Portrait of the Author as a Larchmont Dad

by William J. Broad

(February 16, 2006) In researching books, I’ve traveled the world, met fascinating people, and gone places no human ever went before, including a volcanic gash more than a mile down in the Pacific where I helped a team of scientists study bizarre creatures that thrive in pitch darkness. But nothing compares to doing it with my family, as I did recently for my seventh book, The Oracle, which was just released today.

My subject was the Oracle of Delphi, the most influential figure of ancient Greece. On my own, at Delphi, the holiest of Greek sites, I interviewed scientists doing research and probed the spectacular ruins of the temple of Apollo. Then, in July 2003, on a second visit, the whole family came along – my wife Tanya, daughter Julie, who attends Hommocks Middle School, and daughter Izzi and son Max, who are at Mamaroneck High. Our experience was very different from my usual book research and, to me, priceless.

Watching the excitement of our children as they explored Delphi helped me better understand the emotional resonance of the site for the religious pilgrims of antiquity as well as the continuing spell it cast on the scientists who uncovered its secrets in decades of painstaking research.

At Delphi, simply looking around thrilled us all. You are surrounded by mountains and canyons and cliffs and slopes that stretch out in a staggering array of hues and removes, some lush and intimate, some cool and faraway, so that every time you walk around a little bit or turn your head, you glimpse a secret world or, across a wider expanse, a striking new view. It's like having your favorite sights from a lifetime of hiking all gathered into one spot.

Apollo was the god of the sun and prophecy, and his temple sat in a mountainous cleft – a kind of natural amphitheater that automatically made it the center of attention.

We headed toward the ancient shrine, walking up the multicolored slabs of marble and limestone that form the Sacred Way, passing countless relics of past splendor and glory, including treasuries once full of gold, silver, and brilliant works of art. A wall of massive polygonal blocks made up the temple's ramparts, strengthening them against the jolts of earthquakes.

We marveled at the wall's seamless beauty and its countless inscriptions in ancient Greek of the names of freed slaves. The Oracle disapproved of slavery, and the inscriptions turned out to be records of manumission – the legal release from human bondage, which the Oracle and the temple authorities did in the name of Apollo hundreds if not thousands of times.

Max and Tanya had prepared for the trip with an immersion Greek class, learning enough of the language to read signs and order food. Now, they used their rudimentary skills to try to decipher some of the writing. To his astonishment, Max, while examining a long series of letters, found it contained a section where the letters of his name were spelled out – an unambiguous M A X buried amid other letters. It instantly gave the imposing site a homey feel.

The remnants of Apollo's home consisted of huge blocks, a handful of tall stone columns, and a chiseled entrance ramp. The temple, though a shadow of its former self, nonetheless possessed an air of majesty. Its high position gave a panoramic view of everything down slope, not just the treasuries and memorials but the distant river gorge and surrounding mountains. It fostered the illusion that you could see forever.

Priestess of Delphi by John Collier, an 1891 portrait, shows the fault and the gases.

The Oracle, after joining in mystic union with Apollo in her chamber in the temple’s depths, would advise pilgrims, make her visionary pronouncements, and supposedly exercise the power to read minds, see distant places, and predict the future. Actually, it was Oracles, plural. This sisterhood of mystics presided over the spiritual life of the ancient Greek world for at least twelve centuries.

In a stunning bit of detective work, the scientists had discovered how the Oracle prepared for marriage with Apollo. The researchers, working at the site for decades, found that tons of bituminous limestone underlay the temple, forming a reservoir rich in intoxicating gases. They also discovered two crisscrossing geologic faults that formed a pathway for the intoxicants. Amazingly, they were even able to measure traces of the gases still bubbling up at the surface today.

This and other evidence suggested that the Oracle had inhaled mists of potent gases that could promote trancelike states and aloof euphoria, helping send her into mystic ecstasies.

Tanya and I were exhausted after a long day of adventures. We wanted nothing more than to head back to the hotel and relax, aided perhaps by the modern equivalent of intoxicating gases – a glass of the local wine.

But a happy diversion lurked around the sanctuary’s entrance: a mother cat and her four kittens. The mother was jet black and her children were adorable black and whites, scampering around, tumbling and playing with anything or anyone who cared to engage them, as we did. It seemed conceivable that these bundles of energy might have descended from the Oracles’ own pets.

The next day, we returned. Max brought along his camera so he could take pictures of the sanctuary’s ruins for a history teacher. Julie and Izzi spent much time with the cats. Our family photo album has as many pictures of the kitties as the architectural wonders, and it’s hard to say which was more important for our family.

During our stay, we also explored a cave high in the hills above the sanctuary where young Greek women once paid homage to Dionysus – a god who in some ways was the antithesis of bright Apollo, devoting himself to wine and animal impulse. The dark cave was eerie. Izzi and Julie found animal bones scattered in the dirt.

Back in the town of Delphi, we stumbled on a modern rite that was more uplifting – a wedding at the local church. In the United States, brides usually keep to themselves beforehand. But in Delphi, the bride, waving and smiling, was driven around town in a convertible as part of a honking motorcade that eventually pulled up to the church. It was a glimpse of another world.

Our children’s involvement in the book didn’t end after we got back to New York. Over the years, they were quick to make suggestions as I wrote and researched. And they did more. As the book’s acknowledgements point out, Max, a history buff, scrutinized the book’s chronology, Izzi, a computer wiz, developed ideas for the web site, and Julie, a budding photographer, took my portrait for the book’s jacket, doing so at Manor Park, with the Sound standing in for the Aegean.

Most important, my children let me see Delphi through their eyes, a gift I’ll never forget.

William J. Broad: photo by Julie Broad

William J. Broad is a senior writer at The New York Times and with colleagues there has twice won the Pulitzer Prize, as well as an Emmy. He is the author or co-author of seven books, including Germs: Biological Weapons and America’s Secret War (Simon & Schuster, 2001), a number-one New York Times bestseller. He and his family live in Larchmont.