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Pia
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It's a nice dream... we all know that...
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Barbary Coast
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
P
Pia
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I love this little pictureView attachment 537339 He knows me too well
P
Pia
Guest
Lovely!View attachment 539079 Hey you! Small print is verboten here!
Those pictures-you guys look so sad. Come on, cheer up, you're starting a new adventure. Smile and the world smiles with you. The customers like a nice smile on the auction block, so cheer up, damn you or I'll have Steele whip some smiles onto your faces...
I thought that was Mary Poppins speaking at first ... 
Then I read the last line
Well, this is Barb we're talking about! I'd have been there, wouldn't you?
Covering the story for the summer of 1803 edition of Crux Chronicles, no doubt. Be sure to wear a hat. That midday sun is fierce. You know the saying about mad dogs and Englishmen ... 
It takes more than the sun at mid day
To keep Wragg in when Barb's on display!
Giggle snort
Least you can say is, that those pirates have a sense of marketing. Captain Karim Assaraf, MBA?
Dishonestly earned, no doubt.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Harvard, cum laude.Dishonestly earned, no doubt.
windar
Teller of Tales
Yes, he was an exchange student at Harvard, a classmate of Sally Lodge's (the Dark Princess in "Pirettes"). They were definitely NOT the last pirates to attend that august institutionLeast you can say is, that those pirates have a sense of marketing. Captain Karim Assaraf, MBA?
Pftttttt!!Dishonestly earned, no doubt.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
No, it is not recognised in continental Europe by Napoleon's administration, they only accept INSEAD. There is a war going on, remember!Not LSE?
windar
Teller of Tales
13. Ship’s log of Captain Karim Assaraf. Rabi Al-Awwal 10, 1218
In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, we have been in Tripoli for eight days now. Two days after our arrival, we auctioned the English men. Given their youth and relative strength, there was a large crowd of interested buyers, looking to man their galleys or to find workers for their mines of gold and other metals in the desert. The slaves were made to lift heavy iron balls over their heads to demonstrate their strength for their prospective masters.
A few of the prospective buyers were, like our cousin Hassan, looking for handsome young men to amuse themselves with. While our Blessed Koran forbids such things, I do not interfere in the affairs of others, leaving the judgement to Allah, Blessed be his Name. One man practically devoured the young Lord Thomas, pawing his hindquarters in his eagerness. The young man made to push the assaulter away, but a quick dozen from Steele’s whip changed his attitude. The prospective buyer didn’t seem deterred by the punishment of his potential slave; in fact, if anything, his interest was heightened.
I noticed the women staring at the goings on with their countrymen. “Good!” I thought. “Let them see what their own fate will be and know the price of disobedience.”
Allah has truly blessed his humble servant and the Assaraf family through the generations. At the auction, the men brought good prices, each one having at least two bidders and some of the aristocrats having more, especially Lord Thomas, whom several men of that bent found very appealing. The good results with the men augured well for the most valuable cargo, the women-twelve succulent English beauties, six of them fine ladies, four of those virgins.
There was a long line of buyers each morning, waiting outside the gate of the fortress to be admitted to our little slice of Paradise on Earth. Each had to show his coin purse, to be inspected by Tarik or myself, to determine whether they were a serious buyer. If they were of sufficient means, they would be ushered in, one at a time, to the cell where the naked English women lay on the hard stone floor.
The women would be made to stand, ordered to display themselves as provocatively as possible, on penalty of a sound whipping afterwards should they fail to do so. These fine ladies stood like cheap whores in the Casbah, their breasts thrust forward, their legs spread wide as the men fondled them in their most intimate places. I noted the struggles of the ladies to remain quiet as their dignity was carelessly violated by these men, examining them as they would a horse they were thinking of buying. However, the sight of Steele’s whip and the threat of the flogging they would receive if they had dared to protest were enough to ensure their acquiescence.
After a few days, it seemed as though everyone in Tripoli with the means to bid on these beauties had examined them and the time was ripe to auction them the next day. Before I could dispatch the crew to announce this to all of Tripoli, a man, a Turk named Mutapha, asked to speak with me and Tarik on a matter of great importance. I told the crewman to allow him aboard and escort him to my cabin.
