A Hollow Triumph

("They Said It Couldn't Be Done")

The elimination of the last of the known chemical weapons in Syria feels like such a small, hollow victory given the current level of calamity both in that country and in the region.

It is a particularly brutal period for the president's foreign policy. If he inherited a disastrous decision by President Bush in Iraq, recent actions by ISIS remind us how little President Obama has been able to accomplish there. And, as we prepare to put Afghanistan in our rear view mirror, this week's Taliban offensive seems likely prelude to what will transpire once we are gone.

In Syria, there is consideration of our providing funds to arm the opposition to Assad even as he meets his promise regarding turnover of chemical weapons. Even here, what has been accomplished remains murky at best, as any statement of compliance must contain an asterisk regarding potential unreported stashes of such materials.

Like many stories, this one was much larger at inception than conclusion. While we stood on the precipice of yet another invasion, our country shuddered at the thought of more years, more money and more American lives in potential jeopardy. It is difficult to remember those moments with clarity, or to comprehend that for the briefest of periods, the United States and Russia joined together to force President Assad to agree to surrender those weapons capable of inflicting the worst of atrocities on his own citizens.

As we watched Vladimir Putin's annexation of Crimea, it is hard to imagine any set of recent circumstances in which he could have been an ally. We are reminded of that time with today's announcement. Yet,for President Obama, what should be at least a note of triumph has been drowned out by the unrelenting drumbeat of disaster that overwhelms our senses and our headlines.

Trouble in the Bedroom

My wife and I are incompatible in the bedroom.

No, its not what you are thinking, and I am offended that your mind leaped immediately and with a certain level of glee to that conclusion. What I am talking about is much more important. This story is all about noise and temperature.

Growing up, I was somewhat drawn to the gentle tunes that emanated from fans. Maybe obsessed is a fairer description. For most of my youth I could not eat a meal unless the fan that sat above the stove was whirring. Still, a half century later, I get a visceral response to the memory of that humming. Maybe the reason I tend to speak loudly is I had to half shout during dinner.

So too, nothing was more critical to my sleep during the warmer months than the sound of the large attic fan at work. The problem for my parents and my sister was that my insistence I was hot and in dire need of circulating air was not restricted by the outside temperature. There were many a night when the house itself almost shuddered as I wandered into sleep to the sounds of the fan as my parents and sister huddled in their beds under the covers to brace against the cold.

Years later, immediately before I married, I was living in my parent's residence and studying for the bar exam. Many days would find me in my pajamas, books strewn everywhere in my room, the white noise machine merrily humming day and night. My soon to be wife should have been well forewarned.

I am now deep into my fourth decade of marriage and of the many tics and turns that form the person who my wife gets into bed with each evening, this one remains as persistent as ever. And so, it causes me a great deal of comfort that the air conditioning unit in our bedroom announces its arrival with a large whoosh. In operation, it generates the most soothing of tones, like a crooner whose voice brings peace and quiet to the soul. Only, to the rest of the universe in general, and to my wife in particular, the decibel level that emanates is far too high and is accompanied by a most grating kind of banging.

She has tried home made remedies, notably sticking padding in the perceived area of the rattle. For much of the past year, that seemed to do the trick, or at least appease my wife enough that the air conditioner was allowed to live.

We have a service contract on this system, and the experts were recently brought in to work their magic. They seem to have had far less luck or success. Yesterday, as the fan cycled on and I began to fade into slumber, my wife announced that the banging noise was back in full force. The answer, she thought, was to raise the temperature so that the machine did not have to work as hard. It was an interesting concept.

Which brings me to the other issue that takes center stage in our bedroom. What temperature do you find acceptable in your house? Please repeat that, for I want my wife to hear what you just said.

My internal thermostat, and that of my wife, have not been programmed properly. What her body and mind are informing her is appropriate, leaves me just short of openly perspiring. "Take the blanket off you, if you are hot" is not to my way of thinking the correct answer to the question of what temperature the air conditioning has been set at. And her piercing inquiry in the morning, "did you get up in the middle of the night to turn the temperature down" is most often met with either an outright lie or a sheepish admission.

I can only imagine that some version of  this temperature conversation goes on in almost every household throughout the world. For those fortunate enough to have air conditioning, there is a husband arguing his cause and a wife suggesting an alternative theory. Hot or cold, I wager that many a bedroom discussion have little to do with the heat generated beneath the sheets and much to do with the heat caused by opening the windows.

