When I was very little, even before I learned how to read and write, I would dictate stories to my mother, who would write them down on large pads of tracing paper, leaving spaces for where I could do the illustrations. (I wish I could remember all these stories, but the only one I do remember was a Bemelmans-inspired tale about a Central Park pigeon named Cadmus who apprehended a band of thieves by dropping bread crumbs for the police to follow.) One day, after finishing a story, I went outside to play and ran into our next door neighbor Gloria Cohen.
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