I first saw Bob in January 1986, at a McGraw-Hill sales

meeting in St. Louis. I was invited to that meeting to

celebrate the success of the first edition of the college

text, Psychology, by Diane E. Papalia and Sally Wendkos

Olds, which was McGraw-Hill’s “Book of the Year.”

Bob, its marketing manager, was “Marketing Manager

of the Year.” The book had sold 50,000 copies in its

first year, which, in the world of college publishing,

is pretty much unheard of. At the meeting, Bob was

making a pitch to a group of sales representatives

about a new book he was promoting. In college publishing,

the marketing manager has to convince the

sales force that it is worth their time to try to get a

book adopted by professors who teach the relevant

course. Bonuses depend on it.

Bob was a compelling speaker, very funny, and I

found him adorable. He was definitely “my type”—

not too tall or too short, dark complexion, chocolate

brown eyes, a sexy Italian man. I was standing because

it was a full house. I remember the people—

editors, sales reps, marketers, and other corporate

types—around me saying, “You know who that is?

That’s Frank Zappa’s brother.”

The meeting in St. Louis was a blast. I closed down the

hospitality room every night. This was a partying crowd,

even after a full day of learning about McGraw-Hill’s

new titles. The food was great and the drinks flowed

endlessly. But Bob, being a bit more prudent, avoided

the hospitality suite and went to bed early.

A second sales meeting was held that January

at the Nassau Inn in the beautiful college town of

Princeton, New Jersey. When I was first invited to

that meeting I declined, saying I had to be at work

and couldn’t attend. I was a tenured full professor of

Child and Family Studies at the University of Wisconsin-

Madison, teaching undergrads and grad students.

The meeting in St. Louis had been held before second

semester began so I went guilt free. But recalling that

I had had such a good time in St. Louis, I decided to go

to the second meeting, and arranged for a TA to teach

my classes in Madison.

It was a decision that would change my life.

Bob was assigned the task of collecting me at Newark

airport and getting me to Princeton. He met my

flight, took my floral brocade bag, and we headed for

the parking lot. I remember his rental car was white

and I wore a hot pink coat. When we got in the car to

drive to Princeton, he took a wrong turn leaving the

airport. The ride, plus the wrong turn, took an hour or

so. We spoke easily together, about so many things—

my books, his brother Frank, publishing in general,

and McGraw-Hill in particular. I learned he had been

married for 21 years and had a 15-year-old son. I told

him I had been married for 10 years, but I had no children

at the time. His wife, Marcia, was a nurse. My

husband, Jon, was a pediatric oncologist.

Both nights that I was in Princeton, I had dinner

with Bob along with a crowd of editors, sales reps,

and marketers. The first night was a banquet and,

when he saw there was only one other person at

my table, he came over and sat next to me. The next

night, dinner was with a small group that went to a

local restaurant. Bob and I sat together at the end of

a long table, lost in our own little world. He sat to my

right. I found out he was 42; I was 38.

When we talked later about that dinner, we both

remembered an intense and immediate connection.

Looking back, we realized that’s when we fell in love.