Turn Left at the Trojan Horse Read Free Page B

he is essentially Everyman, in the sense that he is far from perfect. In the course of his adventures, Odysseus lies, steals, and schemes. He can be clear-minded and determined and remarkably courageous, but at times he is also distrustful and devious and hypocritical and merciless. He is not a particularly successful leader: His men often ignore his warnings and pay dearly for doing so, and he loses every single one of his ships and crew. His wife, Penelope, a daughter of Spartan royalty, is the very paragon of fidelity, yet he certainly isn’t faithful to her during his long journey home. And when he finally reaches Ithaka, he murders the dozens of unarmed men who have been courting her, thinking her husband long dead.
    Even physically, Homer describes Odysseus as unimposing. In the Iliad , an older man points to him and asks who the fellow is “who is shorter by a head than Agamemnon.” Later, another admits, “No other man alive could come near Odysseus. But then we did not think him so very much to look at.” By the time of the Odyssey , he is probably well into his forties, maybe with bags under his eyes from his constant travails, possibly out of shape. Even one-eyed Polyphemus calls him a “short worthless-looking runt.” You know you are no physical marvel when you are dissed by a Cyclops.
    So Odysseus is the prototype of not only the hero but also all flawed fictional heroes who followed. He is why Superman falls prey to kryptonite and Sherlock Holmes prefers his 7 percent solution and Indiana Jones hates snakes. And for a guy like me—somewhat vertically challenged, battling a paunch, not always taking the high road—his is a template to which I can relate.
    Come to think of it, my imperfection has been immortalized. You see, there is one final addendum to my Who Wants to Be a Millionaire tale. A few weeks after the silliness subsided, the phone rang. It was a fellow from Grolier, the folks who publish The Encyclopedia Americana . They were putting together The Americana Annual , a six-hundred-page recap of the events of the year 2000. Could I write 800 words about the history of quiz shows and the current craze? Sure, I said, only a tad reluctantly. At least it’s one way to get into the encyclopedia. The lesson: When revealing aspirations, be specific.
    Several months later, the volume arrived, a handsomely bound yearbook with Al Gore and George Bush awkwardly shaking hands on the cover. Squeezed in between an account of “Monkeys in Peril” and a spread about tall ships was my summary of quiz show history. To my surprise, the article began with a half-page color photo of my final moments on the Millionaire set. So in perpetuity, anyone can turn to page 90 of the 2001 Americana Annual and catch the forever frozen image of me sitting in the hot seat, smiling wanly at my old pal Regis, having just failed a test of courage.

II
family plots
    The original Encyclopedia Britannica , published nearly a century ago, described suicide as “an act of cowardice disguised as heroism.” It is a fascinating perspective, and it may have its origins in the ancient Greek myths, which are rife with dozens of tales of men and women who find death preferable to a troubled life. They hang themselves, stab themselves, drink poison, self-castrate, leap into the sea, and hurl themselves into the mouths of dragons. Usually, the gods are to blame.
    At about the time of the inaugural Britannica , my great-great-great uncle took an easier route than most of the ancients. He simply shot himself—after shooting someone else. I am on a mission to find him and perhaps figure out why.
    I have made this my first task because I have decided that I cannot examine the parameters of a heroic life without first considering the phenomenon of personal expectations. How does one’s course compare to one’s potential and, more important, to one’s aspirations? If the decision to end it