The Day I Stopped A Wildfire
It was around this time fifty years ago. I was at Starved Rock State Park, along the sandstone bluffs above the Illinois River, with a friend of mine, Victor Sargent, who worked as a photographer for the local newspaper. We were scouting locations for a Super 8mm movie I was determined to make before leaving for the Air Force. Back then, I still believed in that version of myself—the one who might have gone on to become a filmmaker. The one who saw stories everywhere and thought all he needed was a camera and a little time. We were on our way home, crossing over the river, when I saw it. A glow deep in the woods downstream. Even from a distance, you could tell it wasn’t small. My friend saw it too. Without saying much, he pressed the accelerator, and we pushed through Utica, cutting across back roads toward Route 6, trying to get closer. I don’t remember how we decided where to go. We guessed. Or maybe we just trusted that instinct you ha...
