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I first met Shirley at my Final Class Presentation. Although I was well prepared, nonetheless, I was anxious. The last hurdle, I thought. Although the committee members were attentive and courteous, four were stony-faced. The fifth, Shirley, smiled warmly. I remember glancing at her every few minutes, probably to pluck up my confidence. Of course everyone broke into smiles when I was told I had passed.
A few days later, I met Shirley walking along 13th Street. She congratulated me once again with a smile and we continued walking along 13th Street in the same direction, attracted on the way by the bookstores toward which both of us gravitated and became caught up in the eager joy that book lovers experience when they discover a title of an old book long out of print. We made our purchases, continued on our walk and had a cappuccino at the Italian coffee house on Laguardia Place—an experience that was endlessly repeated throughout the years of our friendship.
As a friend, Shirley was kind and loving, always gracious and generous. She loved shopping at B. Altman's, now gone and replaced by the City University Graduate Center. If she saw an article she thought I would like, she would purchase it and present it to me with an excited smile, awaiting my response. A beautiful scarf, a purse, and, of course, books—all of them reminders of Shirley.
Shy and retiring, as she always was in large gatherings, in a