By now, we have all known many once-vibrant and much beloved feminists who died untimely deaths. We mourn them but we also celebrate their lives and their work. Anyone who lives eventually dies. But these particular deaths were preceded by lives of resistance and poetry, by lives dedicated to justice, truth, dignity, and freedom, especially women.

I first met Andrea in 1974 when she turned to me for help on a publishing matter. What else? Lifers, (writers in for the long haul), often talk about nothing else. The writing is a given, it's how we breathe. But our relationships with publishers? Now, that's a subject about which we dare not write, so we talk about it, endlessly. (Andrea dared to write about it and that got her in trouble too).

Although I did not agree with Andrea about everything--I do not agree with myself about everything--we were still very close for many years. Like many others, I remained loyal to her even when we were not speaking--because even then, we were still close. For awhile, in the 1970s we lived about ten blocks apart from each on the upper west side--I remember being invited to a birthday party for the Grimke sisters in her apartment; in the 1990s, we lived two blocks apart from each other in Park Slope.

I was by her side at the first demonstration in Times Square against the movie "Snuff" in the mid-70s. I was by her side at the first-ever pornography conference which took place at the NYU law school in the early 1980s and for which we both took considerable flak. We discussed the murder of Jennifer Levin, and the case of Jayne Stamen. I attended her birthday parties. She attended my son's birthday parties as he was growing up. She was one of the only people who talked to my son Ariel as if he were a grownup. I guess I was another such person. I sometimes came to hear her speak and she sometimes came to hear me.

We travelled together to Israel. Although we disagreed on the subjects of Israel and Judaism, we nevertheless attended each other's lectures in Jerusalem and privately respected each others' views. Andrea even got up early to attend my morning plenary panel--a miracle, and a great sacrifice since she tended to work all night and sleep during the day. Thank you Andrea for that.

I often read Andrea's manuscripts and articles before they were published--but she never gave me too much time to do so. She helped me when I put together a dream team for the defense of serial killer and prostituted woman, Aileen Carol Wuornos. Thank you Andrea for all your advice and support.

Andrea knew what it was to suffer. She "got" other people's suffering but she was also in close touch with her own. She used her own pain in order to write about other people's pain and vice versa. She turned pain into art and into a struggle for justice. Such a life has a way of calling down the demons; and thus, we must always remember to honor the work and not confuse it with its creator. Andrea's literary persona was that of an outlaw but I knew her as someone who, like me, spent most of her waking hours thinking, reading, and writing. And, of course, plotting her own version of the French revolution.

I want to thank you Jane Manning, Dorchen Leitholt, and Now-NYC for allowing me to speak in honor of Andrea's life and work.

GIVE OUT ROSES IN HER MEMORY TO ALL THOSE WHO STOOD IN BATTLE WITH HER OVER THE YEARS: Sharon Wyse, David Satz, Dorchen Leithold, all the speakers.

I once wrote a review of Andrea's novel Mercy. In her way, gravely, somberly, with enormous dignity, Andrea told me that she wished to be buried with this review. I am told that she chose to be cremated so perhaps I will burn the review as well! Please allow me to read from that review in her memory and in her honor.