In the last year or so before he died, Isaac’s wife Janet convinced him to bring his memoirs up to date. He ended up putting more of his opinions into the writing than he had in his earlier autobiography. But he still had plenty of stories about his brother Stan.
My brother, Stan, set me an even worse task later on, and left me in ignorance of it too. Newsday was inaugurating a weekly science section and, as a favor to Stan, I came down on September 13, 1984, to address an audience of potential advertisers on the importance of science.
“Speak for sixty minutes,” said Stan.
So I did—for exactly sixty minutes.
Stan was jubilant. “I told them,” he said, “that if I told you to speak for sixty minutes, you wouldn’t speak for fifty-nine or sixty-one.”
I was horrified. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I had faith in you,” said Stan.
I was quite annoyed. I’m good, but I’m not that good.
Incidentally, Newsday had offered me $4,000 for the talk months earlier, when it had all been arranged. For some reason, perhaps because I was doing it for Stan, I didn’t record the matter and, as it happened, by the time I gave the talk I had altogether forgotten about the promised fee.
Weeks after the talk, Newsday called me and wanted my social security number.
“Why?” said I, suspiciously.
“So we can send you a check.”
“For what?” I asked, and they had to explain.
“Oh,” I said, unable to keep my mouth shut. “I thought I was doing it for nothing.”
That evening I called Stan. “Stan,” I said, “the paper wants to pay me for the talk and I forgot all about that. If they come to you and ask if they really have to pay me since I told them I was under the impression I was speaking without a fee, please say they must pay.”
There was a short pause and then Stan said peevishly, “Why do you call me on Friday night to tell me this?”
I was surprised. “What does it matter when I tell you?”
“Because now,” said Stan, “I have to wait till Monday morning before I can tell my latest stupid-brother-Isaac story.”
— I. Asimov…A Memoir by Isaac Asimov