As I write this piece, my wife is sleeping soundly in the next room. I have turned on the air conditioning unit next to where I sit. The morning may be cool enough that I should merely open the window and the door and allow nature to perform its magic. I know once my wife gets up, she will make that suggestion. But for now, this is my domain and my noise. I do think it is getting a little cold in here. I am starting to shiver.

Janessa and the Large Man on the Footbridge

"So Similar, So Different" and "Our Moral Tongue" are companion pieces,  intended or not.

In Mr. Krisof's op-ed he speaks of the question posed by Janessa, as to why we should not be compelled to take care of our own before others.  Mr. Keysar and Mr. Costa give rationale for the inquiry, in the visceral versus the abstract.

And I think this is our great failing, that we can find one life more worthy than the next. The conclusions we reach based on this premise know no boundaries.

Mr. Kristof, in the tale of his travels attempts to bring a humanity, a face, a value to those to whom we would otherwise have no emotional connection. He is putting the large man on the footbridge not only in each of our heads but in each of our hearts. Without that, this world will continue to be filled with the worst of what humanity has to offer.

My New Celebrity

It is strange that the plant doesn't seem to treat me differently, with a certain reverence. That the attention it demands hasn't diminished. That the sun and the rain still make it happy or sad. That the dirt, the stems, the flowers, the buds all seem remarkably as they did yesterday.

And the words that I type don't elevate magically. The pedantic, mundane, uninspiring phrases still remain glued to my fingertips. The majestic remains well beyond my grasp.

The plane still soars in the sky and disappears. The clouds still dot the horizon, creating their ever changing painting. The buildings, in their early slumber, still barely open their eyes. The boats remain moored on the water, waiting to be unleashed.

It is funny how remarkably the same the world appears today. It seems it has not gotten word of my new celebrity.

Today's Jewish Standard - An Article about My Mom and Me

My post "The Man in My Mother's Bedroom" was recently published in one of the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books, entitled "Living With Alzheimer's and other Dementia." A press release was sent to local media by the Greater NJ Chapter of the Alzheimer's Association (which was affiliated with the book)

To make a short story long, the Jewish Standard became interested, and I was interviewed earlier this week by Joanne Palmer, the editor. The result is an article about my mom and myself in today's Standard. It focuses on both of our histories and where we find ourselves at present.

I am so glad that my mom gets one more moment to be a person of importance. She has been a wonderful parent and role model. Both my sister and myself are incredibly fortunate to be the children of Dorothy Nussbaum and Richard Nussbaum, who passed away over 35 years ago but remains in our thoughts each and every day.

Eric Cantor

Move over Mark Twain. It is not only reports of your death that have been greatly exaggerated.

The Tea Party is alive, and if not fully healthy, at least not on life support as many political pundits would have suggested. The defeat of Eric Cantor signals that you can still never be crazy enough in the Republican wrong about everything universe. If there be a hint of sanity, a sniff of morality, a brush with compassion, then you remain fair game to be ousted from the ranks of the totally incorrigible.

Why will it be virtually impossible for the Republicans to present a candidate for 2016 who has broad enough appeal to capture the presidency? Look what happened to Mitt Romney as he tried to squeeze a square peg into a round hole. To survive the gauntlet and emerge as the person of choice for this party on a national level, one has to run, not walk, from any position that is even remotely rational.

Eric Cantor as the town crier for true immigration reform.  In what possible constellation is that even remotely accurate?

When the legacy of President Obama is finally written, it will be moments like this, when someone like Mr. Cantor is ousted by his own party, that should serve as vivid reminder of the impossible task that marked his term in office.

Democrats today are simultaneously sad and happy to see Mr. Cantor and his particular brand of petulance on the way out the door. The abiding fear is that it is not always the devil you know who should cause the greatest concern. It is probably no coincidence that his potential replacement is named Brat.

The Amazing Tale of Jonathan Winston - Chapter Four

July 6, 2014 - The Georgia Gazette

Jonathan Winston's  bookstore closed during the 18 months in the late 1980's when he divorced himself from the world. His savings evaporated, but he refused to accept money to tell his story, although there were offers as high as $2,000,000. And so, in early 1990 he closed up his apartment in Georgia, packed one small suitcase and became a resident of the United Kingdom, moving in with his sister and brother-in-law.

