Funny thing: The last time I penned an acknowledgments page, almost a decade ago, I complained that writing was a solitary business. That’s how it felt back then. But my progression as a writer has been largely one of comprehending how much help is out there in the air we breathe, and that all writing is collaborative to a greater degree than I ever imagined. Larry’s Kidney has been a joint effort from the beginning: first with the Chinese people, who were extraordinarily gracious and kind in all their dealings with us. Then, too, the actions described herein could never have happened had not my Western contacts in China stuck their necks way, way out to help a couple of complete strangers. To the individuals of both groups, who must out of necessity go unnamed, I offer my awe for your unstinting generosity and courage.
On these relatively safe shores, the names can readily be sung. Don Snyder, novelist and screenwriter, has been my guardian angel throughout the writing. It was Don who first hammered out with me, in the course of a shared work-out session, how this book could be structured, and he has stuck by me ever since. Our colleagues at Western Connecticut State University’s MFA Program in Writing, where Don and I are both writers-in-residence, have been more than supportive: They have been inspirational. Not only mon vieux John Briggs, but also Brian Clements, Cecilia Woloch, Mark Sundeen, Paulo Corso, Elizabeth Cohen, Dan Pope, and Laurel Richards; as well as the many brilliant students who never missed a trick. Thanks also to the National Endowment for the Arts, whose support was deeply appreciated, and to Larry himself, for giving me the opportunity to help. Couldn’t have done it without you, cuz.
Has ever an author had a more sterling agent-editor team than I’ve had? The indomitable Jennifer Joel, with her polish and nuance, and my editor, Henry Ferris, with his vision and resolve, have been staunch allies on my behalf. Together they prodded, pummeled, even withheld affection till they were satisfied I had delivered myself of the best of which I was capable. Hats off to you both.
I am indeed fortunate to have an exquisite backup team of early readers: Bonnie Friedman, Jamie Miles, Avery Rome, Lawrence Goodman, and my genius cousin S.I. Rosenbaum. Also sundry stalwarts who did me various solids: Peter Loescher, Lee Kitchen, Sue Bodine, Steve Sheppard, Andrea Cannistraci, Peter Temes, Niki Castle, Peter Hubbard, Tavia Kowalchuck, Brianne Halverson, Wendy Kaufman, Marty Resnick, Peggy Bacon, Laurel Touby, Carolyn Hessel, Dan Schnur, Anita Chakin, Mike Roberts, April from the soccer match, Maureen the best copyeditor ever, Martha and Tim, Andy and Jen, John and Fay, James and Nina, Laura and Bill, Mark and Laura, Larry and Kim, Susan and Tony, Gret and Julie, David and Penny, Cec and David, Kate and Lawrence, Ron and Stacy, Mary Jane and Mark, Rachel and Peter, Hester and Michael, Josh and Jeanne, Johnny and Teresa, Nick and Nancy, Sy and Ilene, Stephen and Jill, Ginger and John, Addison and Stacey, Liza and Barnaby, Carolyn and Tom, Merrill and Phoebe, Ellen and Jason, Gil and Graciela, Barbara and Walter, Renee and Paul, Clarice and Malcolm, Gilly and Mike.
Sacrifices were cheerfully borne, as always, by my four boys: Alex, Marshall, Spencer, and Jeremy. They all made their indelible marks on the book, though I didn’t include the first two in the text because (a) they’re grown, and (b) they’ve been victimized by me enough in earlier books. Alas for her, my wife, Shelley, does not so easily escape my gratitude. Sorry, Slim. You kept the home fires blazing in a pretty stiff breeze.
In spirit, I have had Sara and M. Edward Rose with me through every step of the journey. And, lately, my mother. Thank you, dear souls.
The named above, and many more unnamed, are the real heroes of this saga-all I did was the glorious grunt work.