Tribute to Michael Harrington

The last time I saw Mike, we had lunch at a coffee shop in Greenwich Village. He had a chocolate milkshake, which had been his staple food since the cancer recurred. We discussed nineteenth- century literature and E. M. Forster, the possibilities for lasting romantic love in the world, and Mike’s ideas for a new book he planned to write. He told me he had a long version and a short version in mind, depending on how much time he had left. He was dead two and a half months later.