Life's ironies amuse cynical people--who are, after all,
sentimentalists, for only sentimental people would bother themselves to
beget so foolish a self-defense as cynicism.
"Terrible loss," the driver said, waiting for the Madison Avenue light.
I chose this better opportunity. "Loss, hell! A baseball player. A
tough guy. Somebody with trick reflexes who could bat a ball farther
than anybody else, oftener. And the whole damned United States
gets choked up and goes into mourning. Double-page spreads in the
newspapers. When a really great man dies, he's lucky to get one
snapshot and a column." I looked quickly at his framed license. Saul
Kaufman. "Will the American people go on a morbid spree when Einstein
dies?" I asked.