My dermatologist gave me a cream for my face that causes my skin to react in a way that makes people say, "You should see a dermatologist."
In the spring of 1977, when I worked at the Trenton Times, a group of us would sometimes knock off work early and go play basketball in the driveway of Michael Norman, who had left the paper a few months earlier but was still available for pick-up games and conversation. Michael would go on to write a book about his experiences as a Marine in Vietnam (These Good Men), cover stories for the New York Times Magazine, and eventually a column for the Times that was sprinkled with quotations from the Greeks. He and his wife Beth would also raise two fine sons.
I stopped to see them just before our move to Fort Lauderdale, and – unlike all my other friends – Michael told me that he liked Florida. I had been feeling uncertain about our move, and Michael’s endorsement made me feel a lot better about it. A few years later, shortly after my first book came out, he and Beth came to visit and Michael, standing in our kitchen, looked me in the eye and told me I had written a very fine book. Then he gave me a congratulatory handshake.
Over the weekend I heard from Beth that Michael had died. The cause was lung cancer, quite possibly the result of exposure to Agent Orange. I thought back to those golden afternoons in Lawrenceville, and Michael’s thoughtfulness. Writers can be such jealous fools, stingy with praise, and now a good one who wasn’t has left us.
My friend David Kirby, a longtime English professor at FSU, wrote an article recently on what makes for a good professor. David listed three qualities: expertise, sense of humor, and enthusiasm.
I thought of my favorite college professors, and David’s trinity resonated with me. (I also thought of my own teaching stints.) Then, considering the subject further, and the times – when government intrusion into academia has grown exponentially – David added a fourth quality: courage.
The crowd for Tom Popa at the Broward Center last night was heavily white and middle-aged, with men in the majority. We sat in front of a woman with an annoying laugh. This, I realized, is one of the dangers of a comedy show.
Today is Fat Tuesday and Chinese New Year. Crayfish in sweet and sour sauce.
We had coffee yesterday with our friend Joe, who not long ago had an MRI. Hania asked if he had felt claustrophobic.
“It wasn’t too bad,” he said. “Perhaps if other people had been in there. ‘So, what are you in here for?’”