The Extraordinary Journey of Harry Forth

By Bruce K. Byers

In January 1950 young Harry Forth, his brother, and his father experience a sudden blizzard on a mesa outside Albuquerque, New Mexico that leaves a deep impression that will affect him for decades to comethe fear of being left behind, the danger of the blinding snowstorm, and the providence of their surprising rescue. In 1960 Harry, now a junior in high school struggles to fit in. He is attracted to several girls but too shy to ask them out. Instead, he concentrates on responsibilities at home, in school, at his church, and at after-school jobs while he really longs for greater independence. He reaches a turning point when his French teacher persuades him to apply for a summer student exchange program that might enable him to travel to France. Still struggling to improve his academic performance, he applies and builds his hopes on acceptance. Eventually a host family in Germany rather than France welcomes him. Harry buys a transcontinental bus ticket to Montreal and sets out on a great adventure. He boards a ship with hundreds of other young Americans headed to host families in Europe. During his odyssey across the United States he talks with several interesting strangers. In discussions with them and with students onboard the ship he realizes he is on a much grander journey to see a more interesting world than he had ever imagined. Along the way he becomes more aware and sure of his feelings towards strangers and some of the young women he encounters in school and during his voyage to Europe. He anticipates that the summer will be a turning point in his life. This fictionalized autobiography tells the story of a young man setting out to meet challenges and opportunities that the world offers him in a way that will change him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496950529

Bruce K. Byers

Bruce K. Byers was born in Texas and has traveled and lived in many different locales around the world. His experiences with the American Field Service summer program in 1960 changed his life and helped him pursue a lifelong career in international affairs. He currently lives in Virginia.

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© 2014, 2015 Bruce K. Byers. All rights reserved.

Front cover photo of M/S Seven Seas at port in Montreal, Canada. All photo images in this book were made by the author and he retains all rights to their use and reproduction.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/26/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5053-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5052-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920031

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Part I The Student

Chapter 1 Caught in a Blizzard

Chapter 2 Lydia Daré Simon

Chapter 3 Car Fever

Chapter 4 The French Essay

Chapter 5 Miss Gibson

Chapter 6 Mr. Williams

Chapter 7 Ackerman

Chapter 8 Le Bricoleur

Chapter 9 Girls and Movies

Chapter 10 Acceptance

Part II The Journeyman

Chapter 11 Airman Jones

Chapter 12 More Powerful Forces

Chapter 13 Breakdown

Chapter 14 Father Osterman

Chapter 15 Montreal

Chapter 16 Aboard the Seven Seas

Chapter 17 At Sea

Chapter 18 The Topic is Segregation

Chapter 19 Light-Hearted Stuff

Chapter 20 On Europe’s Shore

Chapter 21 The Long Train Journey

INTRODUCTION

To the west of Albuquerque, New Mexico, in lava fields that rise hundreds of feet above the mesa, there are engravings and etchings on the surfaces of volcanic rocks that depict astronomical symbols – Sun, Moon, stars – and different animals and plants familiar to the people who once lived along the Rio Grande. The story I offer here is like those man-made figures with the difference that I have made my engravings in words that you can read. The etchings on the stones are symbols that have no literate glossary to help us decipher them or know who made them.

The story of Harry Forth’s journey reflects my own experiences long past. In telling a story of youth and adventure and the influence that different people exerted on a young man, I have tried to overcome the barrier of age and the weaknesses of memory. I have the perspective of time on my side and, thus, I am able to offer interpretations of events in Harry’s life that might have been impossible at a younger age.

Part I describes Harry’s student years in Albuquerque and some of the people he knew. The story reveals some of the limits and frustrations of his suburban life and portrays his desire to become a more experienced person. I explore his religious experiences and how they influenced what he did at school and in his community. Scouting played a big role in his teenage years and I depict some of his experiences in outdoor activities in the mountains and deserts of New Mexico.

In high school, with the encouragement of one of his teachers, Harry came to participate in more activities as time passed. He gained greater confidence and followed his teacher’s advice and applied for the American Field Service summer student exchange program. He became anxious and hopeful while waiting to hear if he would be accepted. Once accepted, he faced new challenges and his life accelerated as he prepared to leave his family and travel far way.

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Part II is about Harry’s journey across the United States and the Atlantic Ocean to Europe. His story is my story. I recorded in a journal my observations and what I remembered of my conversations during the bus trip and aboard the ship on the Atlantic crossing. I wrote about the long train ride across Germany to my final destination. I spent nearly four days on several Greyhound buses traveling non-stop from Albuquerque to Montreal, Canada. I met and talked to several interesting people on the cross-country trip. Then, I embarked with hundreds of other young Americans on a ship bound for Holland

Harry is my alter ego and I have relied upon my journal notes, letters, postcards, and my photographs to tell his story. It ends with his arrival in Göttingen, Germany and his first meeting the host family.

My journey of discovery took place in the wake of the Soviet Union’s unprecedented launch of its Sputnik I satellite in October 1957. That event began to reshape my generation’s outlook on the world in ways we could not have foreseen. Most of us on the trans-Atlantic voyage wanted to learn about other people and different cultures than those we knew at home. I knew most of the people I depict in the novel. Some I met passingly; others I came to know more closely. I am still in touch with a few of them. Some have passed away. Others became prominent in their professions. Most of us who traveled to Europe on the ship went on to have families and successful careers.

