The 30th anniversary of the annual Adams Morgan Day Festival took on a global and political tone. With the mix of Asian food, South American jewelry and local artwork, even the extreme heat and humidity did not deter the masses from coming out and enjoying Sunday’s festival.

Did you know that just over 50 years ago, Georgetown was a melting pot, a place that large numbers of both African-American and white families called home? And that the U Street Corridor was once a thriving middle-class African-American community? When you walk through Columbia Heights, do its superstores and high-rise apartments mask the fact that until less than a decade ago, it was in ruins?

A giant indigenous shield hangs behind his desk. He identifies it as a “God’s eye,” something that brave Hopi tribe warriors carried into battle to ward off attacks. He hopes it will serve a similar purpose in his office.

The best four years of your life. That’s how the cliché goes, right? Four years to meet new people, navigate the dining hall, join clubs, party three nights a week and maybe even fit in a little studying and class time.

Jon Gann was fed up. He was a filmmaker, and he had seen the death of his craft: the modern film festival. “I traveled the world attending film festivals, and most of them are about parties and money,” he said and then paused, reconsidering. “Make that money and parties, actually. Either way, they’re not about films, and they’re definitely not about the filmmakers.”

Call it a quirk in the schedule. Call it bad luck. Call it whatever you want, Friday will still sting for some die-hard Georgetown fans.

The alarm rings. It’s 5:30 a.m. You get up, brush your teeth and reach for your uniform, clean-pressed and weighted with badges and a name plate. You lace up your boots and head outside into the daybreak, heading to an hour and a half of physical training. This is your morning three days a week, now that you’re in the ROTC.

In South Dakota, Herseths have been holding office for years.

Ralph Herseth was the state’s 21st governor from 1959 to 1961; his wife, Lorna, was the Mount Rushmore State’s Secretary of State in the 1970s; and Lars Herseth, their son, served in the state legislature from the mid-1970s through 1996.