Here’s an interesting exercise: think about a place you lived or visited. What is the first memory about it that pops into your head?
For example, when the Olympics came to Atlanta in 1996, I was living in an apartment complex in the metro suburbs. When I think about those apartments, I’m immediately reminded of a neighbor lady who was one of the Olympic torch-bearers. We dated for a while.
Here are some other memories that surface when I think about various places…
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Brooklyn, New York — Having a family dinner in my uncle’s third-floor apartment while the luggage was being stolen from our station wagon on the street below.
Flagstaff, Arizona — Being panhandled on a dark side street by a group of inebriated, blissfully happy Navajos.
Fort Lauderdale, Florida — Cruising around the canals on Sunday afternoons aboard my father-in-law’s cabin cruiser, the Seaduce.
Grand Canyon, Arizona — In 1994, walking up to the canyon rim for the first time and being dumbstruck. It was almost a religious experience.
Lake Como, Italy — Peering down from the window of a second-floor hotel room and seeing a Norway rat the size of a housecat looking back up at me.
London, England — Being cornered in a hotel elevator by a creepy old man. I was 15, old enough to dodge the situation.
Munich, Germany — The cavernous, boisterous interior of the Hofbräuhaus during Oktoberfest. I earned my five-liter pin there at age 16.
Panama City Beach, Florida — Coming eyeball to eyeball with a barracuda while snorkeling along the shore in neck-deep water.
Paris, France — Feasting on a chateaubriand steak with sautéed mushrooms at a restaurant on the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, then later becoming violently ill.
San Francisco, California — Getting autographs at Fisherman’s Wharf from Guy Madison (Wild Bill Hickok on TV) and Andy Devine (his sidekick Jingles Jones).
Savannah, Georgia — The old Smith family home in the Gordonston neighborhood. The siding (cedar shingles) has been the same turtle green color for 90 years.
Tokyo, Japan — Doing a cannonball off a porch railing into a four-foot-deep snowdrift.
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Those being personal recollections, they are significant only to me and a few relatives. To make the exercise work, you have to summon up your own memories.
Well worth the time, I promise.
Fort Lauderdale, 1972: my son Britt posing with his catch in front of the Seaduce.
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