Several women exerted a deep influence upon me. My mother was foremost among them although as a young man I paid less attention to her than I do now that she has left us. I value what she taught me so much more today. My French language teacher and guidance counselor in high school played a major role in changing my attitude towards education and towards women. I had no sisters and relied upon some of the young women in school who shared with me their perceptions of our teenage world. I was socially insecure and isolated and they helped me become more confident and outgoing.

During the ocean voyage to Europe I met several young women who were better educated and more informed than I was. They also exerted their influence upon my attitudes towards life and events in the world in which we were traveling together. I have written about them because they helped me to see relationships from a more constructive perspective. They were very helpful to me as I was trying to define myself in the turbulence of adolescence.

My contemporaries and I have seen most of the culture of our youth disappear. We came from a generation born during World War Two, before the Baby Boomers. We grew up in the most prosperous and perilous of times – the Cold War with the threat of nuclear destruction. We were the beneficiaries of our grandparents’ and parents’ experiences and sacrifices. They lived through the Great Depression and many of them fought in and survived World War II.

Those of us who participated in the summer student exchange program in 1960 were exceptional; most teenagers did not undertake trans-Atlantic travel at the time. We were optimistic, hopeful, naïve, and exuberant – qualities that helped define our generation. We welcomed the challenges that President Kennedy gave us. Many of the young men among us had not yet been drafted and sent to Vietnam and other dangerous places to defend American ideals and policies. The young women among us were just beginning to rebel against the cultural and sexual strictures imposed by the seemingly buttoned-down generation of our parents. Most of us were intellectually and emotionally curious and willing to explore a broader international environment and new relationships. In that summer of 1960 we were full of fun and adventure. There was not a little sexual tension among our group on the ship. Yet, in the era before synthetic contraceptives, most of us were still reserved and chaste.

Soon after my summer adventure, I moved to Europe and began my university studies there. After a decade as a student of history and languages, I was fortunate to be accepted into the U.S. Foreign Service. I kept on moving around the world with my wife and children just as my parents had with my brothers and me during our father’s Air Force career. After thirty years in diplomatic service I retired and began to write about my life abroad.

A few years ago I had a surprising long-distance encounter with my high school French language teacher. I called her and left a message. She returned my call a few days later. We were linked again after fifty-two years. We had a long, intense conversation. We exchanged emails. A few months later I flew to Albuquerque with my wife to participate in an award ceremony honoring her for her years of service in education. When I met her again and introduced my wife to her it was as though time had stopped and I was once more in her classroom learning French. Though over 80, she had hardly changed. She is still a statuesque beauty. Her voice is as I remembered it. Our meeting was a magnetic moment for me. I have been very fortunate to be able to tell her how much she has helped me.

A short time after returning home from Albuquerque I began to write this novel. It is my effort to honor my parents and my high school language teacher and their confidence in me. They knew that I could become a better student. When we are young we may encounter a few people who exert a profound influence on us. We may only realize the significance of such an encounter years later. I owe my parents and my teacher much for what I was able to achieve in my life. For this and other reasons I offer the story that follows as an encouragement especially to young readers.

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PART I

THE STUDENT

Chapter 1

CAUGHT IN A BLIZZARD

At four in the morning Harry Forth woke from a long and terrifying dream. He had to get up and pee. Sometimes the urge hit him more than once in the night. This was routine at his age. He used a small flashlight to find his way to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet seat, and placed the flashlight on the portable shower bench beneath the toilet paper roll.

He wondered why after so many years he kept having the same dream in different variations. There were scenes lodged somewhere in the recesses of his sub-consciousness that were all related to an event in his childhood. He could see himself each time as a boy struggling through the snow behind his father. In the dream he was terrified of being left behind as his father carried his younger brother and marched resolutely onward. He had to keep up. He had to maintain his grip on his father’s hand. He dare not stumble. He wanted to get back to his mother. He wanted to return to the car that he and his father and his brother had abandoned. But most of all he had to keep moving through the snow or be lost.

The memory of the snow storm on the mesa had been embedded in Harry’s mind for decades. It was one of those events that shaped his perception of reality and influenced how he lived. The snow storm had come out of nowhere just a few weeks before his seventh birthday shortly after his family had arrived in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Harry could still remember parts of the long road trip from Mississippi when his father had been transferred to Kirtland Air Force Base in January, 1950. He had frequently dreamt of the stay at a motel in El Paso. It was winter and the air outside had been much colder than when he had lived in Gulfport. There had been a pony ride across the street and he had wanted very much to ride one of them. His mother had taken him and his younger brother Roger there on the morning before the family had departed for the long drive north to Albuquerque.

He had been too eager. While his mother was paying the man for the ride, he had rushed for one of the ponies. The animal had cocked one of its hind legs and kicked him in the chest sending him flying backwards on the ground. He had been knocked breathless. The man had rushed over to help him up and his mother had been shocked at the sudden turn of events. He had gasped for air for a few minutes. His mother was about to take him back to the motel when he spoke up and said he wanted to ride the pony.

