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George WhitmanRIP I Spent AsMr. Whitman put it, “I wanted a bookstore because the book business is thebusiness of life.” GeorgeWhitman RIP. I spent many a happy hour InShakespeare and Co and at his famous writers salons (wherehe served coffee with milk and sometimes cookies) Andthe starving writers greedily fed on the cream. OnceI spent the night on the floor upstairs with a bunch ofother stranded students after a rowdy Bastille (aftermissing the last Metro). Perhaps I had your same blanketand bookshelf to rest my head, George? Truthbe told, I was grateful to be there. Tohave walked near the wishing well with a sign Saying, “Givewhat you can, take what you need.” Toknow the raggedy bookstore willed with Sylvia’s Books.I still bear a scar on my leg that I got when I backed Itoa trash can near a desk casually containing large shards Ofdangerous glass from a broken picture frame. Theblood gushed out, at the time, I could see the meat Ofthe muscles in my calf, and I was too broke Andtoo proud to go to hospital. I remember George Theex-Army medic said, "it'll heal" WhenI got back to Los Angeles, despite what I explained, Mymother Audrey was convinced I had been stabbed Ina Fire Station brawl that she'd heard about on CNN.