Richard Ben Cramer died Monday, and my world become a smaller, less interesting place.
I hadn’t spoken to Richard that much recently. The last time was many months ago when I was about to embark on my first feature article for The Atlantic. I had never written anything like this before, and Richard was the first and only person I called.
“What do you need me for, Eppy?” he asked. “You seem to doing just fine on your own.”