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By Root 459 0

never returned. The elders knew John. He was now eighty-six years old and lived in Nome. Then the elders asked about John’s family whom he hadn’t heard from for more than fifty years. Margaret said two of John’s sisters had died, but three were still alive. They continued talking to each other, learning what had happened to their relatives during the past forty-eight years. On Pat Omiak’s radio, caught up in emotion, we heard someone singing; then the whole village of Little Diomede joined in. They were singing Siberian Yupik songs that they had memorized from old records. Zoya and Margaret joined in; these were songs they had learned as children. As they sang back and forth to each other, some of the villagers started performing traditional Inuit dances. The gap created by all the years of separation had been bridged.

We continued to celebrate. One man gave me an Olympic Games pin, another man gave me a dove pin with the word mir—“peace”— etched on its wing, and the woman from the KGB gave me a pin with the U.S. and Soviet flags crossed together. When it was time to leave, the sun was shining brightly and the sky was blue and clear.

When we reached Little Diomede late that afternoon, all the villagers came out to greet us. We were fogged in that evening and couldn’t leave until the next day. Eric Pentilla met us in the morning and helicoptered us off the island to Nome. Our departure to Nome was late, but Pentilla radioed ahead, and Alaska Airlines held the plane for us. When we boarded, twenty minutes late, everyone on the plane burst into applause. The captain had given them the background on the swim. Later, after takeoff, he came out to meet us. It was strange too; once we were in the air, people started asking me for autographs. I was happy to oblige, until the pilot asked the passengers to return to their seats, because there was too much weight on one side of the plane.

The celebration continued that night in Anchorage, and in the morning, as promised, I flew with Maria Sullivan to New York City to appear on ABC’s Good Morning America. The other members of the crew had to return home, but Maria had offered to stay on and help with anything that came up. I was glad she was with me. Once we reached New York, the media barrage was unbelievable. Journalists were calling the hotel night and day from all around the world. Finally Maria asked the hotel manager to hold all calls.

Going from Nome to New York City was a real shocker. It was August, and in Alaska it had felt like winter. In New York it was eighty-five degrees and humid. All I had left to wear were my sweats, and they smelled like dead walrus from the ride back to Little Diomede in the umiak. But it was wonderful having a hot shower and clean sheets, and ordering room service, sharing chocolate and cheesecake with Maria.

I was so worried that I was going to have to wear the walrus-smelling sweats on the television program. There was no money left in my account for clothes, or anything. Fortunately, Maria had spoken with Joe Novella, the ABC producer, and in the morning he handed me his company credit card and said, “Buy whatever you need.”

Good Morning America had me scheduled for an interview between Boy George and Colin Powell. When I entered the greenroom, Colin Powell was sitting there, waiting to be interviewed by Charlie Gibson. Someone came in and handed me a dozen roses; they had a card from Joe Novella congratulating me on the swim and the interview. That piqued Colin Powell’s interest, but he didn’t say anything. I introduced myself and asked him if he was the president’s assistant for national security affairs. He nodded, a little surprised that I knew this, and asked me why I was there. Once I explained, he said he had followed my story—all he wanted to talk about was the Bering Strait swim. He said that he thought the swim had already helped diminish tensions between the two superpowers. I didn’t want to talk about me, though; I was more interested in him. It seemed more than coincidence that we were meeting like this. I sensed from our brief