After Kennedy died in 1963, his vision lived on in thousands of volunteers who would devote two or more years to working at low wages in less developed nations. The greatest demand was for assistance in technology, agriculture, and medicine. Educators were also needed in science as well as mathematics, which just happened to be one of my two majors in college. So in early 1973, I made my application. "Send me wherever I can be of most use," I told the recruiters. As fate would have it, my skills were most needed in a country I had scarely heard of and had to look up on the world map: Malaysia. I was asked to fly from Indiana to Denver for "Pre-Invitational Staging" (or PRIST) to learn more about the assignment and to undergo screening interviews. There was also a background check to be conducted by the FBI. Only one in seventeen applicants would actually become a volunteer.

Was I nervous? Not a bit. I enjoyed meeting the other applicants in my group who had come from all over the country. I was relieved that I was being considered for Malaysia, rather than Ethopia where the other group attending the PRIST was going. In fact, I was so confident, I even had a beer before my psychological review. That's why it came as a surprise to me at the end of the session when the interviewer said, "I'm a little bit worried about you."

Had he smelled the beer on my breath? Was he hinting at possible alcohol problems? I quickly reassured him: "I've lived in Greece. I enjoy foreign cultures. I'm sure I'll be fine out there in the jungle." Then he explained: "I believe you will do very well. But I think you will find life overseas so stimulating, I'm afraid you may not come back."

To this day, I don't know whether he was insightful or just planting the émigré seed in my mind. But he was absolutely right. From the the 28-hour charter flight that took us to Kuala Lumpur via Anchorage and Seoul, to the High-Intensity Language Training (HILT) in Kota Baru, to the initial teaching assistantships in Seremban and my eventual posting at MARA Junior Science College in Kuantan, life in the Peace Corps was one new experience after another. Sand flies and sarongs, coconut palms and fried bananas, kite fights, monsoons, orangutans, and batik... these soon became as much a part of my world as the algebra and geometry I had come to teach. In the long run, I learned much more than my students did from my service in the Peace Corps. And I collected a wealth of resource material for my writing. (One story based on this period of my life is The Road to Kampong Maju; there will be links to more text here in the near future).