“What's wrong is, one, it's a pain in the rear for me having you think you can borrow all the time, and two, it's making you weak, Frank. The worst thing in the world you can do is weaken your fellow man by waiting on him all the time. You have that bleeding-heart, social-welfare attitude of yours that makes you feel justified in leaning on your fellow man unconscionably—”
“Dick,” Frank interrupted, “let's not get off on that one again. All I want is some sunscreen,” Frank said impishly.
“Well, here it is. Anything else?”
“Got any chapstick?”
Dick sighed as he dug in his pack. Then they were on their way, Frank with a smile, knowing he was going to miss not having his buddy to badger anymore, Dick shaking his head over Frank's lack of embarrassment, almost glee, in acting so helpless at times. They were now only a few minutes from the top, but as he was about to achieve the final summit of this fantastic year, Frank's emotions were a curious mix of jubilation and melancholy.
“Dick, let's just sit here for a minute and contemplate it before we walk over there, because there's some part of me that doesn't want to finish,” Frank said.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“We're never going to repeat this year. There will never be another one like it.”
“I guess it is kind of sad,” Dick said. “But you have to admit, Pancho, it's been one unbelievable adventure.”
“A lot more than I ever guessed when we started,” Frank agreed. “You know, I just had a thought a moment ago, about what we could call our movie. How about The Eighth Summit.”
“What's the eighth?”
“What we've learned from the other seven: that there's a wide world out there most people don't even begin to know about. And that thank God we took the time out of our lives to see it.”
“Like Auntie Mame said when talking about how so many people are only marking time and just existing,” Dick said. “’Life's meant to be a banquet, but most poor bastards are starving to death.’ “
They looked toward the summit fifty yards away. Luanne was leaning against the small obelisk summit marker in a kind of what's-taking-you-so-long attitude, motioning them to hurry up.
They stood and walked together toward the obelisk.
“As T. S. Eliot said,” Frank mused aloud, “ ‘Not with a bang, but a whimper.’ “
They strolled to the top and bear-hugged.
“Six and a half down and none to go.”
“Aah-eah-eaahhh!”
Marts had the camera rolling, and with clasped hands they raised their arms while Luanne popped the champagne. Frank took a swig out of the bottle, choked and spit foam.
“Let's try another take of that,” Marts suggested.
Frank choked again, this time with foam running from his nose.
“Take three,” Marts said.
Now he got a full swig down and handed off to Dick.
“Frank, we've come a long way in one year,” Dick said. “From Budweiser on top of Aconcagua to champagne on top of Kosciusko.”
“I wonder how I would have felt if we had made Everest,” Frank said, again melancholy. “If this really were number seven. Maybe in some way we learned more from not making Everest. I don't know, it's going to take awhile to think about.”
“ ‘Men are made strong not by winning easy battles,’ “ Dick said, “ ‘but by losing hard-fought ones.’ “
“You're right. But I just can't help wonder for me anyway what's going to happen next. If there will be another adventure. At least you've got Everest.”
“Yeah, I’m going home from here by way of Katmandu, to talk with Yogendra and try to get on with the Indian expedition.”
“Maybe I’ll go in search of the world's seven greatest beaches,” Frank said.
“When I get Everest behind me, I’m going to get a big boat and sail the seven seas,” Dick said. “Why heck, Pancho, let's sail the Seven Seas in search of the seven beaches.”
“You're on, partner.”
Both men were now a little maudlin, a combination of the wistful melancholy from finalizing their goal and the buzz from drinking champagne at 7,316 feet.
“You're great company,” Dick said with a twinkle. “One in a million.”
“I feel the same about you.”
“I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”
“Me neither.”
“I just hope one thing, though,” Dick said. “What's that?”
“I just hope, now that this is over, you're able to go home and find yourself a job.”
As they descended from the summit, the shallow ponds that dotted the gentle Kosciusko slopes reflected the late afternoon alpenglow. Their feet padded softly through ankle-high grass, and Frank kept a slow pace because he didn't want it to end.
It'll never be the same, he told himself.
He felt a growing apprehension about what he was going to do when ge got home. Would he be able to get another job? A meaningful, fulfilling job? He had no idea.
For over two years he had managed to keep that question out of his mind. He had managed not to spoil the adventures by fretting about the future.
But now the future was here.
Well, almost here. He still had an hour or two left before this climb was finished. The thought gave him a smile, and his face glowed in the warmly tinted light of day's end.
15
EVEREST: HUMAN BARRIERS
When they got off Kosciusko Frank and Dick headed back to Sydney and went separate ways. Dick returned home by way of Katmandu, where Yogendra told him that unfortunately the Indians had turned down his request to join their expedition. As soon as he got back to the States he called Frank to tell him the news.
“They said they have some twenty-odd members—including several women—and they just felt adding us would be the straw that broke the camel's back.”
“Can't you explain that your group would be self-sufficient?” Frank asked in his typically imperative way. “Emphasize that Breashears and Neptune would be terrific help putting in the Ice Fall and fixing the Lhotse Face.”
