|
|
|
|
|
|
|
''We were fighting a war,'' Cosmo reminded me. "We were too damn busy to tie nice tidy little bows around lots of things." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I ignored the old man's caustic remarks and continued. "It's all here in her letter. A couple of months later, she uncovered the Baffin Island incident. She thought she saw some similarity in the two events and sent them to me." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Damn it, Cosmo, because I write about stuff like this," I snapped back at him. "Just once, step out of your role as resident curmudgeon and help me sort through all of this." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Having a mentor like Cosmo Leach is never easy, but then, we don't always have the luxury of selecting our mentors; sometimes it just happens. You wake up one morning and there they are, warts on their nose and all. Such was the case with me, Elliott Grant Wages, and one Doctor Cosmo Lorimar Leach. The world famous anthropologist and social psychologist was nothing more than a "required attendance" date on my lecture series calendar during my senior year in college, and since that was the year of Gibby Marshall and lots of all night parties, I was sweating out a passing grade in Cultural Anthropology. At any rate, I wentand I was fascinated by the old fart. Maybe enchanted is a better word. At any |
|
|
|
|
|