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language； Spanish or French； would you like to take？”
In a fit of negotiatory skill I wish would visit me more often； I said； “Please； Miss
Mitchell； let me take both！”
She frowned； but then relented。 I got to take both。
From the ambitious boxer floored early in round one by Latin grammar； I was all of
a sudden the heavyweight language champ of the whole high school！
Ingrid Bergman Made Me Learn Norwegian
I did well in high school Spanish and French。 When you’ve pumped heavy iron； lifting a
salad fork seems easy。 When you’re thrown into a grammar as complex as Latin’s at the
age of fourteen； just about any other language seems easy。 I never quit thanking Spanish；
French； German； Italian； Norwegian； Danish； Swedish； Romanian and Yiddish just for
not being Latin。 I’ve always been particularly grateful to Chinese and Indonesian for
having nothing in their entire languages a Latin student would recognise as grammar。
It was so enjoyable building my knowledge of Spanish； French； Italian and Chinese；
I never thought of taking on any other languages。 Then I saw an Ingrid Bergman movie
and came out in a daze。 I’d never imagined a woman could be that attractive。 I went
directly to the adjoining bookstore and told the clerk； “I want a book in whatever
language it is she speaks。”
Miss Bergman’s native tongue； the clerk told me； was Swedish； and he bought forth
a copy of Hugo’s Swedish Simplified。 It cost two dollars and fifty cents。 I only had two
dollars with me。
“Do you have anything similar – cheaper？” I asked。
He did indeed。 He produced a volume entitled Hugo’s Norwegian Simplified for
only one dollar and fifty cents。
“Will she understand if I speak to her in this？” I asked； pointing to the less
expensive Norwegian text。 The clerk assured me that yes； any American speaking
Norwegian would be understood by any native Swede。
He was right。 A lifetime later； at age thirty； I wheedled an exclusive radio interview
with Ingrid Bergman on the strength of my ability in her language。 She was delighted
when I told her the story。 Or at least she was a nice enough person and a good enough
actress to pretend。
Rumours of Russian
When I arrived at the University of North Carolina； I got my first real opportunity to
speak the European languages I was learning with native speakers。 Students at the
university came from many different countries。 The Cosmopolitan Club； a group of
foreign students and Americans who wanted to meet one another； gathered every Sunday
afternoon in the activities building。 I felt like a bee flitting from blossom to blossom until
it is too heavy with pollen to fly or even buzz。
A rumour rippled across the campus in my senior year that seemed too good to be
true。 The university； it was whispered； was planning to start a class in Russian。
Sure enough； the rumour was soon confirmed。 It was a historic event。 Not only was
the course the first in Russian ever offered by the University of North Carolina （or
possibly by any university in the South）； it also represented the first time the university
had offered what one student called a “funny looking” language of any kind （he meant
languages that don’t use the Roman alphabet）！
The enrollment requirements were stiff。 First you had to have completed at least
two years in a “normal” language （Spanish； French； Italian； Portugese） with good grades。
I qualified and was accepted。
For me the first day of Russian was a lot like the first day of school。 I’d toyed with
one funny looking language already （Chinese）； but I knew Russian was a different kind
of funny looking。 Would I conquer it； as I had Spanish and Norwegian； or would Russian
swallow me whole； as Latin had？
There were forty…five of us in that Russian class thinking varying versions of the
same thing when the teacher； a rangy Alabaman named “Tiger” Titus； entered the room。
After a formal “Good morning” he went straight to the front of the room and wrote the
Russian （Cyrillic） alphabet on the blackboard。
You could feel the group’s spirit sink notch by notch as each of Russian’s “funny
looking” letters appeared。 Students were allowed under university rules to abandon a
course and get themselves into another as long as they did it within three days after the
beginning of the term。 We had defections from Russian class in mid…alphabet。 By the
