Tales of a Lost Wanderer in Nebraska

It's not that I expected cows to be grazing outside the basketball arena, or that I envisioned the University of Nebraska to be several buildings in the middle of an endless cornfield. But I did think it would be different from Boston and Harvard. I just didn't know how.

Actually, the number of farm animals I saw in Nebraska this past weekend was identical to the number of people I saw wearing overalls--zero. However, I wish I could have stuffed all the differences into my suitcase and brought them back to the Hub.

The Friendly Skies

When my plane left Logan Airport last Friday, I began my journey to a state about which I knew very little. I did know Lincoln was the capital, Omaha was the largest city, Mike Rozier had won the Heisman Trophy a few years ago and the former governor used to date actress Debra Winger.

When I landed in Omaha, I was greeted by a warmness foreign to Logan Airport. The stereotype of Midwestern friendliness seemed so appropriate when compared with Boston's chilly, look-at-your-feet-when-you-walk-attitude. Passers-by smiled and said, "Hello."

The drive from Omaha to Lincoln was about one hour long, and I continued to be amazed by certain features of Nebraska. The terrain was absolutely flat and the horizon extended forever. Drivers were courteous. One time, I found myself in the wrong lane at a traffic light. I touched my horn to see if I could move over a lane, and instead of inching up to cut off my angle, the fellow smiled and waved me in. Sumner Tunnel, how you doing?

Speaking of which, whenever I met a native Nebraskan and asked how he or she was, I always received a (gasp) real answer. Not the typical automatic Harvard Square answer, "Okay, how you doing?" I'm not saying the Bostonian way bothers me; it's just that I was so conditioned to the response, the sincerity shocked me.

Easy Ed

On Friday night, my friend from Lincoln bragged about how everyone left their care and houses unlocked. Fifteen minutes later, I opened my suitcase and discovered that my camera was missing. So much for security--that's the Bostonian mentality. Once something's missing, you can bet it's stolen.

After giving up hope, I opened the other pocket of my suitcase to get a shirt and discovered my camera, misplaced between my clothes.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" suddenly became "Andy, I know we're not in Boston anymore."

But my main reason for traveling to Cornhusker land was to cover the Ameritas Classic, the annual men's basketball tournament held at the University of Nebraska. There were differences here, too. The main difference was just how taller the Cornhuskers were compared to the Harvard team. However, that wasn't the only difference.

Big Time

Cornhusker faithful, Nebraska students and alumni have a reverence for athletes that does not exist at Harvard. Each day, the local newspaper chronicles the professional exploits of former Huskers like Turner Gill (CFL) and the Patriots' Irving Fryar. Students even stare in awe when current players walk into a restaurant or store.

At the the University of Nebraska, Proposition 48 is just not an issue students talk over dinner. Rather, Prop 48 is real, as several athletes have been forced to sit out their first year.

But for all the differences, some things never change. Basketball is played with one ball and two baskets. Parties are still crowded as people bottleneck near the keg. Champion sweatshirts still cost Gucci prices. Bars still have Budweiser on tap.

However, there's still one big difference between Nebraska and Harvard. Walk into any bar in Lincoln, plop 60 cents on the table and soon you'll be sipping a glass of Bud draft. That's right, for the price of one beer at the Boathouse, you can get a pitcher of beer in Lincoln. Sports bar, how you doing? Don't even bother to tell me.

Home, Sweet Home

Sunday, I returned to Boston: streets were narrower, people walked faster and cars inched their way to cut off angles. I stepped into a bar and asked the bartender how he was and if if he could get me a Bud.

"Okay. How you doing? $2.50." I love this town.

Editor's Note--The author would still rather be in Baltimore, his home town.