Joe and I had become like brother and sister when we cared for my mother together during her last illness. A few months after her death, Joe visited me for two weeks in New York and he quickly came to love the city as I always have.
When he returned for a second visit in February 1994, Joe’s energy was low, but by pacing ourselves, we managed to visit every place on his list. Back home in San Francisco, his health deteriorated rapidly. An old friend, Jack, who had been an Army medic in Vietnam, cared for Joe and kept me informed when Joe was too weak to take phone calls. Then Jack called one day to say I should come quickly to San Francisco and I did. But Joe died of complications from AIDS on 28 October 1994, while my plane was still in the air.