I met Susan Pilberg back in 1984, in a class on Ayn Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism, held at the New School. Immediately we hit it off, as we had other similar interests, such as dance, business and education. She both had and appreciated a good sense of humor and one of her signature characteristics was a loud, ringing laughter which radiated such overwhelming joy, that it seemed to embrace everyone within 30 feet.

A few years later, when I was between jobs, Susan recommended that I apply for a position with her employer, Merrill Lynch. With her referral, I got the job immediately—and held on to it for almost thirteen years. It was nice to see her at work from time to time and she even recruited me for a writing position on one of the firm’s publications. That was a pure delight.

One of things I liked most about Susan was her perceptive comments on the ballet productions of Giselle, Coppelia and Symphonic Dances, of which I was both a performer and producer. She had me feeling recognized for some time afterwards.

A few years later I was sad to see her leave Merrill, but happy that she chose to pursue her goal of becoming a Montessori teacher. Though she took a huge pay cut, the smile on her face was evidence that she made the right move.

Although I didn’t see her at work anymore, her annual parties offered us opportunity to get together. They usually occurred the first weekend after the New Year. Every year I’d anticipate receiving in the mail the quirky, uniquely designed flyer (before graphics were easy to do). At these parties I’d get a chance to chat with both Objectivists and Merrill employees. But it was particularly nice to spend some time with Susan’s wonderful husband Bob and her beautiful daughter Leah. They both emanated a warm intelligence that was a pleasure to be around.

Their fabulous apartment, a converted classroom, seemed to be as much a part of the festivities as good food, drink and conversation. They had an old jukebox that played 45s and a pinball machine that echoed with ringing bells throughout the night. Also, there were movie posters, and other odds and ends that proudly advertised many of the values they all held as important.

Another annual event I’d often see Susan at was the Ford Hall Forum lectures in Boston. These were fun gatherings as we’d often meet before the lecture and catch up on things. One time my brother Damian, my friend Tim and I took the bus up to Boston. We met Susan and Bob after the lecture and they offered us a ride back to New York. It was an unforgettable trip as we shifted from discussing the serious ideas covered in the speech, to cracking jokes about every possible subject.

Well after midnight, as we approached New York, Susan asked where we lived. Damian and I, as well as Susan and Bob, all lived in different locations on the West side. But when Tim said he lived way over near the East River, a typical New York scene ensued. Susan said they’d drop Tim off on the West side and he could get a cab to go home, which was perfectly fine with him. (I cracked up several years later when I saw a similar scenario take place on a Seinfeld episode.)

Susan and Bob spent most of the past several years outside of NYC, either upstate in Carmel, or in Colorado, so we didn’t see each other very often. Nevertheless, she was happy to hear about the organization I formed, the NY Heroes Society, and hoped to join us on one of our walking tours of New York’s outdoor sculptures.

A few years ago, I was deeply saddened to hear the news that she had cancer. But every time I saw her afterwards, she seemed to maintain her usual cheerful, optimistic and outgoing personality.

The last time I saw Susan was at their final annual party, on West 90th Street. It was Game 1 of the Yankees/Marlins World Series of 2003. Since nearly everyone there was glued to the TV, I had a chance to talk with Susan more than I had in some time. I also hung around and, for the first time, actually had a chance to help her, Bob and Leah clean up after the party was over.

Every once in a while (though not often enough) I’d call Bob or email him to get an update on Susan’s status. I remember calling him the night after she had gone to see Swan Lake, and I was shattered at the thought that I was at the same performance and could have talked with her.

Well, when receiving the email from them a few weeks ago, stating that Susan’s cancer was indeed terminal, and she had approximately two weeks to live, I frantically made arrangements to visit her a few days later in the hospital. I wanted to just say goodbye and thank you. One of my friends who planned to join me, Carrie, had a better statement to tell Susan: well done. (Anyone who has read Atlas Shrugged should know the meaning of that statement.)

Only two days later I received a phone message from Leah stating that Susan had passed away. I was crushed. Though we had a nice conversation, I reminisced with Leah about how special her mother was to me. When I told her that I always remembered Susan wearing the necklace of the female dancer in a proud pose, she quickly told me that Bob was currently wearing it. This gave me a chance to hang up the phone with a huge smile.

Last weekend I volunteered to help the Ayn Rand Institute at their Centenary celebration. My job was to give identification badges to attendees. As I went through the list, I noticed the names Susan and Bob Pilberg. Yet another stab of wistfulness came over me, as this would have been an excellent final event for Susan to witness. I will always associate her death with the Centenary of Ayn Rand’s birth.

Well, I would like to offer my profound sympathy to Bob, Leah and anyone else whose life was touched and made better by someone whose excellence of the soul was omnipresent. Though it is too late, I’d like to say thank you and goodbye to Susan. Well done.