During the course of the 1990's, Jonathan Winston estimated he spent over 1500 days traveling the world in search of answers. "I went anywhere and everywhere. My expenses were paid by those who beckoned.. I traveled to more than 50 countries and was poked, prodded and even on one occasion poisoned on purpose." In total, he moved about for months on each of the seven continents, and witnessed the best and the worst in every  nook and cranny of the globe. But neither the beauty nor the ugliness made an impact on him. Jonathan was consumed by only one thought.

He submitted himself to endless interrogation, to intimate examination, to twists and turns of body and soul. He would literally stand on his head if requested, once held his breath for over two minutes, counted from 10,000 to 1 backwards and held a pencil for three days straight. He ingested all kinds of "remedies", took all manner of medicines, stopped eating meat and drank only water. His search was seemingly without limit. However he would  never agree to brain surgery, for there was nothing to suggest he would be "normal" afterwards. He was tired and cranky, frustrated and sad, angry and discouraged, and more and more in despair. Each day was becoming worse than the one before. And then, in one instant, the search abruptly ended.

On August 17,1999, Jonathan Winston tried to kill himself. He was in a remote village in South Africa, eight days into what was yet another wild goose chase. "I couldn't see the purpose of continuing. Sitting alone in my room,  I was exhausted, completely and utterly lost. I slit my wrists and waited to die." He stares at the faint reminders of that decision.


Jonathan was found by a local doctor who had come to take him to just one more appointment. He was rushed, in grave condition, to the hospital two miles away. "Lying in that hospital bed, I  had what I consider my true "awakening". It was as if a portion of my brain dormant since February, 1987 came alive. At 10:16 on the morning of August 23, 1999, I  came to the simple realization that I was not my condition . I vowed that I would not let it control the rest of my days. From that moment on, I stopped running from myself."

And thus began the second part of his journey of discovery.

Once out of the hospital,  Jonathan  returned to the home of his sister and brother-in-law and started studies in meditation. "Several months into this process, I found my evenings were not so desperate, so desolate anymore. I was able to go into a kind of trance, and to a large extent,  my nights became not much different from yours. Getting into bed, I would be able to become very quiet, very still. Gradually I was able to extend the time that I remained in that state through most of the night."


In early 2001, Jonathan bid his sister and brother-in-law goodbye. He boarded a plane, and headed back to America. To Durham, North Carolina.

The mission statement of the Duke Institute for Brain Sciences is to "advance interdisciplinary research and education that transfers our understanding of brain function and translates into innovative solution for health and society".

Dr. Thomas Lipton, head of the Institute in 2001, now retired, remembers the call he received  on February 11 of that year. It was from Jonathan Winston. "He introduced himself on the phone and asked if I knew how he was. Who, especially in my community would not know him? He said that he was living with family in England, but was hoping for a chance to come to work with us. He wanted to understand as much as he could about the brain and thought there was no better place in the world for him to get that knowledge. I told him it would be an honor and a privilege for him to be in our employ. I had no idea at that time what work he would do."

On March 3, 2001, Jonathan Winston started his job at the Institute.


"Instead of disengaging from what was happening to me, I began to embrace it." In 2003, at age 59, with the financial assistance of his employer, Jonathan went back to school. He took the prerequisite science courses, and then became a graduate student in neuroscience at Duke University. Today, he is Dr. Jonathan Winston, still on the staff of the Institute. He has collaborated on a number of important studies, most having no relation to his own condition. "Not being able to sleep turned out to be the greatest blessing I could ever imagine. It has pointed my life in a wholly unexpected direction and has allowed me extraordinary opportunities."


Over the past decade, Jonathan  found one other gift he thought would forever elude him: family. In late 2003, he met Ellen Thompson, then 34 and a single mom with a six year old son Ethan.  By the beginning of 2005, Jonathan Winston was married with an instant family. In September, Ethan will begin his own journey of discovery at Duke University.


Despite such unique circumstances, Jonathan Winston has settled into what he believes is, in very large part, an ordinary life."I did not choose to be as I am. I did not want to be as I am. I only wanted to be like everyone else, to live like everyone else. I have found what I began searching for in those terrible moments in February, 1987. I have found quiet, inside and out."


