“Fun,” the semi-retired financial adviser said about “The Schiz.”
I was impressed.
Most people who were given or bought a copy have said nothing. Many, I expect, have not read it. Many, I bet, began but were put off by the structure or content.
So I welcome what I get.
Remember the fellow in the health club locker room I recognized by his accent as being from Philadelphia?
He sent me a two-page, single-spaced e-mail that called “Cheesesteak” “terrific.”
He knew Jim’s and Larry’s, The White House. He thought my description of Pat’s “superb” and of my bar mitzvah “hysterical.” He knew a dog like Ming, had a grandmother who died young, and his wife danced on Bandstand. He sold sodas at Franklin Field, went to fights at the Blue Horizon, had Mel Brodsky as a Camp Counselor — and had friends who came to unimaginable ends.
It had all resonated.
It had lit corners of his life.
I thought of the knots that life ties and unloosens and reknits.
[Bob’s books are available from this very web site.]