October 7, 1996

After we'd brought the van to a stop, in a classic James Bond maneuver, at the path to the Holy Trinity Monastery; Fargo slipped into his tall, dark, handsome secret agent look: glasses, white hooded sweatshirt, his name emblazoned in red across the back. We hardly noticed the change it was so graceful, so casual. He emerged: Fargo - Secret Agent Double-Oh-Frog, License to Charm.

Doo-Doot, Doo-Doot, Do-Do-Do-Do, Do-Do-Do-Do, Doo-Doot, Doo-Doot.

Fargo would first attempt to reach the monastery, where a group of rogue Frogs had assembled, by rappeling along a length of common clothesline. He roped himself in. The harness was secure. Cameras rolled. "Shoot! - Cut!" The lighting was all wrong, the angle..."Key grip to the left. Places. Take two." Do-Doot, Doo-Doot, Do-Do-Do-Do, Do-Do-Do-Do...rolling.

But something else was rolling. Fargo was jerked forward. "Hey this is a simulation right?" The pulley box that Fargo's rope had been tied to lurched out over the cliff edge. The monks at the monastery were pulling it in. "No, wait...Agent Double-Oh-Frog is still attached!" I pulled Fargo free of the tightening line. The camera man ran to the moving box, yanked on the rope to tear it free. He stumbled backwards, yanked again, then stood there stunned. In his hand he held the rope, the frayed end dangling in the wind. The pulley box was already half way over the cliffs.

The nerves of a normal frog might have shattered from the stress. Not Fargo. He was brave, "We'll take that shot again," he said. "My way. I'll stand here and the folks back home at Computer Command Central can add the rope later." Rolling....click. Doo-Doot, Doo-Doot!