A Swiss man named Herr Kraech had a lot to do with my winding up here as a resident. In 1977, I spent a month in Zurich working in a lab and observing surgery in the university hospital. I lived in a small hotel a few blocks away. With my room, I got breakfast each morning in a small coffee shop. From the first morning on, I sat at a table next to Herr K. He was in his eighties, a small gnome of a man, a retired hotel manager, and had been all over the world in his work. He spoke flawless English which helped a lot since I didn't even know menu German then.
In any event, in a few days, we came to be friends. I usually just saw him at breakfast, but he knew that I had Saturdays and Sundays free. He began to write out itineraries for me and encouraged me to take public transport and see his country. My sole experience with public transport in my adult life had been the MBTA while I had lived in Boston, so the Swiss transport system blew my mind. The fact that one could go to the train station, buy a ticket the size of two postage stamps, and use it to travel on trains, ships, and busses was all new to me. Herr K's itineraries were detailed minutely and guided me step by step to some wonderful places over these weekends. Trips to Mt. Pilatus, Seelisberg, and the Jungfraujoch were a few that I made. Herr K had said that his age prevented him from coming with me, but he enjoyed the tales that I had to tell after my return.
The day before I left to come home to the USA, I left a bottle of schnapps at the desk for him along with a thank you note. That evening while I was packing, a knock on the door revealed him with tears in his eyes and gratitude for the gift. I told him that I would be back to see him. At that time, I had no idea of when I would return, but CH had claimed a prisoner at least in my mind. Two years later, I did get back, but I was too late. Herr K had been dead some months.
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