On July 4, 2014, Jonathan Winston marked 10,000 consecutive days in which he had been awake 24 hours straight. That is 240,000 hours or 14,400,000 minutes or 864,000,000 seconds since his last sleep.The "shakes" still remain. But while he has gone more than 27 years with a condition now known as "Winston's Disease", Jonathan Winston has never felt better in his entire life. Or happier.


This is the last of a 4 part series on "The Amazing Tale of Jonathan Winston."

Bowe Bergdahl

AN EDITED VERSION OF THIS POST APPEARS IN THE LETTERS SECTION OF THE NEW YORK TIMES ON JUNE 5, 2014

The story of the apparent desertion of Bowe Bergdahl, his capture by the Taliban, and his ultimate return to this country is a tale replete with unanswered questions. Which is not a good thing for President Obama.

If the President could have chosen a person to be the prisoner of war involved in the exchange for five Taliban detainees, it would not have been this soldier. If he could have chosen a war in which he would go to such lengths to save one of our own, it would not have been this one. If he could have chosen a Congress to seek counsel on the dilemma of dealing with an enemy, it would not have been comprised of so many whose vitriol directed at him is unrelenting. If he could have had this situation handed to him in a neat, well constructed package, it would have been most welcome.

But war is far from tidy, Sgt. Bergdahl was far from the ideal soldier, the detainees in Guantanamo Bay were far too soiled and every Republican who could find a tv camera or newspaper was far too willing to excoriate.

The life and times of Barack Obama are never easy and it seems every decision he makes is ripe for criticism, justified or not. The Bergdahl story, like that of Benghazi, will undoubtedly have a very long and troubling shelf life. President Obama, in bringing Bergdahl home, also brought home an endless sea of problems directly to his doorstep.

The Amazing Tale of Jonathan Winston - Chapter Three

June 29, 2014 - The Georgia Gazette

By the summer of 1987 news of what was happening to Jonathan Winston had spread across the globe. On June 6, 1987 this paper, the Georgia Gazette, published an article entitled "The Man Who Never Sleeps." Within days, the requests for interviews numbered over 300.

What Jonathan Winston feared most, as he passed 100 days without sleep, was not death. He now seemed certain that whatever was happening was not killing him. Nor did he worry that he was losing his mind. His time in the Glen Oaks mental facility in the spring of 1987 had calmed him down and made him stop questioning his sanity. What would have kept Jonathan awake at night (if he had been able to sleep) was the overriding thought of becoming a freak show.

Jonathan had spoken with the Georgia Gazette for the article because he knew the story would get out no matter his wishes, and he wanted the record to be correct. He told the paper that the doctors had been unable to find the cause of his "problem". They could see some unusual brain activity happening every night at almost the same time, but had no explanation for why it occurred nor any suspicion as to what it was doing. The brain tremors seemed to make it unnecessary for Jonathan to sleep. Each morning he felt much like you or I would after a full evening of shut-eye. And yes, he was actually apparently completely healthy.

The Gazette's piece was filled with expert opinions on what ailed Mr. Winston. From around the globe there were diagnosis and cures. "Give me 72 hours with him, and he will be sleeping like a baby" was the pronouncement of Dr. Walter Postman who had won universal acclaim for his study on sleep ailments. He postulated that there was a triggering mechanism in Winston's brain that could be turned on and off, like a light switch. His theory, like every other one that came before and would come after, was incorrect.

Jonathan's bookstore business had been in shambles in the early months of 1987 as he was shunted from doctor to doctor, and then to Glen Oaks. While friends tried to help out, they could only do so much. After he returned to work, and the Gazette article was published, Jonathan Winston's bookstore became a tourist attraction. Within weeks, business was exploding and Jonathan hired his first full time employee since he opened his doors eight years earlier. While he welcomed the financial relief, he despised why it was occurring.

In July of 1987, Jonathan Winston disappeared. It would be 18 months before he resurfaced. There were reports during that time that he had died in an accident, committed suicide, become a monk, shaved his head, grown a beard. There were thousands of sitings and endless conjecture. In his absence, his fame only grew larger. If Jonathan Winston hoped would come back to find his story nothing more than yesterday's news, his wish would not be fulfilled.

