My personal memory of Marilyn, far afield from Eunice Murray's terrible discovery, is splendid and dates back to the mid-1950s when I was barely a teenager and lived in the Belnord, the apartment building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
What many students don't realize is that the financial mistakes they make in college and soon after, such as not paying their bills on time, can have significant consequences, including negative effects on their employment prospects.
In 1967, my life turned a sharp corner. I impulsively decided to audit Heller's playwriting seminar at Yale. His mordant new novel, Catch-22, was suddenly as relevant as Bob Dylan, whose music I would learn he loved.