I was born by another name in January 3rd 1968.  My birth name was Walter Sean Klass.  I grew up in the country in a state many know and love on a farm.  I was only about six years old when I first witnessed an incident that may well be the root of my later career choice.  The family farm was large and easy to get lost on if you were unfamiliar.  My father had hired hands that lived in a shack he called barracks but it only had three walls.  The roof was decent compared to the rest of the structure.  It was raised on stilts that lifted it four feet from the ground in case the land flooded or during the watering hours to keep the floor from soaking.  I use to wander around the farm aimlessly and randomly pick and eat the raw and untainted veggies and fruits we grew.  Family farms like the one I grew up on no longer exist, at least not in the same fashion as far as I know.  On one particular day I wandered yet again getting my fill of nature’s goodies and I happened upon a new barracks that I had not been made aware of about halfway across the main field on the far side of the corn field and just before the apple orchards.  My father had uprooted a large patch of the corn crop and planted grapevines.  I wasn’t sure when he had done it but I don’t recall ever noticing it before that day.  It had to have been there for at least a year or two by the looks of it.  I ducked back into the corn rows and watched as women not men came out of the barracks which had four walls compared to the men’s three-walled barracks.  The women had olive colored skin and were not Hispanic but I believe Italian.  Many of them were dressed like gypsy women though back then I had no idea what a gypsy was though I had heard them mentioned.  They picked and tended to the grapes.  I heard singing and noted that off in the distance several women danced naked in large wooden basins together crushing the grapes as my father watched.  I had never seen a naked woman before and as a six year old child it was almost like the combination of horror and curiosity.  Something told me I should not be seeing this but something else told me not to look away.  My father had started into the wine business without my mother’s knowledge and hid the production and evidence of it from everyone in my home.  The male workers never mentioned it to my mother possibly because my father paid them to keep quiet.  I watched for hours every day after my first encounter.  For some reason I was hypnotized, no captivated by the playfulness of their dance within the wooden basins as they crushed the grapes.