Where had he been during those months?  Jonathan would not divulge this information nor what had prompted his return. One would have thought this secret would long since have been revealed, if not by Jonathan, than by someone, anyone, with whom he had an encounter, by chance or purpose, during that time. But, like other great mysteries of the universe, no one knows where and how Jonathan Winston lived from July 1987 until January of 1989. And he was soon voted one of the ten most famous persons on the planet for the decade of the 1980's.

After giving the interview to the Georgia Gazette in the spring of 1987, Jonathan Winston would not grant another request to speak on the record for 27 years. As  he neared 10,000 consecutive days and nights without sleep, he decided that he would grant one, and only one more request to tell his story.

To discover Jonathan Winston's personal thoughts on the odyssey that has taken him to places he never dreamed of going (and., literally, could not dream about) you must read the July 6, 2014 fourth, and final, installment in the Georgia Gazette of "The Life and Very Strange Times of Jonathan Winston"

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The Amazing Tale of Jonathan Winston - Chapter Two

June 22, 2014 - The Georgia Gazette

On the morning of February 16, 1987 Jonathan Winston sat in the waiting room of the office of Dr. Warren Judson. For the past four nights, Jonathan had gotten no sleep. None. He was scared, but he tried to mask the fear as he filled out the two page form before him. No, he wasn't experiencing any chest pain, headaches, vomiting, nausea. No, he didn't have a history of any of the ailments listed. No alcohol issues, no drug problems. No unusual fatigue. No, no a thousand times no. The form did not have any questions related to the strange "shudders" he was experiencing every night nor why, despite having been awake for more than 100 hours straight, apart from the anxiety, he felt remarkably well.

Jonathan's regular doctor, Thomas Burns, whom he had seen for more than a decade, was on vacation that week. Initially, Jonathan thought he could wait for Burns return to schedule an appointment. But this was too bizarre, too unnerving.

Warren Judson had been working for Thomas Burns for less than six months. After finishing up his residency in Chicago, he returned home to Atlanta, to begin his career. He had never laid eyes upon Jonathan Winston before he entered the room and saw him, holding the two page chart in his hands. He noticed that Winston's hands were shaking, just a little.

"Good morning, Mr. Winston, how are you feeling today?"

What could Jonathan say. This was not someone who knew him, or could possibly understand what he was experiencing. "Strange" was all he could think to utter.

Dr. Judson looked at the form and studied the section where it asked for present complaints. He seemed puzzled. He pulled the history of his patient searching for something that clearly wasn't there.

"Let me have a look at you."

After taking Jonathan's blood pressure, listening to his heartbeat, having him take deep breaths and doing all those things that doctors do, he was no closer to an answer.

Jonathan was certain only that this was just the beginning. He thought of the next step, the scan of his brain and the hope that it wouldn't reveal something awful. If he was not sick to his stomach when he walked in, he was as he walked out. Jonathan's world, as he had known it for the past 42 years, was about to change. But he had no idea how much, and for how long.

The next two weeks were an endless cycle of tests and more tests, appointments layered on top of other appointments. Jonathan was still not sleeping, yet still invigorated every morning. His nights were filled with worry and with the realization that what was happening to him was even more complicated than he had originally feared, The doctors were not providing any help.

Finally, on March 7, 1987 Jonathan Winston, after more than 500 hours without sleep and after a battery of tests that would try the patience of any man, cracked wide open. For the next 48 days he would reside not in his two bedroom apartment, but in a 12 by 12 room in a place known as Glen Oaks. It was the oldest psychiatric facility in Georgia.

The twists and turns of Jonathan Winston's life did not end after his release from Glen Oaks. In many ways, his truth turned out to be much stranger than  fiction.

For more on Jonathan Winston, read part three in next week's Georgia Gazette series on "The Life and Very Strange Times of Jonathan Winston."

The Amazing Tale of Jonathan Winston - Chapter One

 June 15, 2014 - The Georgia Gazette


He has been the the subject of 14 books, more than 400 articles and an infinite number of conversations. Every inch of him, inside and out, has been examined, analyzed and interpreted. He is considered the most studied person on the planet. As incomprehensible the solution,  the problem is simple and clearly defined: Jonathan Winston has not slept in more than 27 years.

