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Victor Davis Hanson The big bike crack-up came years later. In fairness, I would again say it was my fault and preventable. My bike had an invisible hairline crack on the carbon fork from a prior fall years earlier. As I was riding, the top of my tire kept rubbing the side of the fork.

Victor Davis Hanson By midnight, the fever had climbed higher, and there was minimal choice. The Libyan minders arrived, worried that I had food poisoning or some other bad experience that might sour our once-happy plans for national conciliation. After a brief consultation, they notified the proper port authorities. I was allowed off the boat,

Victor Davis Hanson By 1996, I had settled down to an academic life, if teaching four and five courses a semester seemed a normal scholarly career. I puttered rather than worked with my siblings on the farm and turned my attention to my great-great-grandmother’s house that was falling apart. We had no money, but I

Victor Davis Hanson I was feeling great by 1987, some eight years after my near-death experience in Greece. True, I had been deemed a “failure” at 25 for having a PhD in Classics from Stanford only between 1980 to 1984 to prune vines, drive a tractor, and do manual farm chores, with a growing family

Victor Davis Hanson The plane to SFO landed at 2:00 AM on a delayed flight in July 1979. At the airport my father was waiting with his Vista Cruiser used station wagon, all the seats down with a bed made up. By the time we got out of customs, the garage, and on the road,

Victor Davis Hanson Four years after my Greek sojourn I came back in 1978–79 for another year of study, this time at the American School of Classical Studies. It was a wonderful year, walking each Saturday over the Attic countryside with the legendary Professor Eugene Vanderpool, or taking the class tours with the dynamic archaeologist