The man explained that it was dangerous to approach an animal from behind. He said that ponies were like horses and other animals – afraid of being attacked. Their natural reaction was to kick out at anything they thought might be trying to jump them. He took Harry around the pony and let him touch its muzzle. He handed Harry a carrot and asked him to give it to the pony that had kicked him. Harry took the carrot firmly in his left hand and carefully extended it towards the animal’s muzzle. The pony quickly grabbed it and crunched it into his mouth. The man showed Harry that it was a docile, cooperative animal. He lifted him into the saddle and held the pony steady. It remained calm and the man led Harry around a wide circle and he felt so proud. It was his first pony ride.

One gloomy Saturday afternoon shortly after the family arrived in Albuquerque and took a suite at a motel on Route 66, Edward Forth took his two older sons for a drive. He wanted to get them out of their room and give his wife Margaret some peace. He drove them around a part of the city that was in the process of expanding with new residential housing. He was looking for a place he could rent. After riding around in the back seat of their father’s big black 1940 Ford sedan for a couple of hours Harry and Roger became bored and cold. They began to complain and Ed decided that it was time to return to the motel. He admonished them to sit up straight and stop whining.

The sky had been slate gray most of the afternoon and snow flurries had wooshed across the landscape while the three of them had been driving around. Ed decided to do some dead-reckoning navigation to get back to Route 66 and began to follow several dirt roads that cut east and south across the mesa. As he drove along the snow flurries turned denser; large flakes fell across the windshield. He turned on the wipers and the defroster and continued to work his way in what he thought was a southeasterly direction. After fifteen minutes he could see only a hundred feet ahead. He continued on the road as snow accumulated rapidly. A strong northwesterly wind blew sheets of it across the road and Ed saw that he was in the midst of a sudden storm that quickly threatened to cut off his vision.

Harry and Roger were not paying much attention to what was happening around them. They were busy playing hand games with each other to amuse themselves. They looked up from time to time to see the large figure of their father hunched over the steering wheel and peering out into the whiteness. They were not conscious of the car’s slower progress, but Ed had to slow down to keep track along the dirt road whose shoulders were barely visible.

Now, in the gloom of late afternoon as snow rapidly filled the contours of the road and visibility decreased to twenty or thirty feet, Ed switched on the headlights to see whether they would penetrate and offer more contrast to the diminished outlines of the road ahead. After a few minutes he swore. The headlights were not helping and daylight was beginning to fade. Darkness would soon be upon them.

He was not in the cockpit of one of the aircraft he flew as an Air Force pilot. There was no radio and compass or other navigational aids to help him steer onward. He had to try to hold the car in the middle of the road and avoid getting stuck in a snow drift along the shoulders. He had chosen to risk finding his way back to the main highway across the mesa instead of driving through unfamiliar streets and intersections of the city. He had not reckoned with the sudden blizzard. There were no cars or trucks ahead whose lights he could have followed. Instead, he found himself with his two sons alone in an unfamiliar area whose distances he had underestimated. The mountains to the east that rose high above the mesa were now no longer visible. Ed had lost all distant points of reference. He could only work his way forward and hope that the road would soon lead them back to the highway.

Harry and Roger grew quiet as their father drove more slowly. Harry asked him how soon they would be back with their mother and baby brother. Ed did not respond. He was trying to keep the car on the crown of the road but the wet snow was beginning to make steering more difficult. It was also accumulating on the windshield despite the wiper action and the defroster now turned on high. He was afraid that snow melting on the glass would start to freeze as it ran down to the hood. The passenger side windows were becoming encrusted with snow. A steady wind kept those on the driver’s side mostly clear. Ed Forth estimated that he had been driving nearly half an hour through the worsening storm when the car began to fish-tail in the unplowed snow. He knew that the tires were worn and that he had no chains to put on them. Soon, they would lose most of their limited traction. If he did not find the highway, he could become stuck and then the three of them would face the prospect of spending the night in a blizzard.

After struggling forward for another few minutes, the car finally ran into deep, wind-blown snow. Ed tried to rock it back and forth, working the clutch and shifting from first gear to reverse several times. This only hastened the car’s slide into deeper snow along the shoulder. After a few tries he realized it was hopeless. He shut off the engine to save fuel and sat quietly.

What’s wrong, Dad? Harry asked. Again silence. Harry knew not to pressure his father. Roger said that he wanted to go back to the motel. Finally, Ed said that he also wanted to get back to the motel before dark. This seemed to reassure the boys.

Ed zipped up his leather bomber jacket and opened the door. He got out and looked at the road ahead. Its contours had almost disappeared. He figured he had less than an hour before sundown and darkness. With the car’s headlights on, he could make out objects forty or fifty feet ahead. He thought that he heard traffic and guessed that maybe he was half a mile or less from the highway. He knew that sometimes sound could be intensified by weather. The driving wind had started to abate. He concluded that he might have a twenty- or thirty-minute walk if he could follow the outline of the road. He noticed that the snowflakes were smaller and not falling as fast as before. He climbed back into the car.

Boys, we’re going to have to walk to the highway. It’s up ahead and we can make it. If we stay here, we’ll have to spend the night and we could freeze. So, let’s go. He checked his watch and grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment. He folded his seat forward to let Harry and Roger climb out. He was taking another risk. They were wearing light coats and low-cut shoes and had no gloves or caps. Stepping into the snow, Harry saw his shoes disappear and he felt the cold cover the tops of his feet. He did not like it. Roger was at a greater disadvantage because he was shorter.

