When I die


When I die, don’t let anyone fool you. I’ve simply moved to Paris. I've found a tiny apartment in one of the older sections of the city and am looking forward to spending my days walking the ancient alleyways and sipping fabulous coffee in a sunny café.


Paris became my true home when I found myself there back in 1970 – just after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania. There was something in its history, its people, and its lifestyle that suited me perfectly. I felt eminently comfortable – at ease – at home. No matter the time of year, there was always joy to be found in Paris. A light, a movement, a view – I was never bored.


Of course, the French can be unreasonably unfriendly, opting to look down their nose at strangers in every sense of that word. But they can also be extraordinarily welcoming, if you chance upon the right ones, which I was lucky enough to do.


My Parisian friends are long gone due to age and economy. But no matter. I have my memories.

And so do you.


I love you all so much. Next time you’re in Paris, look for me. I’m there.