I was born in Paris, where my parents, post-Revolution refugees from Russia, found living very comfortable. An only child, I had a normal and probably oversheltered childhood. This all came to an end with World War II. In May 1940, my father drove us out of Paris to the south of France to wait until he could get the visas needed to go through Spain and Portugal so we could embark for the United States. From the date we left France, I believe that we were the beneficiaries of the heroic deed of Aristides de Sousa Mendes, the Portuguese consul in Bordeaux who issued transit visas through Portugal after he had been forbidden to do so. We reached New York in September 1940.