huge number. The turnover is so fast I can’t keep track of the total. They come, they go. But the total
number of records is most definitely increasing. The number, though, is not the issue. If somebody
asks me how many records I have, all I can say is, “Seems like I have a whole lot. But still not
enough.”
In Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, one of the characters, Tom Buchanan, a rich man who’s also
a well-known polo player, says, “I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable, but I’m the first man
who ever made a stable out of a garage.” Not to brag, but I’m doing the same thing. Whenever I find a
quality LP recording of a piece I have on CD, I don’t hesitate to sell the CD and buy the LP. And when
I find a better-quality recording, something closer to the original, I don’t hesitate to trade in the old
LP for a new one. It takes a lot of time to pursue this, not to mention a considerable investment of
cash. Most people would, I am pretty sure, label me obsessed.
As planned, in November 2005 I ran the New York City Marathon. It was a beautiful, sunny autumn
day, the kind of wonderful day when you expect to see the late Mel Tormé appear out of nowhere,
leaning against a grand piano as he croons out a verse from “Autumn in New York.” That morning,
along with tens of thousands of other runners, I started the race at the Verrazano Narrows Bridge on
Staten Island; moved through Brooklyn, where the writer Mary Morris is always waiting to cheer me
on; then, through Queens; through Harlem and the Bronx; and several hours and bridges later arrived
at the finish line, near the Tavern on the Green in Central Park.
And how was my time? Truth be told, not so great. At least, not as good as I’d been secretly hoping
for. If possible, I was hoping to be able to wind up this book with a powerful statement like, “Thanks
to all the hard training I did, I was able to post a great time at the New York City Marathon. When I
finished I was really moved,” and casually stroll off into the sunset with the theme song from Rocky
blaring in the background. Until I actually ran the race I still clung to the hope that things would turn
out that way, and was looking forward to this dramatic finale. That was my Plan A. A really great
plan, I figured.
But in real life things don’t go so smoothly. At certain points in our lives, when we really need a clear-
cut solution, the person who knocks at our door is, more likely than not, a messenger bearing bad news. It
isn’t always the case, but from experience I’d say the gloomy reports far outnumber the others. The
messenger touches his hand to his cap and looks apologetic, but that does nothing to improve the
contents of the message. It isn’t the messenger’s fault. No good to blame him, no good to grab him by the
collar and shake him. The messenger is just conscientiously doing the job his boss assigned him. And this
boss? That would be none other than our old friend Reality.
Before the race I was in great shape, I thought, and well rested. The strange sensation I’d had on the
inside of my knee had vanished. My legs, especially around my calves, still felt a bit tired, but it wasn’t
something I needed to worry about (or so I thought). My training schedule had gone smoothly, better than
for any other race before. So I had this hope (or moderate conviction) that I’d post the best time I’d run in
recent years. All I needed to do now was cash in my chips.