Come on! Ed commanded. He left the car’s headlights on, shut the door, and began to walk. The two boys struggled behind him. After several minutes he picked up Roger and placed him on his shoulders and grabbed Harry’s left hand. Keep moving! He ordered.

As a pilot he had taken chances before. Flying on instruments in bad weather was always unpleasant but he had radar and radio navigation and a better way of determining where he was. He had lived through many Ohio winters but this was a new experience on unfamiliar terrain for a man who had grown up a city boy in East Cleveland.

He considered the situation serious but walked on, dragging Harry by the hand. Harry felt miserable. His feet were freezing. He nearly stumbled a couple of times trying to keep up. He feared being left behind. Roger sat atop his father’s shoulders and marveled at the strange world around them. Just as suddenly as the snow storm had arisen it diminished. Ed looked up and saw clouds breaking up. He saw a patch of blue sky. A steady breeze continued from the northwest but the snow had almost ceased. He could hear traffic somewhere ahead. He looked at his watch; they had been walking nearly twenty minutes.

As Harry stumbled along behind his father, he felt the wind blowing fiercely across his face and he had difficulty seeing ahead. His hands were cold and his feet were like icicles. Still his father pulled him along. Come on, boy. Look, the storm is almost over. It’s not much further to the highway. We’ve got to reach it before it gets dark.

All Harry could think of was how he was going to stay on his feet. He saw that his father was a strong man and did not slacken in his pace. If he had ever faced adversity in his young life, this was it. He felt naked in the snow storm as the day was waning. Would he ever see his mother again?

After trudging for what seemed like a very long time his father suddenly stopped.

Why are we stopping? Harry asked.

Shhh! Listen! his father replied. Harry stood motionless. In the distance somewhere behind them he heard a thump, thump, thump. He had no idea what it might be. His father knew. He turned around in time to see two headlights emerge dimly out of the waning storm. He waved with the flashlight, almost letting Roger slip from his shoulders.

It was a big white pickup truck. After a minute the battered vehicle pulled up and stopped beside them. An old man with leathery skin leaned out the driver’s window. Need a lift? he asked.

Ed Forth smiled and replied, Sure. Can you take us to the main highway?

Climb in, the man said, motioning to the other side of the truck.

Ed walked around to the passenger’s side and the door opened. An older woman holding two small children on her lap moved to the center of the seat, almost straddling the gear shift lever. Ed put Roger on the seat and climbed in. He pulled Harry up from the road and set him on his lap. The old man put the truck in gear and slowly moved forward. After a few seconds the tire chains began hitting the rear fender wells in a rhythmic pattern. So, thought Harry, that’s where the noise comes from.

Was that your car back there with the headlights on? the driver asked.

Yes. We got stuck and I had no tire chains. I didn’t want us spending the night out here. I thought we could walk to the highway and catch a ride back to our motel.

You’d have a long walk from back there. You might ‘ave froze to death before you reached the highway.

Ed Forth felt a little sheepish. Sure, maybe the driver was right, he thought. Still, they could have frozen to death in the car. It was probably buried in a snow bank by now.

I stopped and checked the car, the man continued. I turned off the lights.

Ed Forth thanked him.

Harry observed that the man and woman looked like Indians. He had never met one before, but he had learned about them in picture-book stories his mother had read. They were now in Indian country, he thought. Still, he expected them to be riding horses. Maybe not in such a snow storm, but now he saw a family of them in a truck. They just happened by and saw him and his father and brother struggling along the road. They had stopped and let them climb into the warm cab. They were all bunched up with barely enough room for the driver to work the gear shift. The woman wore a thick wool blanket around her body and hugged one of her boys in her lap. The other one sat next to Roger. They were silent but curious about the two blond-haired boys and their enormous father. Harry felt relief at the warm air the heater fan was blowing from under the dashboard. He relaxed as the wipers cleared snow from the windshield. We’re going home, he thought. He felt comfortable and safe.

They drove on and suddenly a patch of blue sky was visible to the west. It did not stay for long, but Ed saw that the sun had almost set. The truck’s headlights illuminated what was barely visible ahead. After fifteen minutes bumping along the snow covered surface of the dirt road they saw traffic moving along Route 66. In a few more minutes they reached it and joined the trucks and cars moving slowly westward. The highway was wet with slush and ice.

Where you headed? the man wanted to know.

We’re staying in a motel a couple of miles farther in towards town, Ed replied. Could you drop us there?

Sure. Just say where.

It’ll be on the other side of the highway near a diner. I’ll tell you when I see it, Ed answered.

They drove on in silence until the neon red and blue sign of an all-night diner appeared. The motel sign was also flashing and vacancy was still lit. Ed asked the man to pull over and drop them off at the motel office. The man slowed and waited for a string of vehicles in the oncoming lane to pass and then deftly crossed the highway and pulled into the motel parking lot.

Here you are, he said. Ed offered him some money but he refused. You’re a stranger around here, he said. We don’t take money from people stranded on the desert. You take care of your boys. That’ll be payment enough.

With that Ed jumped down and took Harry and Roger and lowered them to the ground. Harry thought that the man and the silent woman and children were the friendliest strangers he had ever met. They had rescued him and his brother and father from the cold. Now he could go back to his mother and baby brother and get out of his wet clothes and have something to eat.

