June 26, 1991 New York I began a writing class at the Y tonight, and though the teacher hasn’t a knack for generating critical discussion, I still get a kick out of her. At one point she read a poem by someone I’m not familiar with. “History has borne him out to be something of an anti-Semite and a racist, but he was funny,” she said. Our homework assignment is to write a story in the form of a diary entry.