time Tiger Titus turned around to face us； he had fewer students than had entered the
room。
“My soul！” exclaimed one of the deserters when I caught up with him at the
cafeteria later that day。 “I’ve never seen anything like that Russian alphabet before in my
life。 Why； they’ve got v’s that look like b’s； n’s that look like h’s； u’s that look like y’s；
r’s that look like p’s； and p’s that look like sawed off goal posts。 They got a backwards n
that’s really an e and an x that sounds like you’re gagging on a bone。 They got a vowel
that looks like the number sixty…one； a consonant that looks like a butterfly with its wings
all the way out； and damned if they don’t even have a B…flat！”
The next day there were no longer forty…five members of the university’s first
Russian class。 There were five。
I was one of the intrepid who hung in。
A Lucky Bounce to the Balkans
Writer/columnist Robert Ruark； a talented North Carolinian and drinking buddy of Ava
Gardner； once wrote boastfully about a college weekend that began someplace like
Philadelphia and got out of hand and wound up in Montreal。 I topped him。 I went to a
college football game right outside Washington； D。C。； one weekend and wound up in
Yugoslavia for six weeks！
The previous summer I’d been named a delegate from the university to the national
convention of the National Student Association。 I came back as chairman for the
Virginia…Carolinas region of NSA。 In October I was in College Park； Maryland； for the
Carolina…Maryland game。 At half time； at the hot dog stand； who should be reaching for
the same mustard squirter as I but National NSA president； Bill Dentzer。
“Who can believe this？” he said。 “We’ve been looking for you for three days！”
I explained it was our big senior out of town football weekend and College Park；
Maryland was a long way from Chapel Hill； North Carolina； and there was a lot going on
and I was sorry he couldn’t reach me。 “Why were you looking for me？” I asked。
“We wanted you to go represent us in Yugoslavia；” he said。 I told him I’d love to。
“It’s too late now；” he said。 “The plane leaves Monday from New York； and it’s
already Saturday afternoon and the State Department’s closed； so there’s no way to get
you a passport…”
“Bill；” I interrupted； “I have a passport。 I can easily get back to Chapel Hill and
pick it up in time to fly from New York on Monday。”
By Wednesday I was attending sessions of a spirited Tito propaganda fiesta called
the Zagreb Peace Conference and enjoying my first immersion in a language the mere
mention of which impresses people even more than Chinese： Serbo…Croatian！
To my delight； I understood entire phrases from it from my university Russian。 I
became aware of “families” of foreign languages； something that doesn’t occur
automatically to Americans because English doesn’t resemble its cousins very closely。
It’s something of a black sheep in the Germanic language family。 They say the closest
language to English is Dutch。 Dutch is about as close to English as Betelgeuse is to
Baltimore！
I’d noticed the summer before that Norwegian is usefully close to Swedish and
Danish。 Serbo…Croatian sounded to me like a jazzier； more “fun” kind of Russian。 They
use the Roman alphabet in western Yugoslavia； Croatia； and Slovenia； and in Serbia to
the east they use the Cyrillic alphabet； with even more interesting letters in it than
Russian uses。
Some of the mystique I’d always imputed to multilingual people began to fade。 If
you meet somebody who speaks； say； ten languages； your instinct is to be impressed to
the tune of ten languages worth。 If； however； you later learn that six of those languages
are Russian； Czech； Slovak； Serbo…Croatian； Polish and Ukrianian – I’m not suggesting
that you dismiss him as illiterate； but you ought to be aware that he got six of those
languages for the price of about two and three fourths！ They’re all members of the Slavic
family。
The Yugoslav university students； my hosts； sent me back home aboard a Yugoslav
ship； leaving me sixteen days with nothing to do but practice Serbo…Croatian with the
other passengers。 When I got back to school after a solid eight weeks’ absence； I wasn’t
even behind in my German。 German is widely spoken in central Europe and I’d spoken it
widely enough during the adventure to float almost even with the class。
Exotics – Hard and Easy
Expertise is a narcotic。 As knowledge grows； it throws off pleasure to its pos