From Andrew Exum's, "Perilous Orthodoxy," Fall '99 From Andrew Exum's, "Perilous Orthodoxy," Fall '99I can die in peace now. Fifteen years after introducing the first pair of Air Jordans, Nike, the all-powerful shoe conglomerate, has brought out their newest line -- Air Exums. No, I'm not kidding. I would love to say that Nike CEO Phil Knight happened to see me dunking tennis balls in Gimbel the other day and decided to award my efforts with a shoe contract. I have to confess, however, that the "Air Exum" has little to do with my own accomplishments. In the first half of this century, while my grandfather was moving east toward Tennessee from his Mississippi birthplace, his cousins were moving west. Among them were Glenn Exum and his family, who eventually settled in Ketchum, Idaho. In 1930, Glenn befriended a young mountain guide by the name of Paul Petzoldt. Petzoldt, a legendary outdoorsman who went on to found the National Outdoor Leadership School, persuaded Glenn to accompany him on an ascent of Grand Teton in Wyoming. Glenn agreed and -- wearing an old pair of football cleats for traction -- started up the mountain with Petzoldt. About halfway up, Petzoldt pointed out a ridge forking to the left. Glenn, either out of sheer curiosity or an adventurous spirit, slowly crept up to the ridge, going where no climber had set foot before. Out of Petzoldt's view and earshot, Glenn arrived at a crevasse separating him from the ridge leading up the side of the mountain. Two thousand feet deep and a few feet across, the crevasse appeared impassable. At this point, Glenn did something so insanely stupid only one of my relatives would think about trying it. In short, Glenn took a deep breath, bent his knees, and jumped over the crevasse. After that, it was an easy climb up the rest of the ridge toward the summit. In one leap, Glenn permanently tattooed his name onto the roster of great American mountaineers. Exum Ridge, as it is now known, is the most widely-traveled route up the Grand. Glenn, with Petzoldt's help, established a guide service at the bottom of the mountain shortly after his now-famous climb. Today, despite Glenn's death from cancer in the early 1990s, the Exum School of American Mountaineering is the largest in the world. The guides it employs are a veritable Who's Who list of world-class mountaineers and climbers. Indeed, pretty much every famous mountain climber has worked at the school at one point or another. From these mountaineers and guides, Nike assembled a team to help them put together a state-of-the-art mountaineering shoe, the Air Exum. I haven't really seen the shoe yet, outside of a somewhat blurry advertisement. For all I know, it could be the ugliest thing since the mini-van. In addition, I'm a bit skeptical of any "state-of-the-art" shoe designed by mountain guides. Having been a climber all my life, I've had the privilege of knowing quite a few mountain guides and climbing instructors. One of them, a good friend named Dave Hoover, once spent the afternoon climbing with me and trying to explain that the mathematical concept of algebra was "wrong." Dave's a great guy and a genius in his own odd way, but I wouldn't trust him to design anything I would put on my feet. I don't think material sciences are his strong point. Still, I'll probably buy two or three pair of these new shoes. I used to go to camp with a kid named Michael Jordan -- not the Penn point guard -- who had every pair of Air Jordans ever made. The way I see it, it's not every day you get a shoe with your name on it. As a matter of fact, the only thing that kept me happy as I spent my Valentine's Day at home alone -- besides, of course, the Daytona 500 -- is the knowledge that I've reached the pinnacle of American life at the relatively young age of 20. I, Andrew Exum, have my own shoe. Sort of. It sounds cheesy, but as you go about your week here at Penn, don't be afraid to risk it all once in a while like my cousin Glenn. Who knows? You just may end up with a shoe of your own someday. Until then, you can always buy mine.
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