“Frank, Yogendra's already explained that. But they've said no, and he says that's that. Anyway, let me explain that Yogendra also told me that a Dutch national team has the permit for the South Col route next fall. I’m going to call their expedition leader in the morning.”
“Why wait. Call him now.”
“Look, it's the middle of the night there now.”
“Well, that way you'd be sure to catch him.”
“Frank, you're still talking like you're a corporate executive with big company muscle to beat people over the head with. But I’m telling you, now that you're on your own you're going to have to learn to be more patient and considerate. Especially when you're the one doing the asking.”
“Dick, you're always dillydallying.”
“B.S., I’m just more circumspect.”
“Damnit, will you please just call the bastard?”
Dick did—the next morning. The leader of the Dutch team, Hermann Plugge, was not at all receptive, however, and the more Dick tried to explain the merits of having his group along, the more he realized the only chance would be to meet the team face-to-face in Holland.
So, several weeks later, in early January 1984, Dick traveled to Amsterdam and had an initial lunch meeting with Plugge and Han Timmers, the climbing leader. As usual, Dick did all the talking, but no matter how personable he tried to come across, the Dutch pair remained poker-faced. They agreed to have a follow-up dinner meeting that evening, but the two Dutch leaders failed to show. Instead, they sent the team photographer, who could only talk about how much they needed money. Not only was Dick's sense of common decency offended, but he now surmised he could probably join the Dutch climb only if he was willing to contribute enough—like pay for their whole expedition.
From Holland Dick again went home the long way, via Katmandu, to talk once more to Yogendra.
“And I can't afford
to underwrite them all the way,” Dick explained to Yogendra. “So I don't see any hope pursuing it further.”
“There must be another expedition we can join,” Yogendra said. “I’ll check and see who has permits for the next couple of years. We will find someone.”
When Dick got back to the States he called Frank again to fill him in.
“Now I have to wait for Yogendra to get back with a list of possible teams we can approach. Then I guess I’ll do my song and dance and see if I can talk someone else into taking me on.”
“Let me know if there's anything I can do,” Frank said.
“Thanks, Pancho. I’ll keep you posted.”
Then, with an ironic laugh, Frank added, “After all, I’ve got plenty of free time.”
To most people what Frank called free time would be full-time work. He still had his consultant job with Warner Bros., and he was busy assisting them in the divestiture of the parent company's Panavision division, and he had been asked to make an analysis of studio operations on the Burbank lot to see if they might be run more efficiently.
The work was challenging, certainly, but to Frank it was less than fulfilling. The reason was simple: he was now on the sidelines waiting to be asked to do things instead of calling the shots and aggressively moving forward on his own.
He knew if he was going to be satisfied, he would have to find another job where he was at the helm.
But how? He was still playing in his venture capital schemes, but he wasn't sure that would lead to anything. He kept reminding himself of what his friend had told him several months before, that “You won't believe what will come in over the transom.”
Frank just hoped he didn't have to wait too long for something to wash aboard. Not that he wasn't enjoying his relative hiatus. It was great to be able to spend an occasional weekend with friends, or get away with Luanne for several days of skiing.
“Why don't you and Luanne come out to Snowbird,” Dick offered. “In fact, why don't we get Emmett and his family. And Ridgeway and Chouinard, and their families. Why heck, Pancho, let's get everybody who was on the Seven Summits. I mean we'll still have that big banquet once I climb Everest, and that'll still be the end to our film, but meanwhile let's have a kind of pre-reunion reunion.”
Dick invited everyone who had been on any of the Seven Summits expeditions, and over fifty RSVPed yes. Bonington and Kershaw would fly in from London, Jennings from Jakarta. Even one of the two Alaskans we had met on Aconcagua said he would fly down from Anchorage.
With so many coming from all directions, Dick realized it was a perfect opportunity to fulfill the obligation he felt toward Marty. He well remembered that conversation with her on Aconcagua, back in January 1982, when she had said that if she should make a big mistake on Everest, she didn't want any tearful ceremony. She wanted an Irish wake with everyone partying into the wee hours.
So in addition to the Seven Summits crowd he invited Marty's mother and father, and all her friends at Snowbird. Dick opened the party with an introductory speech about how his mentor Marty was responsible for whatever success he had achieved on the Seven Summits. Then the drinking and dancing started and lasted late into the evening. At sunrise all the group, along with the ski patrol, rode the aerial tram to Hidden Peak at 11,000 feet—the high point overlooking the resort—and fired a twenty-one-round salute with the 75mm gun used for avalanche and slide control.
For the next four days we skied all day, showed slides and movies of the Seven Summits climbs in the late afternoon, and socialized into the night. As will always happen with a gathering of mountaineers, there were endless stories. The Alaskan from the Aconcagua climb had one none of us had heard:
“Remember that Korean who disappeared after he had reached the summit,” he told us. “The one we all thought was dead? Well, they found him—alive. Seems he took a wrong turn coming off the summit and descended into this uninhabited valley and had to walk out. He was still wearing his street shoes when some peasant farmers found him eight days later wandering, jabbering incoherently.”
