I was not only Bob's editor 10 or 12 times, and his collaborator once, but we were frequent correspondents -- almost daily for the two years before his Russian trip.  And we not only swapped news and opinions about science fiction, we also swapped jokes.  And since Bob devoted his life to making people laugh, I thought rather than tell you how unhappy I am that he's gone and how much I still miss him, I'd tell you the joke of mine that he liked best.

Seems there was this golfer on an Irish course, a few miles out of Dublin.  He's played over half the round when he tees up for the eleventh hole, swings, and hits the ball into a stand of trees.  When he goes to find it, he spots it right next to a leprechaun who is stretched out on the ground, moaning, and it's clear that the ball has hit him in the head.

The golfer drops his clubs, rushes over to the leprechaun, and spends the next ten minutes tending to his injury.Finally the leprechaun is able to stand up.  "That was a mighty Christian thing you did," he says, "helping one of the Little People, and it won't go unrewarded."

"I don't want any reward," says the golfer.  "I just want to know that you're okay."