By Harvey Steinberg
There was just enough space in the bank’s private lock-box room for Norbert to write his memoirs.
He finished a paragraph with: ‘I was an innocent child.’
Norbert mindlessly flipped open his lock-box Number 426. He couldn’t resist thumbing through its documents. His bonds, his stocks. Mortgage papers, many papers. Papers, papers, a cascade that displayed what he had figured out, but not the boyhood that hadn’t taken figuring out.
Leaving quickly, he muttered, “Not again. Memoirs are too much for me,” his back in pain, and the metal box filled with his steadily maturing instruments felt heavier than ever.
Harvey’s widely eclectic experience — vocational, civic, personal — includes organization management, politics, writing, visual arts, teaching, physical tasks. At the heart of them all lie his never-still, fertile imagination and ethical commitment. Harvey is a native of New York City and in the latter half of his life resides in New Jersey.