ABSTRACT
After a spaghetti dinner and some wine, John Gill and I sat at the kitchen table in his large, two-story house in Pueblo, Colorado. We talked climbing for a couple of hours with a cassette tape recorder running, then retired to the living room and continued the discussion until the recorder shut off. It was not so much an interview as just talk. After awhile, the language became uninhibited, we forgot about grammar, and we laughed. Some of our comments later seemed downright spaghetti-bloated!
