My great friend Melvyn would have been 95 today. He set out to be a concert pianist but had to find something else. He became a professor of medicine who followed politics, loved opera and literature, painted landscapes, built dollhouses for children and rooted for the Astros. He was also a collector of books of quotations. He went through them like popcorn.
In winter, he liked to get under the covers with a new book. He would first check the section on Shakespeare and then see what the quotable people had to say about love. He’d frequently wake up in the middle of the night, glasses still on his nose, but the book on the floor. He was always peeved that his place had been lost.
It surprised him when people quoted him — so he’d be surprised now:
I am predictably surprised when a former student comes to visit and quotes to me something that he/she remembers that I said, some memorable phrase to build a life on, the saying of which I do not remember at all. I know I should deny authorship, but I blush and stammer and say, “Oh gosh,” and slither out of an embarrassing but pleasing situation. It’s a little like telling a lie, and I know that’s wrong, but I also know it’s a mistake to mess with people’s memories.
You can quote me on that.
Everyone should have a friend like Melvyn. If you haven’t found him yet, get out of the house and start looking. It’s worth it.
• Source: Melvyn Schreiber, M.D., Sunday’s Essays; privately printed, p. 151.
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