The year was 1965 and I was in junior high--socially awkward, riddled with braces, pin curled hair, and glasses, but, I had romantic dreams about the opposite sex. The Beatles had come to America and I was in love. All the girls had their Beatle that they goggled after and mine was the quiet intellectual, brooding, dark haired George.
But George couldn't compete with Omar...yes, Omar Sharif, the handsome Yuri Zhivago in the movie Dr. Zhivago. I sat in the movie wondering if Omar with his accent and mustache or the Ice Palace with its ice and frozen tundra was more beautiful. Thus was born my fascination with all things Russian, tragic, ill-fated, and depressing.
I spent the next four years reading Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn, and Tolstoy.