The American College of Switzerland Zoo. James E. Henderson
of the homes.
The small alleys that spread from the main switchback road held the homes. They were smaller than the hotels, and many were on the flatter area so they did not look out over the buildings across from them at the mountains. But most had upper balconies where the family could view the mountains on one side or the other along the alley. The ends of these alleys led to pastures dominated by other homes. These pastures beckoned, but they were fenced and experience in the farmland of Ohio had taught me to be wary of crossing people’s property. More than one friend had told stories of having a load of rock salt shot at him by some irate farmer afraid of loosing a single apple from his trees. I had no experience with the Swiss but had no desire to upset anyone. Besides, the mountains beyond the pasture were what truly drew my eye, and walking across one pasture would get me no closer than I already was.
We got up close and personal the next day. But before we did my folks had a surprise for me. Dad had learned that one of the sergeants from Landstuhl had dropped off his son that day and left. Mom was a little concerned about his being abandoned so quickly, so she had taken him under her wing. I met my third ACS student. Dick was a little shorter than me with straight light brown hair that hung in his eyes, a stocky build, and a round face. He had a big smile, eyes that seemed to flash with more than a hint of deviltry, and a boastful attitude that seemed to make him larger that life, or so he thought. I had seen his type before. As a freshman he was either going to fit in as the prankster, or he was going to be quickly ostracized. Alan at boarding school had been in trouble from the day he arrived, but Squeaky at Earlham had been adopted as the mascot of the football players on our hall. The five of us drove up the valley from Leysin toward Gstaad. Dad said that the Kennedys had a place in Gstaad because it was so intensely beautiful. He wanted to see what was so special about the town.
On the way, we spotted the Diablerets ski lift and decided to go up. As we stood waiting for the lift, I stared at the shear rock face that the cables ascended. I couldn’t get a handle on its size. There were trees at its base, but they looked more like bushes in comparison to its enormous height. The lift itself, called a teleferic, had two cars; one was about halfway up when I first saw it, and the other about half way down. As the one descended, its size grew. By the time it settled into its stall, it was the size of a small Winnebago. We got in with a dozen or so other tourists. Then the attendant got in, and the car started to move.
We left the security of base pylons and began the ascent. The next pylons were several thousand feet above us on the top of the cliff. Should the cable snap anywhere in between; we were dead! Dick seemed to brazen it out by talking about roller coaster rides he had been on in the states as we watched the cliff towering in front of us. When we looked back at the mountain peaks rising around us and stared down at the shrinking lift housing below us, we all got quiet, even Dick. Around the lift housing were scattered green bushes that we had last seen as full-sized trees, and those little bushes were disappearing as we watched them. As we approached the top of the cliff, the car appeared to speed toward the shear rock wall and then slow slightly before jumping up and clearing the top edge. At this point, the lift housing was a toy Monopoly house, and the trees were a vague dark green smudge around it. We finally relaxed as the teleferic rumbled over the rollers of the cliff-top pylon, sending us sailing across the upper fields.
This lift was only the first of two. The second took us between a lower peak and an upper snow-covered peak. The view from the second lift was unbelievable, rock and snow-covered mountains in all directions! Once out of the lift, we walked through the snow on the very top of the world. The air was thin and cold, and we immediately wished that we had brought warmer clothes. Millie grabbed a snowball and pitched it at me. I dodged, and it hit Dick. The next thing I knew, we were in a pitched battle on top of the world. At this point, Millie seemed to be throwing more snowballs at Dick than me, so I ducked back into the relative warmth of the upper lift housing. I watched as dad took some pictures, and we quickly returned to the teleferic for the ride back down. Millie was shivering in the lift as we started to descend. Dick offered his jacket. Hmmm… None of my business, I guess.
As we passed from the upper peak, I thought about the snow and of learning to ski. This area wasn’t too steep and might be fun, but what if I got lost and went too close to the precipice? I’d end up like that Bond villain in “On her Majesties Secret Service,” falling and spinning forever.
As we got into the second lift, the attendant was joined by a maintenance man who opened a hatch on the top of the car and climbed up onto the roof. My first thought was that we would be stuck there while he checked some of the bolts, but the lift started to move with him on top. We all stood fascinated as he crawled up the armature holding the car and sat next to the cables. I hadn’t realized that there was more than one cable. His job seemed to be inspecting and occasionally painting some red grease on the cable, and he was still there as we fell off the cliff-top pylon and watched the earth drop beneath us. He sat up top the entire ride down. I kept checking through the open hatch to be sure that he hadn’t fallen off, but he just sat there focused on his job. I silently bet that he was one of the rally drivers that we had met on the road to Leysin. I even thought for a second that I might have the nerve to change places with him, but a look down from inside our steel and glass car quickly dispelled that fantasy. Millie and Dick seemed to be in quiet conversation on the other end of the teleferic.
I took over the driving from there to Gstaad. It didn’t really impress me, just another pretty village with larger homes surrounded by giant mountains; and if we saw anyone famous, we didn’t recognize them. Besides I was already in love with my little Swiss village and had yet to fully explore it. I couldn’t wait to get back.
Chapter Five
The Sophomore Dorm and the Satyrs
My dad and Stallone helped move my clothes into the sophomore dorm, which was a converted hotel almost identical to, although a little more Spartan than, the one we had stayed in. My room was on the top floor, two doors down from Stallone. The room was huge with two beds, two desks, and a sink. As he left, Stallone shot me a crooked smile and told me that my roommate was called “Tiny.”
While I was unpacking, my roommate came in. Tiny, he was not! He ducked as he came through the doorway. He stood six foot five, in his low-cut white tennies. That was large in the States, but in Europe he was a giant! European doorframes didn’t accommodate him. Tiny was everything that I wished I had been: tall, sandy hair, with a boyish face and manner. He was also well proportioned, not skinny with long, gangly legs like most really tall guys. His body looked normal, just large! His giant smile and laugh was a little goofy, but he seemed like a great person to have as a roommate. His size would also be helpful if that edge I saw on Stallone ever became focused on me.
After meeting my family, Tiny told me that his brother was also at the school, but he had no desire to room with him. I understood what he meant when I thought back to my sister invading my space at boarding school. He also said that his dad was a U.S. Senator. In a couple of hours, we were fast on the path to becoming good buddies.
Next door, on the side opposite from Stallone, in a small room tucked in the eve of the roof lived a strange scarecrow of a guy. Jim Wilds, who would become my best friend at ACS, was the son of an engineer for Caterpillar, and he called Glasgow, Scotland, his “home.” He was severely thin with sloped shoulders, a nose that was a little large for his face, and ears that stuck out through his straight brown hair. His hair was so limp that it stayed in place for only a few minutes after he combed it, even with hair lotion. I would later find that you could tell how much beer Jim had drunk by how much hair was in his eyes. Once I could no longer see his eyes, it was time to carry him back to the dorm. At ninety-six pounds, wet, he wasn’t hard to carry – except for his unusually sharp elbows that would occasionally catch me in the ribs. Another thing Stallone seemed to revel in was throwing drunks over one of his powerful shoulders and bouncing them back to the dorm. I feel compelled to add, “God help the person who tossed his chips!” But, in reality, just the thought of possibly puking on Stallone’s back sobered you up enough to make it to the dorm – or in a truly desperate situation, to scream to be let down, which, in this case, involved being tossed down, a bone-jarring, head-thumping experience. On his plus side, Wilds was always upbeat, always seemed to be in the right place when something