By Alfred Kazin
Kazin's memorable description of his lifestyles as a tender guy as he makes the adventure from Brooklyn to "americanca"-the greater international that starts on the different finish of the subway in new york. A vintage portrayal of the Jewish immigrant tradition of the Thirties. Drawings via Marvin Bileck.
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Extra info for A Walker in the City
This was not a willing and happy answer; I had come too far to quit so close to the summit. But I also recognized the common sense in what Hall said. Then I did something really stupid. ” Hall said no to that notion, too. “I don’t like that idea any better than your last one,” he said. “If I come down off the top of this thing and you’re not standing here, I’m not going to have any idea whether or not you’ve gone down safely to High Camp, or if you’ve just gone for an eight-thousand-foot wipper.
Because the Lhotse Face is a slope, you pitch Camp Three by carving out a little ice platform for your tent, which you crawl into exhausted, desperate for some rest. No matter how tired you are, however, you must remember a couple of fairly simple rules. One, don’t sleepwalk. Two, when you get up in the morning, the very first thing you’ve got to do, without fail, is put those twelve knives on each climbing boot, your crampons, because they are what stick you down to that hill. Chen Yu-Nan forgot.
They are not a forgiving bunch. But Anatoli did what no one else could, or would do. He went out into that storm three times, searching both for Scott Fischer, who froze to death on the mountain, about twelve hundred feet above the South Col, and for us. Boukreev twice was driven back to camp by the wind and cold. The third time he located our little huddle by the face and brought in each of the three Fischer climbers—Tim, Charlotte and Sandy. He left behind Yasuko and me, the Hall climbers. Charlotte Fox: I just remember Anatoli suddenly being there.