An American Abroad, Part Zwei

I hadn’t been in Heilbronn a day when Mutti decided I had a fever and needed to “sweet” it out. “You sweet it out, Petey.”

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Part 3: When Do We Find Out If We Passed?

The final station, the last stop in the daylong draft physical, was the medical captain’s office. I want to say I was still in my underwear, but I can’t be sure. The memory is blurry. Surely, I think now, 41 years later, they would have allowed a potential recruit the dignity of his shirt and pants.

Part Two: A Rude Shock in Boise

The bus taking me to my draft physical in Boise rewound the last 150 miles of the route I had just driven from Berkeley. From Hailey, Idaho, where my P.O. box was, the old Greyhound rolled down the Big Wood River out of the mountains, through Shoshone and west along the Snake River to Boise. It was one more weird aspect, but not nearly the last, of my temporary “residence” in Idaho.

A Tale of Two Draft Boards

Last time I wrote about Sun Valley and its place in American ski history. But I didn’t tell the story in which Sun Valley saved my life. (Or at the very least prevented my children from being born Canadian.)

What Would Leonardo Think?

When the helicopter comes in to pick you up, it’s like a tornado arriving from across the snow. Or a mega-mutant, angry bee.