Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

My favorite Valentine’s Day memory comes from when I was a student at Harvard, directing my first show at nearby M.I.T. I had bemoaned to my cast how the holiday was bound to be a lonely one for me, as I had no girlfriend at the time and my room mates, who were all from far-flung states, where certain to be getting copious love notes in their mail boxes while mine would be, as usual, empty. (My home was in Arlington, Mass., a quick bus ride from Cambridge.) When February 14th arrived and the usual morning mail call with it, my room mate who was on mail duty that day announced, “Dick, you have eight cards. Slip, you have two. Mark, you got 12 cards. Worldman [he was Hawaiian], you also have 12. I have three, and Shithead (my room mates often called me “Shithead”) you have…these.”

And he poured out 58 little envelopes on the floor, each containing one of those little Valentines we used to exchange in elementary school. An M.I.T. coed named Nancy Green (not the original Aunt Jemima) in my chorus had persuaded every student in her dorm to write a personal message on one of those little cards, and she stamped, addressed and mailed them. It was a classic random act of kindness. Thanks, Nancy—wherever you are.

Meanwhile…