He was a small man, perhaps fifty years of age, and though dressed in the style of the Ottomans, he spoke Arabic quite well. “In the name of the Prophet,” he said, smiling, as he sipped the coffee I had offered him, “It is good to finally meet Karim and Tarik Assaraf. I did business with your father many years ago, Blessed be his Memory, and it is very good to meet the next generation of your family.”
“My dear Mustapha, any friend of our late father is a friend of ours,” I replied, smiling even more broadly than he had. “How can I be of service?”
“Your cargo is very interesting. English ladies are not paraded through the streets of Tripoli every day.”
“Indeed they are not,” I replied. “Are you interested in buying one of them to warm your bed of an evening?” I inquired.
“Alas, I come here not on my own behalf, for I am not a wealthy man, but on that of a fellow countryman, Mehmet Ali Pasha. He is a very important man with many very highly placed connections in Islambol-people on whose behalf he will pay the very highest price for the highest quality merchandise, if you understand me.”
“Where is this Mehmet Pasha?” Tarik interjected. “Why has he not been here to see these English ladies for himself?”
“Unfortunately, he had business in Tunis and left a few days before your arrival. However, he is due back here the day after tomorrow. I can promise you that it will be worth your while to wait until his return before auctioning these beauties.”
I glanced at Tarik. Every day we waited, we had to feed our captives and pay the guards for the use of the cell they were kept in. Kept at close quarters, there was a risk they could sicken and die or have their value diminished. There was also a risk of attack by the British Navy or other forces that might be looking to free these prisoners.
On the other hand, there was the prospect that this wealthy Turk would pay a top price. And if he really did have connections at Court in Islambol, that could be very useful to us. Tarik nodded. I turned back to Mustapha. “We will wait for the Pasha,” I told him, extracting some coins from my purse, giving him a few. “If you bring him to the auction and he is a serious bidder, more will be yours as well,” I told him. He bowed as I called one of the crew to escort him from the ship.
Two days later, a few hours after sunrise, a large and very luxuriously appointed ship sailed into the harbor. On the deck, looking as though the entire world existed for his pleasure was a rather fat man dressed in robes of a very fine silk brocade. I made my way onto the dock and greeted him as he descended. “Are you Mehmet Pasha?” I inquired.
He looked at me as one looks at a fly landing on the table next to one’s dinner. “Yes, and who might you be?”
“Karim Assaraf at your service,” I replied. “You may have heard of our family, merchants of Rabat, Morocco.”
“Perhaps,” Mehmet said, looking a bit exasperated. “What business do you have with me?”
“Your friend Mustapha thinks you might be interested in our cargo.”
“Mustapha? He is no friend of mine; just a low-born hustler of a countryman, a disgrace to the name of the Turks. But may I ask what your cargo is that he thinks I might be interested in?”
I smiled. “A dozen beautiful English girls. Six of them are fine high-born ladies, four among them virgins, along with their maids.” He pretended indifference, but I could see he was interested. “They are to be auctioned tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to come to the fortress and have a look?”
“I am tired from the sea voyage. Let me go to my house and rest and perhaps after midday prayers I will stop by.”
I suspected that the prospect of examining a group of fine English ladies up close would be too much for a man as consumed by pleasure and ego as Mehmet Pasha and I was right. Shortly after midday, a servant of the Pasha’s arrived at my ship to tell me that the great man would deign to visit the slaves in their cell as soon as he finished his coffee.
I made my way to the fortress and, shortly after, he arrived, a bit out of breath from the walk. “So, let’s see these fine ladies, Karim,” he said, feigning boredom, but obviously excited by the prospect. I led him inside to the cell where they were kept. Steele, as instructed, had the women standing, lined up, their breasts thrust temptingly forward, their hips swaying back and forth as they shifted their weight from foot to foot.
“Perhaps a gentleman of discernment such as yourself would like to guess which are the Ladies and which are the maids?” I asked.
“May I have a closer look?” he asked, the lust clearly evident on his face.
“Of course,” I replied, signaling to the guard to open the barred door. Mehmet walked slowly down the line of displayed feminine beauty, looking at each one, reaching out to feel a breast, poke at a thigh or fondle a buttock as the spirit moved him.
