2 AM, standing on the platform at the 53rd and Lex Subway, I see a man coming toward me who looks vaguely familiar. He had a wrinkle-free suit, tasteful overcoat and pinstripe shirt (with detachable collar to boot).

If it had not been for the fact that he seemed deep in thought while reading a book about Khrushchev, I might have summoned up the courage to ask Mr. Stillman for his autograph. Damn it.