I heard him speak at the LA Times Festival of books, and even in his eighties, he was vibrant, sparkling, and extraordinary. He told of his optimism and his humble beginnings (renting typewriters in the basement of the LA public library). He signed books tirelessly, including mine, and was a marvel. That man exuded more life at 80-something than most people do in their twenties.

For some reason I thought he would never actually die. And now that he has, I can't help but feel that the world is lessened by his loss, and that we all have a responsibility to try to live as fully and inspirationally as he did.

In tribute to a great man.