The man put his truck in gear and pulled back onto the highway. He was gone in a flash.

Ed took his sons back to the room. Their mother was very anxious and sounded irritated. She wondered where they had been for so long. It was almost night time. She asked Ed why he had not called. He explained that they had been headed back to the motel but had become lost and stuck in the sudden snow storm that had swept across the area. He told her the car was still in a snow drift and he would have to get a tow truck to take him back the following morning and give him a jump start. He said that an old Indian with a woman and two children had seen them walking on the road and had picked them up and brought them back to the motel.

After so many years Harry remembered how frightened his mother had sounded. She had yelled at his father for taking their sons out of the car and setting off in a storm without knowing where they were. They would have had shelter if they had stayed in the car. They had not been dressed for a trek through the snow and wind. She asked what was he thinking when he told them they would have to walk. His father had become sullen as his mother rained down questions. It was not a happy memory.

For many years he remembered the sudden snow storm, getting stuck in a roadside ditch, and the freezing walk. He had trusted his father and had done what he had been told. He had no idea that they could have perished just a short distance from a major highway. As he grew up he remembered the cold smell of the Ford and the warm, humid smell of wet wool when his father had pulled him into the Indian’s truck. He came to believe that the old man had saved their lives. He had come along at the right moment.

The older Harry became and the more he learned about the world, the more he believed that there were no true accidents in human affairs. Things did not just happen. He accepted that sometimes events were beyond his or anyone’s control but most of the time they were the result of human decisions and actions. In his dream the truck driver and his family always stopped to rescue him and his father and brother. His dream usually ended when they reached the motel. He believed that the man had given them a second chance.

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The day before Valentine’s Day Edward and Margaret Forth moved from the motel with their sons Harry, Roger, and Eric to a three bedroom adobe house at the corner of Mountain Road and North 17th Street in the valley. The boys marveled at its size and the huge backyard where they could play. The next morning at breakfast Ed gave Marge a folded piece of paper with her name on it. She smiled and opened it carefully. Inside she saw the hand drawn outline of a red heart with diagonal lines crossing it and the words to My Valentine written in red ink. Below the heart it was signed Love, Ed. He had not forgotten. It was his way of recognizing that Marge had accepted so much uncertainty and done so much to help the family move across the country to his new duty station. It was his expression of the love he had for her and for her sacrifices. She kissed him and thanked him for remembering.

Although the snow storm and trial on the mesa were forgotten the experience of stumbling through the snow had planted a tiny seed of uncertainty in Harry. He was glad to be in the warm house with his brothers and parents. There were trees along the street and in the neighboring yards and soon they would sprout new leaves and spring would come and the world would be as green again as he remembered it being in Gulfport.

He would have to enroll in school and resume his education. One morning his mother took him up Mountain Road to Lew Wallace Elementary School and registered him in first grade. She explained to the registrar that they had recently arrived in the city and that Harry had already completed a semester of school in Mississippi. She wanted him to get started again and continue to learn to read. She presented a vaccination certificate to show that he had all of the required shots.

The registrar looked at her documents and filled out an enrollment form. Then he showed her and Harry to the Principal’s office. He welcomed Mrs. Forth and her son and showed them around the school. Finally, during the morning recess he introduced them to Miss Porter, a first grade teacher. Margaret Forth explained to her Harry’s previous school experience and told her about their recent journey across the southern United States. She wanted to give Miss Porter information that would help her see where Harry was in his education and how he might fit into her class.

Harry watched children moving about the school yard outside and walking around the halls and was a little frightened by it all. He wanted to go home with his mother.

Miss Porter was a tall young woman with long, jet black hair and fair skin. She smiled at him and asked him about his trip across the country. She showed interest in him and this pleased his mother.

Go on Harry. Tell Miss Porter about our long trip, his mother urged. He was very shy.

Miss Porter talked to him in a sweet, almost melodic voice, as though she were trying to sing to him. I would like to hear about your trip, Harry.

He thought for a minute and then said, I was kicked by a pony.

His mother smiled. Miss Porter appeared surprised. You were kicked by a pony? How did that happen?

Marge Forth was about to reply when Miss Porter frowned and waited for Harry’s response.

We were at a motel and there was a pony ride and Mom took me and Roger across the street to the ponies. And I saw one and wanted to get on it and when I ran up to it, it kicked me.

That must have been a shock, Miss Porter replied.

Yes, and I had a hard time breathing and the man came and picked me up and let me give the pony a carrot. And he put me on the pony and we walked around a big circle and I rode the pony that had kicked me.

You must have felt very proud to do that, Miss Porter said.

I was glad that I could ride him. I wasn’t afraid. And then Roger rode a different pony.

There was a pause. Then Harry’s mother explained that they had stayed overnight in El Paso and she and her two older sons had visited the pony ride before they had departed to drive to Albuquerque.

Miss Porter looked at Harry and asked, Would you like to be in my class? I have a place for you.

Harry’s mother nodded at him.

Then Miss Porter said, Any boy who can ride a pony after being kicked is very brave. I think you would like the children in my class. I don’t think any of them have ridden a pony or traveled so far. Would you like to see our classroom?

Again, Marge nodded and took Harry’s hand. Miss Porter walked with them down the hall to her classroom as children were returning from outdoors. Recess had ended.

