Pair-ee

I can't see a photo of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris without thinking of my dear friend, the late Dr. John C. Stevens, ACU's eighth president, who died last year. One of the most iconic photos in American history is of 28th Infantry troops during a victory parade in Paris after the city’s liberation from the Germans, with the famous Arc de Triomphe in the background, signifying the city's liberation from Germany's Hitler. Front and center in the image is our own Dr. John. He was a chaplain in World War II during the landing at Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge, and was one of George S. Patton's charges. No one was more proud of his wartime service to his country, and his stories of traveling Europe – he enlisted, saying he saw no reason to miss a good war if they were going to have one – were mesmerizing. He taught history at ACU for 50 years, his classes filling quickly with students who admired his ability to make the past come alive with lectures based in large part on his own personal experience as well as research. Pictured here are the Avenue des Champs-Élysées today, in 1945 as Stevens led the way, and a photo of Dr. John he had made in Luxembourg, just north of France, to send home to his mother. I have a print of the famous liberation scene in my office, signed, "With warmest regards, John C. Stevens," and I treasure it.

Wired, not

I deeply miss my MacBook Pro laptop, which is sitting on the couch wondering when it will be put in the truck for the drive to the airport. Loading the truck with luggage this morning was not my finest hour. Yep, after considerable time and thought and effort to bring every thing I needed to make this blog sing for the next 10 days, I somehow forgot the technology, including the video iPod and all the cool things I was planning to listen and watch the next 2 days on the plane. Because Fed Ex's overnight service to Antananarivo takes, oh, 4 days, I am resigned to becoming a beggar blogger, using any Mac I can find. So, these first few posts are being written in longhand on a legal pad during the flight, then keyboarded at the next airport's wireless neighborhood. Fortunately, I burned a GB or two of photos on a backup DVD; images from our Malagasy students' experiences the past 4 years. So all is not lost. And I remembered to include the photos I collected of Madagascar wildlife (such as this chameleon, which is about the color I turned when I realized my gaffe at the DFW airport) to show you as we travel. I will choose one celebrity traveler in our group to select a Lemur of the Day to post for your educational entertainment, starting Sunday

To sleep or not to sleep, that is the question

I'm not as bad as my late dad, who never heard a sermon he couldn't fall asleep to, but it doesn't take much time in an airplane seat (other other upholstered one) to put me away for at least awhile. Read a little, sleep a little, repeat as needed, and before you know it, you're either nudged by the flight attendant with cold soft drinks or hearing about your initial descent to wherever. But this tag-team trip has 3 flights back-to-back over 26 hours, arriving in Antananarivo at 10:55 p.m. Sunday, when most Malagasy are thinking about hitting the hay. I have set my watch for Madagascar time, so I know it's already 9 p.m. as of this writing. At some point in the next 18 hours, my body will realize it has been tricked, and the inevitable jet lag effects will come knocking. Experienced time-travelers know how to handle this, but I guess I'll learn the hard way when to call it a night … or afternoon. My row-mate this flight, Vicki Anderson, said she brought one of those black eye-masks (maybe there is a more accurate term for it) to wear while trying to sleep on the way to Paris. I do technically the same thing at home when napping during daylight hours, but the eyewear of choice is more often a nearby clean sock. Not wanting to appear uncouth, I'll think of something more dignified for someone representing an esteemed institution of American higher education. The nap-sock tradition was brought to our marriage from my wife, who got a big kick out of me asking one day what all those little black marks were on the middle of my ankle-length white golf socks in the nightstand drawer. It's mascara, you goofus. I love you, too, dear.

Up, up and away

About a dozen of our traveling party left Dallas Saturday at noon on a 3-plus-hour flight to Boston, where we will be joined by the other dozen ACU passengers for a second flight to Paris, France. The layover in Boston is about 2.5 hours, about the length of a baseball game I've always wanted to see at nearby Fenway Park, but that's another trip, I guess. The flight to Paris leaves at 6:45 p.m. Saturday (today) and sashays at 7:35 a.m. Sunday into La Ville-lumièrem, the City of Light, which I assume by then they will have turned off. No matter; we will be confined to Paris Charles de Gaulle International Airport anyway, where I'll be curious to see if the fries at the McDonald's outpost taste, well, more French than those on Judge Ely Boulevart back home. Stay tuned.