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I first met Hal Herman twenty-five years ago, when I showed up as his terrified new research assistant. I last saw him in the hospital the week before he died. In the many years between those meetings, we spent much time together. We broke bread, and we broke archives together. We wrote books. We gave lectures. We led conferences. We argued. We hugged. We laughed. We cried. We worshipped and prayed together. Hal Herman was my great teacher, colleague, and friend-as he was for so many others.
On that final day together in the New York hospital, Hal and I relived some of these experiences. He was weak, and he needed regular sleep. So the day broke into blocks of conversation between his naps. In the first conversation, we just discussed the news from Emory and Atlanta that he was eager to hear, and we reminisced a bit. Then came a nap. In the second conversation, Hal evidently had decided to rehire me as his research assistant. For he began rattling off a list of books and articles I had to get for him, facts and quotes I needed to track down for him, memos I needed to have on his desk the next week, and more. And then, with great gusto, he began to tell me how we should craft the argument of his Law and Revolution series, volume three. In mid-sentence, there came a second nap. The third conversation was very different, more subdued. Hal wanted me to read him some poetry from T.S. Elliot, then a couple of pages from his favorite, Moby Dick, then some passages from Justice Clarence Thomas's new autobiography. "Just fascinating," "a remarkable man," he kept saying about Thomas. Then came another nap.
The fourth conversation was a long and deep reflection on faith and theology. Hal told me again about his remarkable conversion experience-seeing a vision of Christ on a night train in war-torn Europe. He told me about his wonderful life of faith with his wife Ruth and...