I knew that telling such a story well would require sensitivity and courage. Nando would have to tear open old wounds. He would have to relive, with eyes wide open, moments of loss and horror few of us can imagine. Would he show me those moments? Would he drag his most personal and painful memories out into the daylight and spread them out for me to see? What kind of man was he? Was he tough? Was he honest? Did he have the emotional intelligence to understand how the ordeal had transformed him? And after thirty years of reflection, did he have anything useful to say about what it all might mean?
I didn’t know Nando then, but I knew the kind of man he would have to be to write a book we could both be proud of, and I knew that such men are not always easy to find. If Nando was not that kind of guy, if he couldn’t illuminate his story with meaningful insight and the bravest kind of candor, then the book would be superfluous, and working on it would be a tedious chore. The risks seemed high and caution told me to bow out before the project went any further, but some nagging intuition wouldn’t let me walk away. I lost sleep wrestling with it: I mean, what if he was that kind of guy? In the end that intuition won out, and when Nando officially offered me the job I accepted, then flew to Uruguay to meet him. We sat in the living room of his oceanside house in Punta del Este and slowly got to know each other. I showed him pictures of my family. I met his wife and daughters. We played with his big black Labrador, Sasha, and at some point, when the moment seemed right, he began to talk about the Andes. It was summer in South America and through the picture window behind him I could see green waves washing the beach. But once Nando started talking I forgot about the beach and the waves and the sunshine, because I wasn’t in Punta del Este anymore. I was at Nando’s side in the snowbound cordillera. His voice was soft, expressive, and unhurried, and I remember that he smiled gently, even when remembering some horror. He recalled the moment when he buried his sister in the snow, and how snowflakes sparkled on her cheeks before her face was covered. He remembered the panic he felt when he heard the news that rescue efforts had been canceled, and how he had to restrain himself from bolting off blindly into the wild. I saw him lying under the crushing weight of the avalanche, tired of fighting, waiting to see what death was like, and at the summit of Mount Seler, where the cruel view devastated him so completely that for more than a minute he forgot to breathe. He covered it all—the longing for home, the constant terror, the vicious edge of high-altitude cold, the feel of human flesh between the teeth. Nando kept his eyes on me as he described these things, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. He wanted me to understand. The story has been told before, he seemed to be saying, but not this story, not my story …
He spoke for more than an hour, then sat back on the sofa and fell silent. Before I could gather my wits to speak he smiled broadly and gave me a self-effacing shrug. “I don’t know,” he said softly, “do you think it is enough to make a book?” In that moment I felt like a fool for ever having doubted Nando’s ability to deliver the goods. Instead, I found myself shaken by the sobering realization that it would take everything I had to do this story justice. From that moment on I have tried with all my heart to help Nando write a book that is worthy of his experience, and now I can say that working with him has been one of the richest and most rewarding experiences of my life. So my first order of business here is to express my gratitude to Nando Parrado. I thank him for his courage, his generosity, his vision, and his good humor, and for the great gift of his friendship. But mostly, I thank him for trusting me with his story. It is the best true story I have ever heard, and having the chance to help him tell it has been an unforgettable privilege.
I AM PRIVILEGED, also, to be associated with the exceptional cast of characters at the Levine/Greenberg agency, including Jim Levine, Dan Greenberg, Arielle Eckstut, Elizabeth Fisher, and especially Stephanie Kip Rostan, whose hard work set this ship in motion, and whose gentle persistence kept it from sailing without me.
Our editor, Annik LaFarge, brought a rare combination of brains and heart to the project, and I can’t imagine this book without her. She began as our strongest advocate, became a trusted adviser, and ended as a friend. I thank her for her guidance and enthusiasm. Thanks also to Steve Ross, Amy Boorstein, Mary Chote-borsky, Genoveva Llosa, Luke Dempsey, and the entire crew at Crown for embracing this book with such spirited expertise; to Ernesto and Roselle Trello who offered emotional support and office space in times of need; to Gail Davis, for her pioneering efforts to make this book happen; to Roy Harley, Coche Inciarte, Alvaro Mangino, and Gustavo Zerbino, for sharing their memories, and to Ed West, for his good counsel and irreverent wit, and for a friendship that spans almost forty years.
Finally, I thank my wife, Chris, who anchors our family with quiet strength and endless patience, and my daughter, Carmela, who is not patient or quiet at all, but who lives her life with such a sweet and graceful exuberance that my days are full of smiles. Both of them made many sacrifices as I worked on this book, and now I dedicate that work to them, with love.
—Vince Rause
About the Authors
NANDO PARRADO reluctantly gained worldwide fame as one of the young heroes of the 1972 Andes disaster. Today he is CEO of several businesses based in his native Uruguay, including a national hardware chain, advertising and marketing firms, and a television production company, for which he produces and hosts popular programs on travel, fashion, current events, and motor sports. Since 1991 he has been one of the most sought-after speakers on the international lecture circuit. A former race car driver and winner of the European Team Cup for Touring Car racing, he still enjoys racing cars, motorcycles, and speedboats. He lives in Montevideo, Uruguay, with his wife, Veronique, and their daughters, Veronica and Cecilia. Nando can be contacted at [email protected]
VINCE RAUSE is an author and magazine writer whose stories have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, the Los Angeles Times Magazine, Readers’ Digest, Sports Illustrated, and many other national and regional publications. His last book, written with noted brain researcher Andrew Newberg, was Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief. He lives in Pittsburgh with his wife, Christine, and their daughter, Carmela.
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