by Toby Barlow This is a ghost story, I think. So, one morning, I woke up hungover in my Brooklyn apartment. This was years ago now. It was late on a clear summer day, the windows were open and blowing in the sea air from the New York harbor. I was in no great hurry to move. For some reason, I found myself mulling over a recent Hunter S. Thompson quote I had read regarding the death of George Plimpton. “I think the friends of George Plimpton should and must create a permanent monument to him,” Dr. Thompson had said. I didn’t really think much of it when I read it, but as I lay there this idea began to gain some momentum inside my head. Eventually, I crawled out of bed over to the computer and began doing some research on Plimpton. Yes, he was a gentleman, an editor, a supporter of the arts, oh and a boxer and an acrobat and a birdwatcher and a Boston Bruins goalie and, and, and, well, as the list grew I felt a great energy begin to overtake me, an urgency really. “Why yes,” I thought to myself, “yes, we must! We absolutely must build this statue for George.”