Lewis Warsh was the fastest typist in the world that I know of. He could type as fast as he thought. When I first met him I was impressed by his work on the Boston Eagle, a magazine he did with Bill Corbett. It’s not a common romantic thing to type fast and efficiently, but it was for me. When Lewis was a small child he’d wander around saying “doesn’t anybody love me?” So, we did. A kind and loving man was he. Not many are kind to poets too, just him and Frank O’Hara.