic scoreboard, the subject of abusive chants by the 6000 fans present and the object of a banner reading, "Nick Wurf is uncouth."

While I was in Duluth, I got a speeding ticket. When that fact was later unearthed, the same paper ran a story all the way across the top of the front page, "Harvard Writer Contributes to Duluth Economy."

The Bulldogs beat the Crimson, I was out $35, and it seemed like Duluth had the last laugh. Or last laughs. There are nearly 100,000 of them and one of me.

Early this past week, my favorite newspaper called me up and asked me to reflect on my trip to the Northland. With some trepidation, I talked about my "growth" since then and told my side of the story.

They gave the resulting column big play and let the city know I was coming back for more.

And so I went.

When I arrived in town late Friday afternoon, it was a clear but chilly three. I kept my head down all afternoon and headed for the rink.

Five banners. Big ones. They hadn't forgotten. They'll never forget.

One of the banners, at least 35 feet long and in three colors, complete with spray-painted candy canes was touching. "Nick Wurf, you now seem couth, Merry Christmas from Duluth."

The rest ranged from defiant to vaguely insulting.

The folks in the press box were all nice. They wanted to tell me that the natives were just having fun--no hard feelings.

I was invited to be the intermission guest on the telecast of the second game, and the interviewer was vaguely apologetic and conciliatory.

Only after I got home did someone explain why they were all so concerned about me. He guessed that they thought that I had been severely traumatized by my weekend of infamy and were trying to reassure me.

Truth is I thought the whole thing was a little surreal but basically very funny all along. Maybe this goes to prove I have a big, insensitive Eastern ego, but I don't think so. Fact is there was a ruckus, but it was all so ridiculous that it was hard to take it seriously.

That doesn't devalue their concern for me. It was genuine and heartfelt but a little confusing at the same time.

I was also taken on a cultural tour of the town by the entertainment editor of the paper. He took me everywhere from a blue-collar West Duluth bar and the casino-style bingo parlor to the mansion on the east side and the university art museum.

I muttered sufficiently effusive remarks after seeing each of the sights. Some were really interesting.

I met the girl who wrote me and told me that I was totally wrong about Duluth. She's in seventh grade, has been playing the violin since she was a toddler and was skipping the Saturday night hockey game to go to a dance. Maybe her first one.

We both ordered beef and brew sandwiches.

I think they did another big story Sunday on my expedition. I haven't seen it.

Star for a Day

More than anything, though, I had the sense that I was playing out the last scene in a play that had opened, received bad reviews and was closing after an abbreviated run.

The curtain's coming down, I may never see the spotlight again. The only way to get people's attention again was to start saying how much contempt I still had for Duluth. To start flaying, to try to get people to pay attention to me.

I don't have any contempt for Duluth left. I know a great deal more about the city now, but I still don't totally understand how I became such a symbol.

Why me? Was I such a jerk?

The answer from the Northland is, "Yes, but don't take it personally--you didn't know any better."

So there I stood on a cold Duluth street Saturday trying to set things straight before the end.

Bang. The curtain's down. You're no longer a star. At least you have a bow to take.

No one's applauding, and the curtain stays down. It's cold and dark backstage.

So what happened when you went back, Nick?

Leave me alone--it's all over now.

Like the star of the bad play, I want to be remembered for something else.