The Man Who Would be the Real Indiana Jones

HYDE PARK, Chicago
Mid-February, 1994, 11:55 PM

EDWARDO'S PIZZA, near The University of Chicago and The Oriental Institute

Ever notice how every particular place in the world has its own particular smell and taste, its own particular feel just lingering in the air that hits you from the moment you wake up in the morning? And ever notice how every season changes the taste in the air? Like, for example, winter is different everywhere you go. And sometimes, just sometimes, the feel of a particular day and time and place lingers in your memory longer than most of the others. But I'll tell you, one place you definitely do not want to be is Chicago in the middle of one of the coldest winters on record, not now or ever.

I know from personal experience, and it's one I'm not likely ever to forget. -75F with wind chill today. Know what it's like to have your nostrils freeze on the inside? Or have the sweat on your forehead turn into a thin and crusty ice formation? I do. My name is Spenser Nathaniel Bogan, and I came here to Chicago for one very particular reason, despite the miserably cold winters, despite the very real possibility of losing a toe to frostbite. I came in search of the real Indiana Jones. To find the real thing here, and to learn from him. And maybe even find something of Indiana Jones inside myself. Maybe I could even be the real Indiana Jones, someday... I have to admit, that’s my secret dream, my secret hope, the kind of dumb childhood hope you keep from the rest of the world, even though it matters more than anything else to you. Maybe it is just a fantasy, thinking I could be the next Indiana Jones, I don't know yet. But so what if it is?

Right now, I'm doing lunch, though, at one of the best pizza places in the world. Edwardo's, a tiny, upscale Mickey D-looking place sandwiched between a kinko's and a convenience food market. Edwardo's has got windows overlooking one of the main streets in the Hyde Park neighborhood. A lot of pedestrians come and go, mostly students like me at The University of Chicago. Yes, that's right. The University of Chicago-never heard of it? Well, it’s where our old friend Indy and his dear old dad were supposed to teach when they weren't off pilfering historical treasures from third world countries. Possibly for the collection at The Oriental Institute, which is just down the road a little on South University and 58th Street. I'll never get over walking in there for the first time and bam-there's a fifty-foot Rameses II of Egypt glaring at me from the entryway. Cool, huh?

Anyway, the guy sitting opposite me in the plastic booth and wearing his faded charcoal jeans and a black turtleneck is Brian Anderson, my best friend. No, he's not a philosophy or psychology major, though you could easily assume he was, judging from his wispy little black goatee and slick Bohemian hairstyle. Oh, and take a look at the ubiquitous cigarette draped ever so casually from his fingers. He'll keep it there until it burns to the nib, his carefully cultivated posture and appearance screaming beatnik! to all the world. You'd never guess that Brian was a conservative pre-med until I corrupted him a year or so ago, when we were roomed together in Stony Island, a nearby dormitory. Now, Brian's an archaeology/Near Eastern studies major, and on the same quest as I: to find the real Indiana Jones. And if he can't be found, if there's no one here at Indy's school already who fits the bill? Which one of us will become the next Indiana Jones?