Part of my work as a college professor involved doing research at a history archive in Russia. An armed military guard was stationed there to defend against terrorist attack, though he often lounged near the doorway and ignored incoming researchers. One day, however, he stood at attention, machine gun ready. "Documents," he called out, and I fumbled through my things for my archival pass. "Passport," he barked, and I handed him my American passport. He scowled while looking at my identification. Finally he asked, "Who is singing on the radio?" I listened for a moment and replied, "The Everly Brothers." The soldier grinned, moved his rifle aside and let me enter, sure now that I truly was an American scholar.