They attacked us, and I was the unlucky one. I got seven bullets in my stomach.

Harry Alexander once owned a nightclub in England and ran a garment factory in Los Angeles. He’s a world traveler who supports a small cooperative school for garment makers in the Caribbean and is involved in senior activities in Sherman Oaks. It was Alexander’s visit to the Himalayas almost 40 years ago that is now affecting his life.

I was an East End boy. This was the real slums of London. We saw more dinner times than we saw dinners. We had to fight our way. You could not let anybody get in front of you, but, at the same time, you had to keep friends. You learned this on the streets. Those streets outside are the greatest teacher in the world.

I’m Jewish, by the way. I think I’m one of the very few Jewish explorers that there has ever been. My parents said to me, ‘You’re different.’ And it turned out that way.

In 1940, I was with the British Army. I volunteered later on for the parachute commandos. I did 124 jumps, six jumps into battle. I did the jump on Rommel’s headquarters in Tunisia, the jump on Sicily, and I jumped into France four days before D-Day.

When I was discharged, I came back and joined an expedition that was going to Afghanistan and further on into various countries in that area. This was in 1948. We met up with a big caravan of about 400 people that was going over the Karakoram Pass. They were real nice people, shared everything with us.

We got about 200 miles through the Karakoram Mountains where there are villages that do nothing else but war on other tribes. They attacked us and I was the unlucky one. I got seven bullets in my stomach. For nearly 48 hours, I was on a stretcher with some friends holding the open flesh together. They did get me to the nearest place where I was treated and flown back to England.

When I got those seven bullets in me, I thought the world was finished. A couple of weeks afterwards, I was walking about and I said to myself: ‘This is ridiculous, the world is yours, go out and get it.’ And that’s what I did.

In 1949, I was approached by another group of people who asked me if I would head an expedition to the same area. We were looking for places where archeologists could make digs along the Silk Road, the route of Genghis Khan and Marco Polo. There were 12 people in our group, which included two doctors, three archeologists and a cook. I contacted the same tribe and they took us over the Karakoram Pass.

As we were journeying, we were moving higher and higher. We came out of Sikkim and we reached Bhutan at 14,000 feet. For the first two or three days, every one of us was sick. After you got used to it, it was OK. I was in Bhutan for more than nine months and it took its toll on me. But nothing happened at that time. I came back to England, then we came over to the States.

For many years, I had been short of breath, but it didn’t bother me. Doctors said it was nothing. But two years ago, after my wife passed away, I got to the point where I could only walk about 12 yards. I went to a hospital in Denver that specializes in lungs.

Eventually, the doctor sat down with me and told me that I had interstitial lung disease. He asked had I been working amongst dust or asbestos. I had nothing like that. Then he asked me where and when I first had trouble breathing and I told them about Bhutan. He said, ‘OK, that’s where you got it; that’s what it’s all about. It’s not the type of interstitial lung disease people have in the United States. It’s one of a kind.’

Nine months ago, they told me, ‘You have six months to live.’ So, I’m going to die? I’ve seen everything I want to see. I’ve lived 70 years. I’ve cheated the medical authorities and I’ll cheat them for another couple of years. And I’ll enjoy every moment because I’m working every day on my writing. These books I’m writing are something I’ve wanted to do for years. Nothing’s going to stop me. I’m still going to be the same Harry Alexander that I was when I was in the East End of London. I’ll find my way.