Lessons from Lish
A Faustian recollection
Early to mid-nineties, I spent a weekend in a crap room in a crap building in downtown Portland. There were maybe a dozen of us perched on cold metal folding chairs arranged in a circle. My back to window, I was straight-on facing the legend—who, due to his skin condition, was clad in a khaki cotton jumpsuit.
He had a reputation, Lish did. For genius, …