Until that point in my life I hadn't written much of value - a few poems and short stories.But, like a beginning artist who longs to see his work come to life, becoming an animated Disney film,I understood that the more one draws, or writes, the better the end result will become.Realistically, I approached writing like waxing a car, thoroughly and repeatedly.So I wrote often to improve my writing skills.I tentatively sent material to various magazines and reviews,but no one had ever been willing to publish me.So it was an unexpected delight when the Times published my commentary.I suppose the editor decided to publish it because he was first attracted by the official nature of my stationery,and then by the strangeness of an inner city firefighter's using refined language.I'd like to think, though, that the editor silently agreed with me.I received about 20 sympathetic and congratulatory letters from professors that I tacked up by the superintendent's desk.These letters tickled me, making my heart flutter with the thought that I was not only a published writer but an opinion maker.I was suddenly dubbed as someone whose views mattered.Incidentally, I also received letters from True magazine and from The New Yorker, asking for interviews.
