Enron Mail

Subject:Steve Susman
Date:Thu, 11 Jan 2001 07:50:00 -0800 (PST)

The very first time that I laid eyes on Steve Susman , he was clad only in
his underwear. Moreover, he was shouting and angrily brandishing his fist
at me! The Northern Lights may have seen stranger sights, but I assure you I
have not.

In 1968 or 1969 (you will understand that I have repressed the actual date),
I journeyed to Fort Worth, Texas as a representative of the Texas Law Review
to attend some State Bar of Texas committee meeting, one being held, I think,
in conjunction with an annual meeting of the Bar. The Law Review had
reserved a few rooms at one of the downtown hotels. I arrived late at
night, dutifully registered at the hotel's desk, received my room key,
took the elevator to the designated floor, walked to my room, inserted the
room key, and opened the door. The darkness that shrouded the room was
suddenly pierced by a flare of light that revealed to my astonished eyes a
bear of a man, almost naked, leaping out of the bed toward me, shaking a very
large fist in the vicinity of my face, and demanding to know why I had
violated the sanctity of his room!

It will surprise none who know Steve to learn that although he was
adamantly insisting on an explanation, he refused to be quiet long enough
for me to offer him one. Knowing even at my then tender young age a madman
when I see one, I exited the scene of the controversy with as much speed as
my terrified legs could muster and rushed back to the front desk with my tale
of adventure and close escape from severe bodily injury. There may well have
been some talk of calling hotel security or the Fort Worth Police, but in the
end I settled for a new room, the door of which I bolted immediately.

After a mostly sleepless night during which I anticipated the imminent
reappearance of the madman, I arose, showered, dressed, and carefully made
my way to the meeting room. During the course of the day, I spotted the
madman across the ballroom engaged in conversation with another individual.
Surreptitiously pointing him out to one of my friends, I asked if he knew
him. The answer was no, but he did know who he was. "The name is Susman, my
man, Steve Susman". I immediately resolved that my path and that of
"Susman, my man, Steve Susman" would never again cross.

Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. How could I have possibly foreseen
as I fled from the madman in that Forth Worth hotel room so many years ago
that not only would my path again cross his but that I would one day serve as
his lawyer, that he would serve as mine, and that I would count him as
one of my closest friends! I hereby officially forgive you, Steve, not only
for stealing my Fort Worth hotel room but also for the injury you wished on
me that night. Looking back on it, I wouldn't want it to have been any
other way.

I wish you the Happiest of Birthdays, Steve. Thanks for your friendship--I
treasure it.

All the best,