The Matterhorn Conundrum

We had just arrived in our four-person dorm room. It wasn’t at the University of Illinois. It was at our atelier in La Napoule, France. We had all come for a fall semester abroad to study architecture, both historic and contemporary, and to experience cultures foreign to ours. As I viewed our spartan accommodations, Harvey strode in, tall and exuberant. He announced that he had stopped in Switzerland, hired a guide, and climbed the Matterhorn, all before arriving at our humble abode in a small town on the French Riviera. I paused, a bit astonished, not sure how to respond. I knew of the Matterhorn, but knew nothing about the route or the difficulty. Though Harvey had never shown any prior interest in alpine climbing, his earnestness led me to accept his proclamation. I just filed it away, soon to be lost in the recesses of memory.

Harvey was a classic extrovert and consequently often a fun companion. One of my favorite memories was from visiting Ventimiglia’s Colletta Square. As we stood admiring the Chiesa di San Michele, a 10th-century Romanesque church, a sleek green convertible swung onto the square and stopped. A tall, beautiful blonde woman emerged, followed by two men, one arrestingly handsome. After a brief conversation, the second man reassumed the wheel and drove off. Harvey said, “Hey, that’s George Hamilton. Let’s go talk to him.” And so we strode forward. I figured Harvey would carry the day, so why not.

“Hey, you’re George Hamilton. My mother once danced with you,” Harvey announced as he extended his hand. I winced, but George, the consummate gentleman, shook both our hands and made friendly small talk. He explained that he and his blonde companion were waiting for the Ferrari factory to deliver his 330 GTS after some local maintenance. And, as if on cue, a flatbed truck turned into the square, hauling a gleaming red Ferrari convertible. They quickly tilted the bed, offloaded the convertible, and departed. We said our goodbyes and watched George and his stunning companion get in the car, rev the 12-cylinder engine, and shoot out of the square. It was suddenly quiet. I paused, stunned. I had just met one of Hollywood’s most glamorous movie stars, and I knew it never would have happened without Harvey.

Some years later I mentioned Harvey’s Matterhorn ascent to another architecture classmate who knew us both. Without any hesitation, David responded, “There is no way Harvey climbed the Matterhorn. He lied.” I was a bit taken aback by David's clarity, so I tucked that one away, thinking he was probably right. Harvey was something of a blowhard. But why would he choose that as an accomplishment? Perhaps I would never know. But it left me curious. Every time the Matterhorn returned to my mind, I remembered that story. I haven’t seen Harvey in decades. Harvey has a Facebook page that reveals no evidence of any interest in mountaineering or even hiking. So, I am skeptical about his Matterhorn story. But what do I know? And does it even matter? No, it does not.

To be continued...