Harry had mixed feelings. He was curious about the classroom but he was afraid of being left there. He still wanted to go home with his mother.

Harry, Miss Porter would like you to join her in her class and I will not be far away. I will meet you here when school is over and walk you home. It will only be a few hours. I want you to be as brave as when you rode the pony. And Miss Porter will show you what she and the other children are doing. I think you will like that. What do you say?

Harry knew that his mother wanted him to stay. He had been through a similar experience when he first attended the school in Gulfport. He remembered that in the beginning he had not liked it but then his teacher had helped him to feel more at home. Just before Christmas he had taken part in a school pageant and had played the role of a sailor. He still had the sailor’s hat that he had worn.

Miss Porter extended her hand to him and said that she would take him into her classroom and introduce him to the other children. He did not have to say anything. He could take a seat and watch what they were doing.

Harry took her hand and walked with her into the classroom where children were sitting at their desks. A few were still walking around making noise. When they saw Miss Porter with Harry at the front of the classroom they all became quiet. Harry’s mother stood at the doorway watching.

Children, I want you to welcome Harry Forth. He has come here from far away to be a member of our class. We want to make him feel at home with us.

Harry’s mother left the school and walked back along Mountain Road to her house. The walk took her about fifteen minutes. She rejoined Roger and Eric who had been in the care of the nanny who had traveled with them from Gulfport. She had worked for them since their years in Trinidad. They had brought her with them when they had moved to Mississippi.

Miss Porter showed Harry a desk and chair under one of the large windows near the front of the classroom. She kept an eye on him as the afternoon progressed and she talked to the children. To help him feel more comfortable she had the children come forward and sit on their small blankets on the floor in a semi-circle. She gave Harry a mat to sit on. Then she began to read the story about Babar the Elephant. As she read, she showed them the pictures in the book. Harry had never seen Babar or heard his story and so he was suddenly very interested in it. He listened to Miss Porter and liked her voice and the way she read to him and the others. She would occasionally look at him and smile as she turned a page.

As he listened Miss Porter read that Babar’s mother had died and that Babar was chased through the jungle by a hunter until he escaped. Harry felt a tinge of fear while listening. He worried about his mother and when she would return. Miss Porter read confidently and assured the children that Babar was a strong and resourceful young elephant. She did not finish the story and told the children that she would continue reading it the next day.

When class was over Harry remained in his chair expecting his mother to come and get him. Miss Porter looked out in the hallway as her pupils departed and saw Marge Forth coming towards the classroom. She greeted her and took her to Harry. He sprang out of his chair and began telling his mother about Babar. Miss Porter saw that he was excited about the story and able to tell his mother details about what he had heard. She was pleased that he had grasped the substance of the story and was repeating it to his mother. She saw that he had become engrossed in her reading and felt that he had overcome his initial shyness.

Marge thanked her and took Harry by the hand and walked down the hallway. On the way home Harry continued to talk about the story. This gave his mother a feeling of confidence that he would fit into the class and enjoy school. At home he talked to Roger about the school. He said that he had a good teacher and that she had introduced him to the other children and then read to them.

Each day for several weeks his mother walked with him to school and picked him up in the afternoon. Then one Sunday at dinner his father said that he should walk to school by himself. He was old enough. He would have to be careful crossing each street until he reached the intersection where the school’s crossing guard and safety patrol would help him and other children cross Mountain Road. Marge was not yet convinced that he should walk by himself but Ed said he had to start walking on his own and practice safety and be aware of the cars and trucks moving along the road and follow the instructions of the safety patrol.

The next morning Marge took him out to the street and told him to walk on the sidewalk away from the curb facing traffic until he reached the intersection where the safety patrol would help him cross. She said she would wait and watch him until he crossed the street. The distance was about eight short blocks; she was not able to see so far down the road to where he would cross. Harry had confidence that she was watching him and set off for school. Other children were walking along the sidewalk in the same direction and he felt safer walking among them. After school with the help of a crossing guard and the safety patrol, he crossed Mountain Road and walked home. His mother stood at the corner of Seventeenth Street near her house and watched him coming. She was happy when he finally reached her and they went indoors. He soon developed a routine and walked safely to and from the school. Sometimes after school closed, he would stop at a small grocery store on the south side of Mountain Road and buy a nickel Popsicle and continue walking with some other children towards home.

During the weeks after his enrollment Harry had grown in confidence and liked the routine of walking to and from school. He felt welcomed in his class and made several friends among his classmates. He adored Miss Porter and felt a special bond to her because she had been so friendly to him on his first day.

As weeks and months passed he had one nagging question that stuck with him: whatever happened to Babar’s mother? Once, he had tried to ask Miss Porter but she had been talking to another teacher and did not answer him. It was a question that haunted him for years.

Chapter 2

LYDIA DARÉ SIMON

If the adventure in the winter storm at the beginning of his years in Albuquerque had left a deep impression on Harry, there was another dramatic stretch of time in his teen years that changed his outlook on life and his appreciation of his own abilities. It came in 1960 during his junior year in high school. Throughout the year he had been struggling to improve his grades and gain greater recognition among his peers. It was Lydia Daré Simon, his French language teacher, who saw greater abilities and talent in him than he had thought he possessed. It was she who became the driving force behind his efforts. And it was she who moved him to seek opportunities beyond the limits of his middle class suburban world.

