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Fanfare, November 1950
Page 18
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THE RACK BY WARREN BALDWIN I CURSED myself for not having had better sense. When I had left the Hoffberg's Inn, the storm clouds had already been gathering, but I had set out thinking I could reach Kleindorf before the tempest hit. Now I was lost and on foot, alone in the vastness of the hostile Schwarzwald. I had come to Germany that month on a vacation. My New York doctor had been very emphatic in his diagnosis. "You're overworked, Chris," he had said. "What you need most of all is a nice, long rest, that's clear. Why don't you go abroad for a few months? Doing nothing for a while will have you back on your feet in no time." He had gone on to recommend various health resorts for which the Continent was famous, but I had my own ideas. "Nothing doing," I had said. "A rest resort is the last place you want to go for recuperation. Too many things to do. Dances, 'recreational facilities'... I'd be more tired than when I left." So I had chosen the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest. I'd figured with several weeks of idleness in the clear, fur-perfumed air of those mountains I could soon return ready to whip my weight in elephants. I had embarked that week-end on the Deutscher Herzog, a crack German luxury steamer. This had taken me as far as Bremerhafen where I had to go the remainder of the distance, to Tannenstadt, by rail. It was in Kleindorf, a small village three miles beyond Tannenstadt, that I had my inn reservation. On arriving at Tannenstadt I found that there was no other method of reaching my final destination save by walking the distance over an ancient, rutted cart road page 18
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THE RACK BY WARREN BALDWIN I CURSED myself for not having had better sense. When I had left the Hoffberg's Inn, the storm clouds had already been gathering, but I had set out thinking I could reach Kleindorf before the tempest hit. Now I was lost and on foot, alone in the vastness of the hostile Schwarzwald. I had come to Germany that month on a vacation. My New York doctor had been very emphatic in his diagnosis. "You're overworked, Chris," he had said. "What you need most of all is a nice, long rest, that's clear. Why don't you go abroad for a few months? Doing nothing for a while will have you back on your feet in no time." He had gone on to recommend various health resorts for which the Continent was famous, but I had my own ideas. "Nothing doing," I had said. "A rest resort is the last place you want to go for recuperation. Too many things to do. Dances, 'recreational facilities'... I'd be more tired than when I left." So I had chosen the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest. I'd figured with several weeks of idleness in the clear, fur-perfumed air of those mountains I could soon return ready to whip my weight in elephants. I had embarked that week-end on the Deutscher Herzog, a crack German luxury steamer. This had taken me as far as Bremerhafen where I had to go the remainder of the distance, to Tannenstadt, by rail. It was in Kleindorf, a small village three miles beyond Tannenstadt, that I had my inn reservation. On arriving at Tannenstadt I found that there was no other method of reaching my final destination save by walking the distance over an ancient, rutted cart road page 18
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