In a world where Mega Corp pays to get positive reviews, don’t expect that blather around the campfire where we tell it like it is, for good or for bad. | 
The origin of this book is as improbable as it is absurd.
In December 2014 Rudi was trying to get back in the groove of civilian life after returning from a nine month tour overseas in Kuwait while Bob was on the mend from a procedure to get his heart to beat right.
But for one night everything was right, perfect in fact. Big Cypress National Preserve was celebrating its fortieth birthday at the Collier County Museum. As the festivities wound down, Bob found himself entering the ember glow and crackle of the campfire to take a brief respite when a lumbering Rudi stepped forth from the shadows.
“Can you help a fellow American down on his luck?” Rudi asked with a slightly brooding look on his face. The flicker, aroma and sound of the campfire also made him simultaneously relax as he approached.
South Florida’s winter tourist season was just about to begin. Three weeks and it would be in full swing. The kickoff for Rudi was January 9th. That’s when he was scheduled to give an evening talk around a campfire at a remote campground ― halfway the distance between Miami and Naples ― in the epicenter of the swamp preserve.
“I love the idea behind the campfire program,” Rudi lamented as he settled in around the orb of light and reached for a slider sandwich that Bob offered from his paper plate. “The problem is, nowadays, the actual campfire … munch munch … is almost an afterthought. It’s the giant outdoor screen that gets all the audience’s attention. I just sit in back … munch munch … and let the Power Point do all the work … munch munch.”
“A POWER POINT at a campfire? Apocryphal!” Bob stammered in disbelief. He flicked a pebble toward the pulsing embers. “—That doesn’t seem right.”
Rudi conceded as much as he gestured toward the campfire with a second slider sandwich he’d grabbed from the plate.
“The campfire should be ‘center stage.’ It’s how Yellowstone … munch munch … the entire National Park system … and human civilization for that matter … got its start.”
Rudi looked at the lone remaining slider. “—Are you gonna eat that?” he asked looking up.
“No, take it. It’s all yours.”
“Thanks man,” Rudi said in a brightening tone. “These sandwiches … munch munch … are really delicious. What are they?’’
“Pulled pork.”
“Oh yeah … munch munch … so, like I was sayin’ about the campfire …”
. . .
Fast forward a week later to the edge of town where Bob greeted Rudi with a proposition he couldn’t turn down. “What do you say you forget about the Power Point?” Bob suggested. “We’ll partner up to do a campfire talk ‘on the campfire,’ just you, me … and my guitar.”
“So … are you going to send me an email?”
“NO! I’m not gonna send any EMAIL … for crying out loud!” Bob gasped. “― A presentation like this, you gotta work on in-person. It’s a theatrical production.”
“You mean like Vaudeville?”
“NO! Not Vaudeville. I’m talking Off-Broadway. You gotta carefully choreograph everything in real space. It’s more than just a script.”
Rudi nodded his head as the concept slowly soaked in. A moment or two later he broke out of his reverie with an affirmative yes.
In fact, he called it a “capital idea.”
