It was Martin Luther King weekend, and the family was going up to the Raleigh Hotel in the Catskills. By family I mean my Aunt Selma, Uncle Sigmund, and cousins Lois and Judy and their families. There were at least 18 of us. It was Saturday and the hotel arranged for some of the guests to go skiing. Robert had never skied before and was specifically told he had to take lessons. The person in charge of lessons was busy and Rob decided he didn’t want to wait, so—you guessed it—he went to the top of the mountain and started going down. Unfortunately, he fell and broke his leg.