The very first time that I laid eyes on  Steve Susman , he was clad only in 
his underwear.  Moreover, he was  shouting  and angrily brandishing his fist 
at me!  The Northern Lights may have seen stranger sights, but I assure you I 
have not.

 In 1968 or 1969 (you will understand that I have repressed the actual date), 
I journeyed to Fort Worth, Texas as a representative of the Texas Law Review 
to attend some State Bar of Texas committee meeting, one being held, I think, 
in conjunction with an annual meeting of the Bar.  The Law Review had 
reserved a few rooms at one of the downtown hotels.  I arrived late at 
night,  dutifully registered at the hotel's desk, received my room  key,  
took the elevator to the designated floor, walked to my room, inserted the 
room key, and opened the door.  The darkness that shrouded the room was 
suddenly pierced by a flare of light that revealed to my astonished eyes a 
bear of a man, almost naked, leaping out of the bed toward me, shaking a very 
large fist in the vicinity of my face, and demanding to know why I had 
violated the sanctity of his room!  

 It will surprise none who know Steve to learn that although he was  
adamantly insisting  on an explanation, he refused to be quiet long enough 
for me to offer him one.  Knowing even at my then tender young age a madman 
when I see one, I exited  the scene of the controversy with as much speed as 
my terrified legs could muster and rushed back to the front desk with my tale 
of adventure and close escape from severe bodily injury.  There may well have 
been some talk of calling hotel security or the Fort Worth Police, but in the 
end I settled for a new room, the door of which I bolted immediately. 

 After a mostly sleepless night during which I anticipated the imminent 
reappearance of the madman, I arose, showered,  dressed, and carefully made 
my way to the meeting room.  During the course of the day, I spotted the 
madman across the ballroom engaged in conversation with another individual.  
Surreptitiously pointing him out to one of my friends, I asked if he knew 
him.  The answer was no, but he did know who he was.  "The name is Susman, my 
man, Steve Susman".  I immediately resolved that my path and that of  
"Susman, my man, Steve Susman" would never again cross.  

 Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.  How could I have possibly foreseen 
as I fled from the madman in  that Forth Worth hotel room so many years ago 
that not only would my path again cross his but that I would one day serve as 
his lawyer, that  he  would serve as mine,  and that I would count him  as 
one of my closest friends!  I hereby officially  forgive you, Steve, not only 
for stealing my  Fort Worth hotel room but also  for the injury you wished on 
me that night.  Looking back on it, I wouldn't want it to have been  any 
other way.

 I wish you the Happiest of Birthdays, Steve.  Thanks for your friendship--I 
treasure it. 

 All the best, 

 Jim