ABSTRACT
When I was born, my father, Edwin Ray Guthrie, was 40 years old and already well-launched on a career in psychology that was giving him many responsibilities. Despite his duties at the University of Washington, he still took time for family and friends; I recall occasional trips to the Oregon beaches, to Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascade Mountains near Seattle, and to Paradise Valley on the slopes of Mt. Rainier. I recall that early period with much pleasure; it was a happy time for our family.
