(Tribute 1) In Loving Memory of Eve Helene Wilkowitz by Jack Dempsey, Ph.D.

born April 17, 1959:
abducted and murdered in New York City, March 1980

She was not a document. She was not a number or a photograph. Not an abstract idea or a madman’s fantasy. She was flesh and blood.

—Susan Griffin, Pornography and Silence:

             Culture’s Revenge Against Nature, 1981

***

In the summer of 1979 a young writer moves to midtown New York, city of dreams. With 8 months of drinking in those electric, grimy-grand avenues, he breaks into freelance work for educational textbook publishers—but, come midwinter, he’s found the city both wildly alive and lonely.

         Early Monday February 11th, 1980: he walks up Third Avenue to his latest gig at Macmillan Publishing, where a raucous community of creative colleagues clack away on typewriters, sustaining the dreams they’re really after. The standard sterility of American textbooks ignites subversion in their constant banter: his morning’s plan is to share out copies of an historical romance parody, “Love’s Deep Disturbance.” And there alone before him, working the xerox-machines, is Eve.

         Her eyes are deep brown with an impish twinkle, her big ready smile tells the word-drunk writer her name, and he’s a goner. Eve: meaning Life, primeval, innocent and wayward, there seems no more beautiful name for a woman and a Muse. From their first lunch onward, the cosmos between them goes Click.

(To be continued)


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