By LYNN HANRAHAN
Los Alamos
I was standing outside the big art museum in Vienna on a cold, snowy December Saturday in 1989 debating where best to spend the one hour my mother-in-law had allocated to art. Cousin Greti hated modern stuff. I was too sleepy to care, and I can’t remember what we decided on.
A bus pulled up. The walls were falling in the world that year. A new world order was being born. The bus, like dozens more waiting, was from the East. An elderly man disembarked. He was dapper in an elegant hat and black wool coat. He carefully held the rail and when he made it off he got to his knees, bent Read More