The Alaskan paused, then concluded, “Boy, you sure meet some weirdos down there.”
The reunion lasted five days. We hated to see it end, but as Dick promised, there would be an even bigger party when he got back from Everest.
Now all he needed was another chance.
In mid-March, about a month after the reunion, Dick heard back from Yogendra.
“I have a new plan,” Yogendra explained long-distance. “For several years now some of us in the Nepal police have wanted to organize a clean-up expedition on Everest. We would go up the mountain and clear off all the litter and oxygen bottles, and then go to the summit. If you could support us with money and equipment, maybe we could make such an expedition this fall. We should have a good chance with the permit.”
Dick immediately grasped the possibilities. Not only was this another chance at Everest, but equally as important, supporting a cleanup of the mountain would be good exposure and publicity for the mountaineering school and center he was planning for Snowbird.
“Heck yes I’ll help you!”
As soon as he was off the phone with Yogendra, Dick called Frank.
“Yogendra says we'll clean all the way to the South Col,” Dick told Frank, “and from there we'll go up to get Mrs. Schmatz down. And as long as we're that high, we might as well go ahead and nail the summit.”
“And there's no problem being there the same time as the Dutch?”
“Evidently not.”
“Sounds good,” Frank said. “Just one thing, though. You'd better get it this time. I just got news from Giles Kershaw that this Pat Morrow fellow is chartering the Tri-Turbo to go to Vinson in November this year.”
“How's he paying for it?”
“Sounds like he has somebody with a lot of bucks who is underwriting in exchange for a ride to Antarctica.”
“Well, I’ll still get up Everest before he gets up Vinson.”
“But only by two or three weeks.”
“That'll be perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“It'll make a race out of it, Pancho, with me crossing the finish line just ahead of him. Why, think of how it will spice up our movie. I’m telling you, we're going to have a blockbuster.”
Dick was excited. All the pieces were fitting together. Well, almost all the pieces. There was still one piece missing—Frank.
But there had been no change in Luanne's view and as much as Frank would have loved to go with Dick, he knew it was only fair to Luanne not to push the issue. She had certainly fulfilled her half of the deal by enduring her lonesome vigils those eleven months out of the last twenty-four or so that he had been away on expeditions.
Frank did have one consolation, however. Luanne had no objection to an idea he had to hike into base camp and meet Dick as he came off the mountain. That way at least he could be with his buddy to celebrate that joyous moment when he walked out from the Icefall for the last time. It was an exciting prospect, and it gave Frank something to look forward to.
The rest of that spring of 1984 Frank kept himself busy dabbling in his venture capital projects, and also fund-raising for the Mondale campaign. Meanwhile, in May, I got the commission to write this book. I needed to spend several days interviewing Frank and Dick, and it was a challenge to get them in the same place at the same time. We met a few times in California, then the three of us got together again the first part of August in Snowbird for my last interview the day before Dick was to leave for Everest. That evening we had a pleasant farewell dinner at one of Snowbird's fine restaurants.
“Dick, there's one thing I’ve got to tell you before you leave,” Frank said. “I got some intriguing news today. You know how I’ve been working on some venture capital deals lately, meeting all kinds of fascinating people along the way. Now something interesting has possibly come out of it. You know the Bass family out of Fort Worth has become heavily invested in Disney, and there have been all those uphea
vals there lately in upper management. Well, they are in touch with me and want to talk. It may lead to something.”
“Like what?”
“Don't tell anybody, but they're talking about the presidency of Disney.”
“Frank, that's absolutely fantastic,” Dick said.
“The only bad thing is you know it'll mean I can't come to base camp to see you if it really happens.”
“I know, Frank, but listen, this is far better. I mean, you don't need another hike to base camp. You need a big challenge, Pancho. Man, I’m telling you, if they really want to talk to you, why, we'll both have summits to ascend.”
The next morning we drove down to the Salt Lake City airport and each caught flights in different directions. Frank took a plane east to meet with a top associate of the Fort Worth Bass family. I headed back to Los Angeles to work on the book, and Dick, joined by Breashears, Neptune, and fifteen friends of Dick's who were along for the trek to base camp, caught a plane to Seattle, where they connected for the long flight to Asia.
On arriving in Katmandu, they were met by Yogendra and told that most of the police cleaning-team was already in base camp acclimatizing and starting to gather litter from around the base of the Ice Fall. He would be involved leading an all-woman police team attempting nearby Lobuche Peak, but would proceed to Everest base camp as soon as he finished his obligation of overseeing their expedition.
“So everything is in order,” Yogendra told Dick, “except for one small problem.”
“What's that?”
“There may be a misunderstanding with the Dutch. They are complaining about our expedition.”
“I thought you had received permission.”
“We will take care of it, don't worry. But right now, because the Dutch have complained, the Ministry of Tourism has asked us to be off the mountain by September fifteenth.”
“Good grief! We can't climb the mountain that fast,” Dick protested.
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