Jim Henderson   6127 Wicklow Dr. Burke, VA 22015 (703) 250-2641

Not much has changed in the last 5 years.  I’m still working for the NTSB as a Haz Mat accident investigator.  I now have only a year until I am eligible for retirement (30 years!).  My son, Randy, is just about to start college so, unless I can find another source of income, I won’t be able to retire just yet.  But - I may get out and try to get paid more consulting for companies like Dow, Fed Ex, and Norfolk Southern.  Cindy, my wife, is still a few years away from retirement so, even if I do retire, we won’t be able to pack up a van and take off just yet.  After Fraz and I took on the Olney soccer team at homecoming two years ago, I bronzed my cleats.  I am now getting my exercise riding a bike around a lake near me and pushing weight machines.

For mental exercise I have started a hobby that I hope to take into retirement – writing!  I started a book on a year I spent with the Jet Set at a college on a mountain in Switzerland.  I am hoping that the star appeal of fellow students Sylvester Stallone, Prince Paul of Ethiopia, and a few others will help get it published.  I am peppering my book with memories of Olney like the following:

Tuesday wasn’t much better until I saw Kaeti skiing past me.   “You know ‘er?”  Bennie asked.  “She skis très beau!  Watch as she moves and learn.”  I didn’t need orders to watch Kaeti but this time I watched her knees and skis as she carved through the snow.  Instead of hopping like Bennie was showing us her down – up – down was rhythmic and smooth.  I could almost feel the way she moved on her skis.  I found myself moving my legs and hips imitating her as I would when I watched a new folk dance being demonstrated at boarding school.  I started down the slope eager to try what I thought I had just learned and managed three parallel turns before I caught an edge and fell.  Bennie raced up beside.  “Bon, you learn by watching, très bien!  Encore!” 

There is also sex and violence!  I will keep this PG but here is one memory of Stallone:

Don’t push it, Stallone! Someone has a death wish!  What was that accent, Spanish?  Stallone was just a few feet from me.  His hands were clenched near his waist, his head was cocked forward and down to the right, and his total focus was on some Hispanic freshman, Lopez, I think.  “Loco” might be a better name at that moment.  … Loco hopped up onto the balls of his feet, brought his fists to his chest and began bouncing in front of Stallone.  His long black hair made him look a little taller than Stallone but he wasn’t as muscular.

…Stallone hadn’t moved.  Loco bounced forward a bit and then it happened.  Actually, what I saw was Stallone’s hands disappear by his waist and reappear on either side of his face.  With this motion he did a sharp, whooping exhale and there was a snapping noise when his hands reappeared.  I was totally focused on Stallone, confused by the snapping sound and by loosing track of his hands, until I realized that Lopez had stopped bouncing.  My eyes flashed to his face.  His eyes were white, his left knee followed by his right were bending in slow motion.  He dropped to his knees, and then fell slowly forward ending as his head made a loud popping sound against the floor. His arms made no attempt to arrest his fall. 

 And adventure!

He didn’t drop down the steep slope but continued to traverse the cliff-like surface… My two skis were locked into the two paths his made through the virgin snow.  I had no idea where this led.  There is a secondary bowl to our left but no one skied here. 

I had the impression that I was catching up to him by skiing in his trail when he disappeared before my eyes.  What the shit just happened to him my mind screamed as I came to the edge of the earth.  The bowl I was just thinking about spread out beneath me as the snow under my skis ended.  As I fell off the cliff I held my position as Kaeti had taught me, like I was making an intentional jump, but I was frozen in that position with fear.  I vaguely remember seeing Jean Paul’s trails beneath me and thinking that I needed to land one ski in each; preferably my right ski in the right side.  I also saw Jean Paul blow out of the far side of the bowl, fly head-high into the air with his momentum, land, turn to the left and sneak between two large rocks that sat high above a field of moguls that you usually approached by zig-zagging back across the side of mountain.  I noticed brightly-colored skiers making the standard crossing on the far side of the bowl.  All this and I was still falling.