She basically handled the day-to-day business of things: fielding letters, invites, packages, hundreds of emails a day, requests, pushy documentary film makers, visitors famous and not, interviewers, etc., etc. She was in charge of everything from travel to coffee (Chomsky consumed it by the pail).
The book was fun for me for two reasons. For one, it is a superb look behind the curtain. It’s a glimpse into the real guy, his quirks, his habits, and so on. Chomsky was basically a mentor to me, and no one has had a more profound impact on me intellectually. Wanting to know how he ticks is a natural curiosity.
For another, I was in that office. I must have met Bev, but sadly it’s a blur. Chomsky and I sat and talked for about a half-hour in his office in summer 2014. Absurdly, I did 65 percent of the talking. It was his fault—he kept asking me questions! Now I don’t think he found me interesting; I just think he was relieved he didn’t have to do an interview.
I now, a decade later, wish I got my picture with him. That would have been nice to have; but at the time I felt it was silly and embarrassing.
One small thing does stand out in memory. It must have been Bev, now that I think about it. She silently popped in and replaced his presumably empty coffee cup with a full one. I remember thinking, “How in the hell did she know that was empty??” I guess when you work that close for that long, you become attuned to such things.
At any rate, if you’re familiar with his work, I highly recommend giving this a read. It’s a lot of fun. And you’ll learn about what kind of warmhearted, compassionate, brilliant man Chomsky is—maybe you already know—and how lucky the twentieth (and twenty-first) centuries were for having him in them.