Finally, he confidently indicated the six whom he believed were the aristocrats. I would like to say that he showed an unerring ability to detect good breeding, but sadly, I cannot. He did no better at distinguishing ladies from maids than he would have done flipping a coin. And I really cannot blame him, for, stripped of their fine clothes, their skin carrying the dust of the desert and marked by the lash, there really was little to distinguish between the high-born and the low, at least until they spoke.
But his inability to judge their breeding seemed to be no deterrent to his interest. “I must say they are very nice looking, Karim,” he told me. “I think my contacts in Istanbul would be very interested in them.”
I smiled. “I have no doubt they will be,” I said.
“Still,” Mehmet sighed. “Beauty is not all. These important men will need to be sure that they are obedient and skilled at providing pleasure.”
“As for the first,” I replied, “Trust me when I say that they have been well-disciplined and any spirit of resistance has been tamed.”
He walked around behind the line of women, examining closely the welts on their backs and buttocks, which, while faded, were still evident. “Yes, I see,” he said. “I am impressed by the skill. I can see they were whipped enough to break their spirit, but not so much as to damage them irreparably.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “We Assarafs are known for our skill at breaking the will of female slaves. As to your second concern, I can personally vouch for these two,” I indicated the Lady Barbara and the maid Mary. “My men can vouch for the rest.”
He moved close to Barbara and Mary squeezing their breasts, slapping their welted buttocks. They both cringed in pain and shame, but did not resist his ill treatment. “You chose well Karim. Let me sample them and if I am satisfied, I will make you a good offer for them here and now.”
“I am sorry, Pasha, but the maid Mary pleases me so much that I am taking her back to Rabat with me. She has agreed to accept the True Faith of the Prophet. So, much as I respect your discernment, you cannot have her.”
“What about the other, the Lady? Barbara you said her name was?”
“I am considering taking her with me as well,” I replied. “But you may buy all of the others at auction tomorrow.”
He looked at me haughtily, a man used to having his way. “Assuming their performance is as good as their looks, my contacts in Istanbul, will be very pleased. I will make sure they know who obtained them and that you are regarded with favor at the Sublime Porte. You can keep your maid, but I want all the others. Rest assured that I will outbid anyone else at the auction.”
“I do not doubt your word, Pasha,” I said.
“Nor I yours, Karim,” he replied. “Nevertheless, I want to sample the merchandise. My contacts are important and do not have time to waste training these infidel whores. Let me take one to the empty cell next door and see how she performs. I would like to try all of them of course, but I am tired and one will have to do. Her.” He grinned broadly and pointed at Lady Katherine.
“I am afraid you cannot have her,” I told him.
“Why not? Is she too high born for the likes of me? I represent people much higher than her and her family, I assure you.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to offend him for I did not want to risk the wrath of the Ottoman Empire. “No, Pasha, it is not that, not at all. It is that she has never had a man inside her and that gives her added value at auction.”
Mehmet Ali leered at me knowingly. “Really? A virgin? You are sure?”
“Of course, we have checked. Her maidenhead is intact. You can ask anyone on the Barbary Coast-when an Assaraf sells a virgin, a virgin she is.”
“How much do believe that adds to her value?”
I considered what would be a reasonable estimate. Then I doubled it. “I will give you double that to deflower her right here and now. And if she pleases me I will buy her at auction regardless," Mehmet replied. This was too good an offer to refuse.
“Very well,” I said. I ordered Steele to unchain Lady Katherine and bring her forward. She looked quite frightened and disgusted by the prospect of having to accommodate the corpulent Turk. He grasped her arm none too gently and led her off to the now-empty cell that had held some of the male captives. Soon, I heard` the unmistakable sounds of rutting and coupling. I knew that the other women could not help hearing them as well.
Eventually, the happy couple emerged, Mehmet’s fine robes looking a bit disheveled. He was grinning widely, though Lady Katherine had a blank expression on her face. “Was the product to your satisfaction?” I asked.
“Most certainly, Karim, very enjoyable. I will see you at the auction tomorrow.”
In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, we have been in Tripoli for eight days now. Two days after our arrival, we auctioned the English men. Given their youth and relative strength, there was a large crowd of interested buyers, looking to man their galleys or to find workers for their mines of gold and other metals in the desert. The slaves were made to lift heavy iron balls over their heads to demonstrate their strength for their prospective masters.