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One October day in 2012 Harry was amazed to learn that Lydia Daré Simon was still alive. This news had come to him indirectly through an Internet website that some classmates had set up in 2011, the year of the fiftieth anniversary of their high school graduation. He had missed the jubilee reunion but had learned where some of them were. He decided to try to contact them and ask whether they had seen Mrs. Simon. After exchanging several emails he learned that one of them, still living in Albuquerque, thought that she had been at the reunion. He wrote that he had no contact information. He would ask around. This news created a surge of memories in Harry and he wanted badly to talk to her.

He remembered Carol Lambert, a Foreign Service colleague who had retired to Albuquerque with her husband. They had last seen each other at the annual State Department Foreign Affairs Day in May when she had come alone to Washington. Her husband had been ill. Harry sent her an email asking whether she could check on Mrs. Simon’s current address and phone number. A few days later Carol sent him a phone number and wrote that she had met Mrs. Simon a couple of times at conferences. She was in her early eighties and apparently still involved in educational counseling. He replied, thanking her and telling her that he was excited to receive this information. It brought him within reach of the teacher who had exerted the most profound change in his attitude towards education during his high school years.

The next morning he called the phone number but there was no answer. Instead, he recognized Lydia Simon’s voice on the message recorder. He left a message: Hi, Mrs. Simon. This is Harry Forth. I was in your French class for two years in high school. You were also my guidance counselor. I’ve learned that you were at the jubilee class reunion last year. I regret that I only learned about the reunion a few days ago. A retired Foreign Service friend in Albuquerque sent me your phone number. I’m calling because I want to tell you how happy I am to learn that you are still alive and how much you meant to me then and what became of me after I graduated and left Albuquerque. My phone number is…. He finished and put down the receiver. He wondered whether she would reply. Maybe she was ill or on a trip. He hoped very much that she would call.

He was moved to tears at the news that Lydia Simon was still living. She had not given up on him during the silliness of his teen years when he was trying to discover who he was and, more important, who he might become. After more than fifty years he remembered how she had demanded more of him and at the same time had taken him under her wing.

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A few days after he had left a call-back message Harry and his wife Sabina were sitting on their deck enjoying a late morning breakfast when the phone rang. He wondered who could be calling. It was an election year and there were many unsolicited calls to vote for one candidate or another. He let it ring until the message recorder began. Then he heard a voice from the past: Mrs. Simon returning his call. He leaped out of his chair and ran into the house to pick up the receiver before she hung up.

Hello, hello, he said. Harry Forth here, Mrs. Simon. Thank’s for returning my call. Sorry I didn’t pick up right away. We’re getting a lot of calls because of the coming election.

I sympathize with you, Lydia Simon replied. I wonder how you found me. How did you get my phone number?

I learned about the jubilee reunion last year and contacted some classmates. They seemed to think that you had attended but they didn’t know how to reach you. I have a retired Foreign Service colleague in Albuquerque and I saw her in Washington a few months ago. So, I decided to ask her to look for your address and phone number. Her name is Carol Lambert. She replied that she had met you on a few occasions and she sent me your phone number. That’s how I knew to call you. He was excited and speaking fast.

Oh, yes. I remember meeting Carol. She’s involved in the Albuquerque international affairs group. I think I attended one of their programs.

Mrs. Simon, I want to tell you, first, how happy I am to be talking with you again after so many years. Your voice sounds just like I remember it from school. Amazing.

Well, it’s a little rougher now, she replied.

Oh, no. I think you sound great. I also tried contacting the school where you were working for help in reaching you, but Carol came through first.

Well, thank you. I’m still active with the school. I helped found it a few years after you graduated. I left your high school because I wanted greater freedom in teaching. The principal was pretty conventional and didn’t like the teachers experimenting.

Harry wanted to tell her what he had been doing since graduation. Mrs. Simon, it’s been such a long time and when I learned that you might have attended the jubilee reunion, I just had to try to reach you and tell you how much you meant to me. You see, I moved away from Albuquerque a few weeks after graduation.

That’s not so unusual. I know that many of my students left for college or jobs in other parts of the country after graduation. I’m still in touch with some of them. There are a few here that I see from time to time. I’ve even traveled with one or two of them.

Harry listened to her and thought about his time at school. Then he replied, My father was transferred to an Air Force job in London and we moved three weeks after graduation. I was able to return to the family where I had lived as an exchange student in 1960. You may remember that you urged me to apply for the program. I was accepted. I had wanted to go to France, but it turned out that they found a host family for me in a town in Germany. I went back to them a few weeks after we arrived in London. Then I was able to travel to Sweden for a conference of foreign exchange students. I had also applied to the University of Maryland - Europe. I was waiting for word of acceptance when I returned to Germany. I hitch-hiked to Heidelberg and met with the dean of students for the Munich campus. She told me I was wait-listed and that I should return home and wait for further information. So I hitch-hiked to Belgium and took a Channel ferry back to England.

Were you accepted?

"Yes, but the letter came very late in August. I had to fly from London to Munich just days before the fall semester started. Everything that summer just went by so fast. From Albuquerque to Munich in less than three months.

I suppose that you have done a lot of traveling in Europe over the years. It was as much a statement as a question.

