While Michnik was in prison, some of his friends considered having a party on his release. Without thinking, I mentioned that since our house in Mokotow was larger that Michnik's apartment, maybe they might want to have the party there. More than a year later, Adam and his friends asked me if I my offer had been serious. I asked him how many guests did he think would come. He said 300 or 400. I gulped and thought quickly. Surely the authorities of the PRL would not be delighted to have the correspondent of an American newspaper host a party for a prominent dissident that was sure to be attended by leading figures of a suspect and illegal opposition. Moreover, my editors would also be upset if they knew about the party, presumably seeing it as a needless and potentially awkward intervention into the political life of a country I was supposed to be covering. But friendship has its obligations so I said sure, invite whoever you want. The police learned of the event and interviewed my landlord before the guests arrived, but the party turned out to be wonderful. It went on past dawn with famous writers and film directors sharing drinks and conversation with steelworkers, priests, recent fugitives and future Ministers. Until now I never wrote about it. In one sense it was a private matter, but in another I think it marked my growth as a journalist in those years when I surprisingly found it so easy to play if not actually be a "hero."