A few of the prospective buyers were, like our cousin Hassan, looking for handsome young men to amuse themselves with. While our Blessed Koran forbids such things, I do not interfere in the affairs of others, leaving the judgement to Allah, Blessed be his Name. One man practically devoured the young Lord Thomas, pawing his hindquarters in his eagerness. The young man made to push the assaulter away, but a quick dozen from Steele’s whip changed his attitude. The prospective buyer didn’t seem deterred by the punishment of his potential slave; in fact, if anything, his interest was heightened.
I noticed the women staring at the goings on with their countrymen. “Good!” I thought. “Let them see what their own fate will be and know the price of disobedience.”
Allah has truly blessed his humble servant and the Assaraf family through the generations. At the auction, the men brought good prices, each one having at least two bidders and some of the aristocrats having more, especially Lord Thomas, whom several men of that bent found very appealing. The good results with the men augured well for the most valuable cargo, the women-twelve succulent English beauties, six of them fine ladies, four of those virgins.
There was a long line of buyers each morning, waiting outside the gate of the fortress to be admitted to our little slice of Paradise on Earth. Each had to show his coin purse, to be inspected by Tarik or myself, to determine whether they were a serious buyer. If they were of sufficient means, they would be ushered in, one at a time, to the cell where the naked English women lay on the hard stone floor.
The women would be made to stand, ordered to display themselves as provocatively as possible, on penalty of a sound whipping afterwards should they fail to do so. These fine ladies stood like cheap whores in the Casbah, their breasts thrust forward, their legs spread wide as the men fondled them in their most intimate places. I noted the struggles of the ladies to remain quiet as their dignity was carelessly violated by these men, examining them as they would a horse they were thinking of buying. However, the sight of Steele’s whip and the threat of the flogging they would receive if they had dared to protest were enough to ensure their acquiescence.
After a few days, it seemed as though everyone in Tripoli with the means to bid on these beauties had examined them and the time was ripe to auction them the next day. Before I could dispatch the crew to announce this to all of Tripoli, a man, a Turk named Mutapha, asked to speak with me and Tarik on a matter of great importance. I told the crewman to allow him aboard and escort him to my cabin.
He was a small man, perhaps fifty years of age, and though dressed in the style of the Ottomans, he spoke Arabic quite well. “In the name of the Prophet,” he said, smiling, as he sipped the coffee I had offered him, “It is good to finally meet Karim and Tarik Assaraf. I did business with your father many years ago, Blessed be his Memory, and it is very good to meet the next generation of your family.”
“My dear Mustapha, any friend of our late father is a friend of ours,” I replied, smiling even more broadly than he had. “How can I be of service?”
“Your cargo is very interesting. English ladies are not paraded through the streets of Tripoli every day.”
“Indeed they are not,” I replied. “Are you interested in buying one of them to warm your bed of an evening?” I inquired.
“Alas, I come here not on my own behalf, for I am not a wealthy man, but on that of a fellow countryman, Mehmet Ali Pasha. He is a very important man with many very highly placed connections in Islambol-people on whose behalf he will pay the very highest price for the highest quality merchandise, if you understand me.”
“Where is this Mehmet Pasha?” Tarik interjected. “Why has he not been here to see these English ladies for himself?”
“Unfortunately, he had business in Tunis and left a few days before your arrival. However, he is due back here the day after tomorrow. I can promise you that it will be worth your while to wait until his return before auctioning these beauties.”
I glanced at Tarik. Every day we waited, we had to feed our captives and pay the guards for the use of the cell they were kept in. Kept at close quarters, there was a risk they could sicken and die or have their value diminished. There was also a risk of attack by the British Navy or other forces that might be looking to free these prisoners.
On the other hand, there was the prospect that this wealthy Turk would pay a top price. And if he really did have connections at Court in Islambol, that could be very useful to us. Tarik nodded. I turned back to Mustapha. “We will wait for the Pasha,” I told him, extracting some coins from my purse, giving him a few. “If you bring him to the auction and he is a serious bidder, more will be yours as well,” I told him. He bowed as I called one of the crew to escort him from the ship.
Two days later, a few hours after sunrise, a large and very luxuriously appointed ship sailed into the harbor. On the deck, looking as though the entire world existed for his pleasure was a rather fat man dressed in robes of a very fine silk brocade. I made my way onto the dock and greeted him as he descended. “Are you Mehmet Pasha?” I inquired.
