My collaborators are having their convention in Cleveland this week, was the rueful joke among real songwriters who were seeing their royalties diluted by cut-ins.

We strewed the contents of the box across the bench and clawed through them to find other images of Sando. There was even an old picture of him as a jug-eared kid in sandshoes, noseriding a longboard with his back arched and his arm and head thrown back like a matador.

Be a little audacious — disagree on at least one thing so they know you have a mind of your own.

Press on! for it is godlike to unloose / The spirit, and forget yourself in thought; / Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, / And in the very fetters of your flesh, / Mating with the pure essences of heaven!