Notes on a Scorecard of an Extraordinary Life, Career. . . .

His world was like a never-ending dream dinner party, I always thought, and whenever Allan invited me into it, my head spun.

How could someone so shy bring together so many people? Famous, infamous, powerful, personable, whatever you wanted, they were there, moving in and out of the scene.

Allan was quiet, but that only made everybody around him stick to him closer; Allan was self-effacing, but it only drew more and more fascinating figures to his circle.

Allan was cautious, unless he was at the blackjack table, and I believe the most serious tone he ever struck with me was when he sat next to me at a Las Vegas casino, flabbergasted that I treated my chips so preciously when it was so obviously time to pounce.

“Think what you could’ve made!” he yelped, disappointed and amused at the same time.

He was always in the middle of something--a movie, a column, a luxurious dinner--and as I close my eyes and remember him now, I’m sure this is how I’ll always think of Allan:

Sitting calm, taking in the scene, laughing, disagreeing, and around him, this dream world passed by.

When the tragic news first reached me, almost immediately I thought: I wish he could have had one last great feast with his friends, with directors and Dodgers and actresses and old-time cornermen.

But then I remembered: His whole life was that. His whole amazing life.