He looked at me as one looks at a fly landing on the table next to one’s dinner. “Yes, and who might you be?”
“Karim Assaraf at your service,” I replied. “You may have heard of our family, merchants of Rabat, Morocco.”
“Perhaps,” Mehmet said, looking a bit exasperated. “What business do you have with me?”
“Your friend Mustapha thinks you might be interested in our cargo.”
“Mustapha? He is no friend of mine; just a low-born hustler of a countryman, a disgrace to the name of the Turks. But may I ask what your cargo is that he thinks I might be interested in?”
I smiled. “A dozen beautiful English girls. Six of them are fine high-born ladies, four among them virgins, along with their maids.” He pretended indifference, but I could see he was interested. “They are to be auctioned tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to come to the fortress and have a look?”
“I am tired from the sea voyage. Let me go to my house and rest and perhaps after midday prayers I will stop by.”
I suspected that the prospect of examining a group of fine English ladies up close would be too much for a man as consumed by pleasure and ego as Mehmet Pasha and I was right. Shortly after midday, a servant of the Pasha’s arrived at my ship to tell me that the great man would deign to visit the slaves in their cell as soon as he finished his coffee.
I made my way to the fortress and, shortly after, he arrived, a bit out of breath from the walk. “So, let’s see these fine ladies, Karim,” he said, feigning boredom, but obviously excited by the prospect. I led him inside to the cell where they were kept. Steele, as instructed, had the women standing, lined up, their breasts thrust temptingly forward, their hips swaying back and forth as they shifted their weight from foot to foot.
“Perhaps a gentleman of discernment such as yourself would like to guess which are the Ladies and which are the maids?” I asked.
“May I have a closer look?” he asked, the lust clearly evident on his face.
“Of course,” I replied, signaling to the guard to open the barred door. Mehmet walked slowly down the line of displayed feminine beauty, looking at each one, reaching out to feel a breast, poke at a thigh or fondle a buttock as the spirit moved him.
Finally, he confidently indicated the six whom he believed were the aristocrats. I would like to say that he showed an unerring ability to detect good breeding, but sadly, I cannot. He did no better at distinguishing ladies from maids than he would have done flipping a coin. And I really cannot blame him, for, stripped of their fine clothes, their skin carrying the dust of the desert and marked by the lash, there really was little to distinguish between the high-born and the low, at least until they spoke.
But his inability to judge their breeding seemed to be no deterrent to his interest. “I must say they are very nice looking, Karim,” he told me. “I think my contacts in Istanbul would be very interested in them.”
I smiled. “I have no doubt they will be,” I said.
“Still,” Mehmet sighed. “Beauty is not all. These important men will need to be sure that they are obedient and skilled at providing pleasure.”
“As for the first,” I replied, “Trust me when I say that they have been well-disciplined and any spirit of resistance has been tamed.”
He walked around behind the line of women, examining closely the welts on their backs and buttocks, which, while faded, were still evident. “Yes, I see,” he said. “I am impressed by the skill. I can see they were whipped enough to break their spirit, but not so much as to damage them irreparably.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “We Assarafs are known for our skill at breaking the will of female slaves. As to your second concern, I can personally vouch for these two,” I indicated the Lady Barbara and the maid Mary. “My men can vouch for the rest.”
He moved close to Barbara and Mary squeezing their breasts, slapping their welted buttocks. They both cringed in pain and shame, but did not resist his ill treatment. “You chose well Karim. Let me sample them and if I am satisfied, I will make you a good offer for them here and now.”
“I am sorry, Pasha, but the maid Mary pleases me so much that I am taking her back to Rabat with me. She has agreed to accept the True Faith of the Prophet. So, much as I respect your discernment, you cannot have her.”
“What about the other, the Lady? Barbara you said her name was?”
“I am considering taking her with me as well,” I replied. “But you may buy all of the others at auction tomorrow.”
He looked at me haughtily, a man used to having his way. “Assuming their performance is as good as their looks, my contacts in Istanbul, will be very pleased. I will make sure they know who obtained them and that you are regarded with favor at the Sublime Porte. You can keep your maid, but I want all the others. Rest assured that I will outbid anyone else at the auction.”
“I do not doubt your word, Pasha,” I said.
