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Eileen knew very well my abiding respect and love for George, whom I worked with in New York in the 70s and whose coattails I clung to along with Dave Nicholson in the dive bars later on, after I had crossed over into the executive lane. Meeting his wards — many of them his beloved “zed people” — over pints of real ale added wonderful dimension to my corporate days and helped keep the fire alive that brought me back to writing in my grey years.
The road goes on forever and the party never ends — I’ll be lifting one for the great man this evening.