I met Sherman when I moved into the Balustrade condos in Denver — he was one floor up from me.  We bonded almost immediately over the English major thing.  Periodically he would cook dinner and make martinis and we would talk about literature.  I remember one rousing conversation about Catch 22, the Joseph Heller novel, of all things.  We both thought it was good — I thought (and think) that it’s the best novel ever written.  Sherman took issue with that assessment. We also attended numerous “arty” movies, including a particularly noisy and violent MacBeth.  It was always such a pleasure to discuss these movies and books with Sherman.  But what I remember most about him is how unassuming he was.  Given his life history a level of “superiority” might be assumed.  But not so.  The only time I heard him being even remotely bratty to another human being was the first time Patricia and I took him to the ER.  He was giving vague and misleading answers to the ER docs about his symptoms.  I believe I told him he was getting on their (and my) nerves.  In retrospect he was probably just frightened about what had happened to him.

I am so grateful to have had his friendship even for a short period of time.  He certainly enriched my life. – Keitha Shoupe