by Janet Elder
Rich and I got back in the car and went back to the Clarks to pick up our son and our dog and head home. Michael did not ask to stay this time. He, too, was eager to be home.
Dave carried all of Huck’s belongings, his bed, his toys, his food, out to the car and put them in the trunk. Michael carried Huck. We all lingered by the car, not really knowing what to say to one another. We hugged and laughed and lingered some more. The painful experience had deepened our love and respect for one another.
I got into the passenger side of the front seat. Michael handed Huck to me and waited for him to settle on my lap before he got in the backseat. Rich closed my door, then Michael’s, and then got behind the wheel, put on his seat belt, and started the car. He looked at me and then at Michael, and asked, “Is this family ready to go home?”
“Let’s go,” Michael shouted happily from the backseat. The Clarks stood on their driveway waving as Rich backed the car out to the street.
I turned to look at a smiling Michael, sitting on the backseat, the lucky green Yankees cap on his head, tossing the 9/11 baseball Dave had given him into the air, the one that was supposed to inspire hope.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I hope Huck will be a lasting testament to the kindness of the townspeople of Ramsey, Mahwah, Wyckoff, and Allendale who did not hesitate to extend a hand to strangers in need.
Huck is a part of the chapter of my life titled cancer. The unwavering support of The New York Times during my illness freed me to concentrate on getting well without anxiety that my role at the paper would be diminished. I am grateful to the paper’s publisher, Arthur Sulzberger, and to my bosses Bill Keller, Jill Abramson, and John Geddes.
My deep gratitude to the doctors who have taken excellent care of me and made it easy for me to lower the journalist’s raised eyebrow and trust them: Ann Carlon, Chip Cody, Catherine Hart, Tom Kolb, Beryl McCormick, and Anne Moore.
The affection, good humor, and thoughtful gestures—big and small—of many of my friends and colleagues lit the way through that very dark period in my life and its unsteady aftermath. My lifelong thanks to Rick Berke, Alison Bommarito, Sal Bommarito, Rachel Breitbart, Adam Bresnick, Orville Buddo, Dana Canedy, Dolly Cannon, Mary Ellen Caruso, Caroline Clarke, Marjorie Connelly, Brad Connor, Sharon Connor, Louise Conway, Peggy Conway, Maureen Dowd, Tonne Goodman, Alison Gwinn, Deborah Hofmann, Michael Kagay, Brian Kennedy, Dave Kepner, John Kepner, Mimi Kepner, Tim Kepner, Glenn Kramon, Mark Leibovich, Rich Meislin, Adam Nagourney, Patty Newburger, Todd Purdum, Joyce Purnick, Andy Rosenthal, Jane Rosenthal, Martin Rutishauser, Susan Scott, Robert Sherman, Tammy Sherman, Ilde Smilen, Steve Smilen, Dalia Sussman, David Sussman, Dick Stevenson, Nina Tager, Megan Thee-Brenan, Angela Tortorella, Jeffrey Wilks, Lise Wilks, Donna Wilson, and Caren Zuckerman.
I pay tribute in these pages to dear friends whose hearts touched me and who died before their time: Connie Hays, David Kern, Bob Parisien, John Siskind, Ruth Sussman, and Robin Toner.
Much of Huck was written in the sun-lit rooms of the New York Society Library. My thanks to the staff there who provided me with a quiet place to think and work.
Three-quarters of the way through writing Huck, I fell off a horse and broke my elbow. My lasting gratitude to Emily Altman and Robert Hotchkiss for their world-class medical attention and to my friends Regina Lasko and David Letterman for their nonstop support. Together, they made it possible for me to finish the book in a timely way despite the cast that ran the length of my arm.
Though I loved Huck, I had no idea how it would be received. I put my fate in the hands of Christine Kay and Barbara Strauch, distinguished editors among distinguished editors at The Times, who good-naturedly took on the task of reading the manuscript in its earliest draft. I am indebted to them both.
It has been an honor to work with the talented people at Broadway Books. Christine Pride did a masterful job of gracefully editing Huck and, despite my protestations, was right to stand firm in her belief that readers want to know from the subtitle that the book they have just picked up has a happy ending. My thanks to Team Huck for their care, creativity, and infectious enthusiasm in launching Huck to a wide audience: Jacob Bronstein, Laura Duffy, Ellen Folan, Laurie McGee, Catherine Pollock, and Jennifer Robbins.
I am grateful to my literary agent, Esther Newberg, a prodder of authors but not a nagger, a vigilant e-mailer, who late one Sunday night found Huck among her electronic missives and decided it was a story that had to be told. She has been Huck’s champion and mine.
Larry Pinsky turned his camera on Huck and captured him in all his sweetness for the cover. I am grateful to him, to his wife, Elizabeth, and to Doris Kaplan for their concern and help during my illness.
Special thanks to Rick Finkelstein, Caroline Kennedy, Susan Scheftel, and Ed Schlossberg for their abiding friendship and for their daily ministrations to Rich, Michael, and me throughout the many difficult months of my cancer treatments.
Homage is due here to my parents and my siblings: to my father, William, whose love of books and dogs made its way down through the generations and into the heart of the grandson he did not live long enough to meet; and to my mother, Harriet, our loving Materfamilias, who has soldiered through a great deal of adversity with dignity and strength. Thanks to my brother, Bill, and my sister Louise for their unequivocal love, and for their support of Huck and all my endeavors. And thanks to Louise’s husband, Joe, for standing with her.
As every Huck reader will attest, there could be no better pal to go through life with than my sister Barbara, from our childhood train rides on the stairs to our frantic search for Huck lost somewhere in the wild. My love and thanks to Barbara and her family: Dave, Justin, Kaitlyn, and Darian.
I know now what I should have known all those years ago, that a child’s longing for a dog should not be taken lightly or dismissed as a matter of inconvenience. My son, Michael, has taught me more than I have taught him about what matters in life. His bravery, selflessness, and generous and joyful heart inspired me throughout our search for Huck and do so still.
Most of all, I am grateful to my adoring and adored husband, Rich. His intrepid spirit kept us moving forward, as it always does, despite the odds. There would be no story at all if not for his boundless love for his family and unshakable belief in the possible. Rich led us to Huck.