On the night of February 12, 1987, Jonathan Winston went to bed at 11 PM. He was 43 years, 8 months, 2 weeks and 3 days old. He lived alone in a two bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Atlanta . He had never been married, was the owner, sole proprietor and only employee of a small bookstore. He had a wide circle of friends, drank but not to excess, did not smoke, was not overweight and exercised regularly. His mother and father were still alive and well, working class people much like him. His sister had moved to England more than a decade earlier. They rarely spoke, but he would say they were still close. Up to the evening of February 12, 1987, the life of Jonathan Winston was wholly unremarkable.

He can recall nothing unusual that occurred during the day of February 12, 1987. He was not struck by lightning, hit by a car, did not suffer a seizure, have a heart attack, neither found God nor a new favorite food, did not hear voices or see visions,was not abducted by aliens or even by his friends for a drink or two. He merely awoke, went to work, came home, watched the nightly news, read for a  while and got into bed. But for some reason he was not the least sleepy.

At 1 AM, he grew irritated. Having tossed and turned for an extended period, he headed to the medicine cabinet searching for a remedy. But there was not a sleeping pill to be found, for getting a good night's sleep had never been an issue. There was a product for those with a cold and stuffy head that promised to bring peaceful rest, so Jonathan gave this a try. But more than an hour later, nothing had happened. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated his next move.

Suddenly there was something that felt different. It was but a small shudder, almost imperceptible to Jonathan initially, but it came again about 15 minutes after the first. And then another, within but several minutes more. And another, even closer. There was no pain attached, only a very tiny sensation, not a shock, not nearly that much, but something.

And then, maybe an hour after the first of these episodes, all was quiet. Jonathan was not so much scared as he was concerned. He hoped it was nothing but he vowed to get it checked out in the morning. He remained wide awake for the balance of the night.

When he called his doctor's office and relayed what had happened, the receptionist advised that the doctor was on vacation and would not be returning until the following week. If he wanted an appointment for a checkup, he could be seen in three weeks. If he was at all worried, there was another doctor on call whom she could contact to get in touch with Jonathan. That would not be  necessary, Jonathan told her.

The unusual thing was that Jonathan was not at all tired on the day of February 13, 1987. While he would have expected to be exhausted by mid-day, his energy did not wane at all. If anything, he felt strangely refreshed. He relayed the story of the prior evening to several friends, and while one or two told him he must get checked right away, Jonathan did not take their suggestion seriously. He was fine, he told them, and himself.

Only the evening of February 13, 1987 was much like the one before. And then the next day also. It was now more than 72 hours since Jonathan had slept. The nightly "tremors" recurred and then dissipated. The expected fatigue never materialized. Jonathan now feared something was gravely wrong. A brain tumor maybe. He called back to the doctor's office, this time with a sense of urgency.

It is estimated that Jonathan has seen over 250 doctors in the more than 27 years since that first night he lay awake in bed. There have been solutions suggested as benign as eating 2 bananas each night no more than 30 minutes before bedtime to the exotic and extremely bizarre. There have been 'breakthroughs" and discoveries. But never anything that has cured him.

Jonathan Winston is now 70 years old, has not slept  in 9981 days and counting. He appears to be in remarkably good health. He is planning  no celebration on July 4th of this year when he will mark 10,000 evenings since he last was able to slumber. He had hoped the day would pass without notice. That will not be the case.

The mystery persists. And the questions that hang in the air are why has he survived, and maybe more importantly, why do any of us need to sleep?

A study recently done by the University of Rochester  would suggest that sleep is required to clean out one's brain of all the excess debris built up during the time we are awake.

Cells throughout our body produce waste product that gets removed through our lymphatic system, but not so the brain. It has its own unique method of dumping its junk, carried on waves of cerebrospinal fluid to the liver for disposal. And, as it turns out, the passageways to get this done open much wider during periods of sleep.

So, the conclusion reached by those conducting this study is that without sleep our brains would basically explode.

What seems to have happened with Jonathan Winston is that his brain has been able to replicate this pattern while he is fully awake. Those little nightly episodes, that Jonathan refers to as the "shakes", are the vacuum cleaner inside his head going to work, filtering out all the bad that has accumulated during the normal waking hours, and leaving his brain ready to take in another day's worth of information.

Jonathan Winston has long since abandoned the possibility of closing his eyes in the darkness of  night and finding bright daylight when they next open. Has he done remarkable things with all those extra hours? For the answers to that question and what the past 27 years have been like for him, you will have to read the follow up articles in this series entitled, "The Life and Very Strange Times of Jonathan Winston".