My grandmother flew only once in her life, and that was the day she and her new husband ascended into the skies of Victorian London in the wicker basket of a hot-air balloon. They were soon to emigrate to Canada, and the aerial ride was meant to be a last view of their beloved England.
The police chief of Hiroshima welcomed me eagerly as the first Allied correspondent to reach the city.
I want to be more than just some guy who played in a World Cup final.
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