ABSTRACT
In 1969 I received a letter from the curator of the Special Collections at the Boston University Library expressing interest in having my manuscripts. They would be preserved for researchers for all time under very scientific air-controlled conditions. What researchers? I am not overly modest, but that struck me as ludicrous. I remembered the humorist Robert Benchley’s piece, “Why Does Nobody Collect Me?” I checked with a friend in the history department to see if it was a joke. He assured me they were serious. True, they were not so serious as to mention any money, but still, a compliment is a compliment. But I knew how I would respond, even if a fair sum had been dangled before me. I wasn’t going to let anyone see my corrections, the tortuous road to the final printed version. While I had poked my professorial nose into other authors’ revisions, my own were nobody’s business.
