I always know it's Harvey Silverglate by the way he rings the doorbell. It's very short, the way you ring when you're sure the person isn't home, I've known him since fall 1967, when he was the defense attorney in Boston's first big marijuana trial. I had the idea that the transcript of that trial and all the expert testimony would make a great book, so I made an appointment to see him. He sat me in his office with a huge file of press clippings and notes, and when I left, he said that some day I'd have to take a picture of him and his brother for his mother. I went home and looked in the phone book to see if he lived near me.
The next time we saw each other was February 1968 when Allen Ginsberg came to read for the Harvard SDS chapter. Allen was all involved in legislation to legalize marijuana, and wanted to compare notes with Harvey (whom he'd heard about from several people], so we called Harvey at one in the morning to come to the party we were at. The next week, Harvey came to my house for supper. He was two hours late and brought me a Wetzstein's New York kosher salami that was twenty-seven inches long. I made a roast beef -- rare -- and fresh mushrooms; Harvey didn't tell me that he can't stand either red meat or vegetables. Since then, we've been together and broken up several times.
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