Dispatches from the Edge
DISPATCHES FROM THE EDGE
A Memoir of War, Disasters, and Survival
ANDERSON COOPER
To my mom and dad, and the spark of recognition that brought them together
Contents
Introduction
1
Tsunami: Washed Away 9
Iraq: Inkblots of Blood 47 Niger: Night Sweats 83 Katrina: Facing the Storm 121 Photographic Insert Aftermath 165 Epilogue 203 Author’s Note 209 Acknowledgments 211 About the Author Credits Cover
Copyright About the Publisher Introduction
I
WAS TEN WHEN my father died, and before that moment, that slap of silence that
reset the clock, I can’t remember much. Th ere are some things, of course—fractals, shards of memory, sharp as broken glass. I remember an old globe that sat on the table by my bed. I must have been five or six. It was a present from my mother, who’d received it from the author Isak Dinesen, long after she’d written Out of Africa. When I couldn’t sleep, I’d touch the globe, trace the contours of continents in the dark. Some nights my small fingers would hike the ridges of Everest, or struggle to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro. Many times, I rounded the Horn of Africa, more than once my ship foundering on rocks off the Cape of Good Hope. Th e globe was covered with names of nations that no longer exist: Tanganyika, Siam, the Belgian Congo, Ceylon. I dreamed of traveling to them all. I didn’t know who Isak Dinesen was, but I’d seen her photograph in a delicate gold frame in my mother’s bedroom: her face hidden by a hunter’s hat, an Afghan hound crouching by her side. To me she was a mysterious figure from my mother’s past, just one of many.
3 ANDERSON COOPER
My mother’s name is Gloria Vanderbilt, and long before I ever got into the news business, she was making headlines. She was born in 1924 to a family of great wealth, and early on discovered its limits. When she was fi fteen months old her father died, and for years afterward, she was shuttled about from continent to continent, her mother always moving off
A Memoir of War, Disasters, and Survival
ANDERSON COOPER
To my mom and dad, and the spark of recognition that brought them together
Contents
Introduction
1
Tsunami: Washed Away 9
Iraq: Inkblots of Blood 47 Niger: Night Sweats 83 Katrina: Facing the Storm 121 Photographic Insert Aftermath 165 Epilogue 203 Author’s Note 209 Acknowledgments 211 About the Author Credits Cover
Copyright About the Publisher Introduction
I
WAS TEN WHEN my father died, and before that moment, that slap of silence that
reset the clock, I can’t remember much. Th ere are some things, of course—fractals, shards of memory, sharp as broken glass. I remember an old globe that sat on the table by my bed. I must have been five or six. It was a present from my mother, who’d received it from the author Isak Dinesen, long after she’d written Out of Africa. When I couldn’t sleep, I’d touch the globe, trace the contours of continents in the dark. Some nights my small fingers would hike the ridges of Everest, or struggle to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro. Many times, I rounded the Horn of Africa, more than once my ship foundering on rocks off the Cape of Good Hope. Th e globe was covered with names of nations that no longer exist: Tanganyika, Siam, the Belgian Congo, Ceylon. I dreamed of traveling to them all. I didn’t know who Isak Dinesen was, but I’d seen her photograph in a delicate gold frame in my mother’s bedroom: her face hidden by a hunter’s hat, an Afghan hound crouching by her side. To me she was a mysterious figure from my mother’s past, just one of many.
3 ANDERSON COOPER
My mother’s name is Gloria Vanderbilt, and long before I ever got into the news business, she was making headlines. She was born in 1924 to a family of great wealth, and early on discovered its limits. When she was fi fteen months old her father died, and for years afterward, she was shuttled about from continent to continent, her mother always moving off