I said, “Ask him to call me and I’ll be glad to talk to him for free. I’ve admired him for a long time.”

He didn’t call.

A few months later, I came across his address in a library.

So I decided — against Swami Nitty-Gritty’s advice to wait for people to come to you — to send Michael Landon one of my newsletters about cancer.

On July 1, 1991, I rode my bicycle to the post office, mailed it, and rode home.

I lounged back in my recliner chair, turned on the radio, and the first thing I heard was …

“Michael Landon died today.”