“Nor I yours, Karim,” he replied. “Nevertheless, I want to sample the merchandise. My contacts are important and do not have time to waste training these infidel whores. Let me take one to the empty cell next door and see how she performs. I would like to try all of them of course, but I am tired and one will have to do. Her.” He grinned broadly and pointed at Lady Katherine.
“I am afraid you cannot have her,” I told him.
“Why not? Is she too high born for the likes of me? I represent people much higher than her and her family, I assure you.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to offend him for I did not want to risk the wrath of the Ottoman Empire. “No, Pasha, it is not that, not at all. It is that she has never had a man inside her and that gives her added value at auction.”
Mehmet Ali leered at me knowingly. “Really? A virgin? You are sure?”
“Of course, we have checked. Her maidenhead is intact. You can ask anyone on the Barbary Coast-when an Assaraf sells a virgin, a virgin she is.”
“How much do believe that adds to her value?”
I considered what would be a reasonable estimate. Then I doubled it. “I will give you double that to deflower her right here and now. And if she pleases me I will buy her at auction regardless," Mehmet replied. This was too good an offer to refuse.
“Very well,” I said. I ordered Steele to unchain Lady Katherine and bring her forward. She looked quite frightened and disgusted by the prospect of having to accommodate the corpulent Turk. He grasped her arm none too gently and led her off to the now-empty cell that had held some of the male captives. Soon, I heard` the unmistakable sounds of rutting and coupling. I knew that the other women could not help hearing them as well.
Eventually, the happy couple emerged, Mehmet’s fine robes looking a bit disheveled. He was grinning widely, though Lady Katherine had a blank expression on her face. “Was the product to your satisfaction?” I asked.
“Most certainly, Karim, very enjoyable. I will see you at the auction tomorrow.”
Isn't "used virgin" a bit of an oxymoron?
Attachments
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
If the virgin looked like that....
One can only hope someone is busy...
We'd have saved her by now but the jeep and machine gun aren't invented yet...
We'd have saved her by now but the jeep and machine gun aren't invented yet...
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LittleSiss
Sorceress
Eric Braeden is a German actor in America who began his career playing Nazis and eventually became a star of daytime soap operas. Born Hans Gudegast in Kiel, Germany, during the Second World War, he was a superb athlete who excelled in track-and-field events. As a teenager, he immigrated to the United States and worked in Texas and Montana as a translator, a cowhand, and a lumber millhand. His athleticism won him a scholarship to Montana State University. While attending college, he and friend Bob McKinnon made a film, The Riverbusters, about their successful attempt to be the first men to take a boat from the source to the mouth of the Salmon river and back again. He traveled to Los Angeles in hopes of finding a distributor for the documentary, but instead found that his handsome visage and accented English made him a valuable commodity as an actor. He appeared in small parts under his real name before landing the leading role of the antagonist, Captain Hans Dietrich, on the World War II television series The Rat Patrol (1966).
The series was a hit, and Gudegast's sympathetic German officer was very popular. He appeared in a few movies and television films thereafter in supporting roles, then was given the lead in Universal's science-fiction computer thriller Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970). His delight at this huge career boost was muted by the studio's insistence that he change his name. With extreme reluctance, he agreed and became known subsequently as Eric Braeden. Braeden worked continuously in television movies for the next decade. He also worked on Broadway and in Los Angeles area theatre. In 1980, he reluctantly accepted a role in a daytime drama, The Young and the Restless (1973), and gained a stardom in this medium that had just eluded him in film and prime time television. As lead Victor Newman, Braeden brought a gravity and a strong center to the program. Amazingly handsome and athletic into his sixties, Braeden maintained the charisma that first brought him notice in "The Rat Patrol".
His infrequent film work during his nearly quarter century on "The Young and the Restless" included a prominent role as John Jacob Astor in Titanic (1997). A five-time Emmy nominee for his "The Young and the Restless" role (he won in 1998), he was also nominated eleven times for the Soap Opera Digest Outstanding Leading Actor Award, winning three times. In 1987, he was appointed, along with Henry Kissinger, Paul Volker, Steffi Graf, Alexander Haig, and Katherine Graham, to the German-American Advisory Board, and in 1991 received the Federal Medal of Honor from the president of his native land, Germany. He married his college sweetheart Dale Russell in 1966. Their son, Christian Gudegast is a screenwriter.