City for Ransom

Growing up in Chicago in the fifties and sixties, I found a friend—a second mother, really—in Miss Evelyn Page, an extraordinary teacher of language and speech at Wells High, and when she made a gift of a small bookcase that I admired, she said, “You can thank me by filling it with books you’ve read.”

I arrogantly replied, “How ‘bout I fill it with books I write?”

She answered simply, “That’ll do as well. Fill it with your characters.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

Before she passed away, Evelyn Page knew I’d filled that bookcase twice over. She also knew that I was living my dreams—dreams she nurtured. A theater major and graduate of Northwestern University, she’d studied with Karl Malden, but she chose to become a teacher instead of Malden’s co-star. My good fortune, for she championed me and gave me the opportunity to go to NU when it was my turn. But more importantly, she gave me a license to be myself and the courage, early on, to believe in myself; to believe myself a writer of purpose. For this reason, wherever her soul resides, I send out this dedication to find her . . . for she so loved Chicago and her house on Chase and Sheridan Road, and no doubt, she would’ve treasured a copy of City for Ransom.