Fort Wayne Dispatch: Midwest Trumps the Mideast

The Glenn Beck show brought me to Indiana, an adventure which airs tonight and tomorrow.
Fort Wayne has the only airport where I was handed a cookie after debarking. There were no strings attached to the cookie. It was just a free cookie given to me by a nice old lady who didn’t try and lecture me about Jesus or ask for donations. I wish more airports would give me cookies, even if I wind up not eating them because I don’t know the nice old lady.
Fort Wayne is not listed in the National Registry of Big Places because it is not big. I think I could have met everyone if I had a few more days and a moped.
You can walk around Fort Wayne’s downtown in about eight minutes. A little longer if you stop to take in the statue.
Fort Wayne was once called Miami Town after the Miami Indians who were inexplicably up in Indiana instead of down in Miami.
If you’re into Macedonia, there’s a Macedonian Museum. Why? I don’t know. But Macedonians probably have a rich and vibrant culture, yadda yadda, so go and check it out the next time you’re drugged at a truck stop in Waco and wake up in Fort Wayne.
Fort Wayne is the birthplace of Shelly Long, who should never have left Cheers.
Johnny Appleseed rose to fame by hurling fruit at people, so it’s fitting that he’s possibly buried under a golf course.
People in Fort Wayne speak much better than the average New Yorker. And they lack silly accents. If I had my druthers I’d send my son to schools in Fort Wayne, but then I’d have to live here and I don’t know how to harvest.
I don’t know why, but Fort Wayne has the second largest genealogy museum in the world. The largest is in Utah, which has creepy alcohol laws. So, if you want to know more about your grandpa but you love beer, use this one.
Everyone seems very nice in Fort Wayne. They say “excuse me” when appropriate and hold doors and everything. Probably because they’re all well-rested since last call was at 10:45.
My shuttle driver said the Mexicans at the paint store should learn some English because “it’s really annoying.”
The nice taxi driver wanted to know if we’d be building anything at Ground Zero anytime soon. I told him it was a done deal as soon as the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation, Governor Pataki, Mayor Bloomberg, the architects, 9/11 families, firemen, policemen and my asthmatic friend Pete all reach an agreement.
Taxis do not smell of urine here, and there is no partition where you’d like your legs to go, which is great. Taxi drivers communicate in very understandable English rather than grunts, which is also great. Then they charge you $24 plus a $2 “gas surcharge” for the eight minute ride from the airport, which is not so great – but is mitigated by the euphoria you feel having received a free cookie at the airport.
Life in the Midwest is far more relaxed and comfortable than in New York. The trade-off is fewer restaurants and a greater risk of silo fires.