Abstract
There is a well-worn tale of deception, secrecy, and perhaps courage that my family has retold over the years. As the story goes, winter after winter in the 1960s, my mother’s family would pile into a wood-paneled station wagon and head west from Iowa to Colorado for a ski vacation. On the return trip, my uncles schemed to hide cases of the local Coors beer (unobtainable in the Midwest) in the car. My mother, the youngest of six, whose seat was in the very back of the station wagon, became steward of the secret cargo, with her feet perched atop