Yes, Harry. We enjoyed traveling when we could but not always to Europe. After my husband retired, we worked on various projects as participants in the International Executive Services Corps. I developed educational projects for schools in South America and South Asia. Here I’ve been working for many years with Native American children in New Mexico and for underprivileged children largely from single-parent households in Albuquerque. I’m still active as a mentor helping high school seniors apply for college.

Harry laughed. That’s what you did for me too. Perhaps you may remember that I was accepted by only one of the colleges I applied to. I guess my grades simply weren’t that good. But I was fortunate to begin college in Europe in a totally different cultural world. So, as you might guess, I learned German and became fluent in it.

I remember you as a self-reliant young man. You had after-school jobs. I kept urging you to devote more time to your studies.

You have a very good memory. In fact, you helped me change my whole attitude towards school. So in my senior year I became more serious about my courses and making good grades. Your investment in me paid off.

I’m glad to hear it.

And I didn’t lose touch with French. I knew enough from the two years I studied it in your class to be able to get around France during several summer trips. And many years later I took lunch-time French through the State Department’s Foreign Service Institute when I was working in Washington. I was responsible for five francophone African countries and together with another colleague we had lessons with a tutor three days a week. It came in very handy when I traveled to East Africa.

So you worked for the State Department?

No, not at first. I took the Foreign Service exam and passed and was accepted into the U.S. Information Agency. So, I launched my diplomatic career in public affairs. Our first post was in Iran. I spent seven months at FSI learning Farsi. It turned out not to be so difficult. Reading was a chore, but speaking it was easier.

I know, Mrs. Simon replied. I studied languages in graduate school. We had to study Sanskrit before specializing in one language group. So I learned that Farsi is an Indo-European language.

Yes, that’s right. There are many cognates between it and several European languages. That made learning Farsi easier. In fact, your inspiration moved me to learn several more languages. I studied Russian while I was working on a doctorate in graduate school. Never served in the Soviet Union, however. The closest we got was Warsaw. It turned out that Polish was the most difficult language I learned but it really helped me during my assignment there.

You’ve really moved around, Harry.

Well, I sort of followed my father’s career track. He was an Air Force pilot and that’s why we moved a lot. That’s how we originally came to Albuquerque. I was no good for the Air Force. My vision disqualified me from ever becoming a pilot. So I decided to try for a diplomatic career. It was a tough process. I flunked the written exam the first time I took it. After a few more years in graduate school I took it again and passed. In six months they offered me a job. It changed my life.

I imagine it would have. My husband and I enjoyed our travels and working overseas. Since his death I’ve continued my expeditions abroad. I’ve met some retired diplomats on some of them.

I’m glad to hear it. I retired about ten years ago. Since then my wife and I have enjoyed several study tours to different parts of France. She had lived in Paris as a young woman and learned French. We met in Munich just after she returned home. We had had similar experiences traveling around France, though at separate times and places before marrying. I must tell you that all of these things came about because of your encouragement and support during a rough time in my high school years.

And now you’re retired and living where? she asked.

We live in northern Virginia. We bought a house there after we were evacuated from Kabul in 1979. Just before the Soviet troops invaded. We kept it even when we were overseas. Rented it out. The evacuation was a painful experience for us and our children. We were living out of suitcases for months until some of our things showed up. So having a house in the Washington area was almost a necessity for any Foreign Service family.

And what about your children?

They’re all grown up and doing their own thing. They grew up overseas for the most part. When we came back to Washington after Kabul, we all went through reverse culture shock. We’d been out of the country for nearly seven years, except for home leave visits with family. It’s perhaps roughest on teenagers to be yanked out of a school on short notice and have to come back to a place they hardly know. The Kabul experience was difficult. Our kids had to leave friends behind and begin over again in Virginia. Nobody in their schools understood what it was like to live in an international community in Afghanistan. Or India where we lived before Kabul.

Yes, schools can be pretty parochial places. That’s one reason I left Northeastern High School. I wanted to start my own school, and I did. It was a great challenge and I’ve enjoyed it.

Harry asked Lydia Simon about some of his teachers. She was able to say who had passed on and who was still around. It was mainly the women who were still alive. He knew from the jubilee reunion website that a number of his classmates had already died. He had his high school yearbook to use as a guide and had marked the names of those who were deceased. It was, after all, more than fifty years ago that all of them had graduated.

The one thing I regret, especially now, is that I left Albuquerque almost overnight. I never looked back. I wish I knew where some of my classmates are today. In 1974 I brought my family to Albuquerque for a brief visit. We’d been up in Colorado visiting my brothers and drove down to Taos and then Albuquerque. I remember a high school trip the French club took to Taos. You and a couple of other teachers were our chaperons. We stayed at the La Fonda Hotel. You may remember. It’s where D.H. Lawrence and his wife lived for a few years. Do you remember that we all had dinner at a restaurant owned by a French couple and you encouraged us to speak French with them?

I vaguely remember the trip. It’s been a long time, Lydia replied.

"I have some old photos I took while we were in Taos. Anyway, my family and I had dinner at the same restaurant. A different family owned it. We drove to Santa Fe and walked around the old town and then stopped for a few days in Albuquerque. I showed them the high school and where we had lived. I was not sure whether you were still living there. I regret that I did not try to find you."

That’s nice of you to say. We might have been traveling. We were always on the go. I plan a trip to Latin America later this year with a friend. My doctor has given me the green light.

"You are