I have a lot of memories of Starsky. Many of them are of cases we worked, or fun times at Huggy's or on vacation, or watching him play with those silly Christmas and Hanukkah ornaments he keeps on his dash. We've been friends and partners so long that the most meaningful memories in my life include him in the picture. But I think, sitting here watching him in his hospital bed, that some of my most vivid memories of my partner involve pictures captured by his camera.

Starsky is a great photographer. He's reticent to show his pictures to many people. I don't know why, other than the fact that they reveal so much of his personal side – a side that he doesn't present to people readily. Don't get me wrong, Starsky's an outgoing and friendly guy, especially outside of work. He has a heart of gold, and to be enveloped by that heart is one of the great experiences of my life.

But getting that close to Starsky is hard. He's had a lot of emotional pain in his life. It's difficult to imagine living through just one of these painful events, but Starsky has withstood the terrible loss of his father, the separation at an early age from his mother and brother, and the devastating loss of Terry, the love of his life. And he has managed to survive these events with amazing courage and resilience, and with that incredible, warm heart still able to provide and seek out love.

So many of Starsky's photos exude the heart of the man. It's hard to pick out just a few to talk about, but one of my favorites is of a young boy and his dog at the park. We had gotten lucky and had a break in the oppressive summer heat and decided to go enjoy the early evening at the park just down from my place in Venice.

Venice is an interesting microcosm of humanity. And the park was one of Starsky's favorite places to people watch, because he could always be guaranteed of something interesting to capture on film.

This evening the cool breeze from the ocean and the decidedly cooler temperatures brought an amazing collection of people out to enjoy the beauty of the sunset. There were joggers working the paths and elderly couples chatting on park benches. There were kids playing catch and adults playing with Frisbees. And there were families walking together along the water and couples walking hand-in-hand and discretely catching a kiss along the way.

Starsky had pretty quickly found a subject that interested him. A young boy, probably about ten years old, was playing with his dog with a stick. He would throw the stick, and the dog would fetch it anxiously and bring it back. But the dog, a beautiful and enthusiastic yellow lab, had a mind of his own and the kid could not get the dog to give up the stick. He fought the dog each time to get him to drop it.

The funny thing was that there was no doubt that the kid was not getting this dog to, finally, drop the stick. As we watched, both Starsky and I came to the realization that this dog was just toying with the poor kid. The kid was so small, and the dog was so big, that there was no way that all the sweat and tears the kid was putting into the effort was actually forcing the dog to drop the stick. That dog would only finally drop the stick when he was good and ready.

Starsky took his camera and moved closer. The sun was showering the area with a marvelous golden glow, casting long shadows and blanketing the area with warmth that was a perfect counterpoint to the thankfully cooler temperatures. Starsky's photo of the pair perfectly captured the playful aspect of the tug-of-war. But even more revealing was the relationship between the two that the picture portrayed so masterfully. The trust this kid had that this much larger and stronger being would never hurt him, and the love that the animal showed this boy was a testament to the theory of "man's best friend". But it was also proof of the saying "love conquers all". Because this relationship that Starsky so beautifully captured in his picture showed that adversity could be overcome, that the challenges of everyday living could be managed, even by a little boy: for the braces on his legs, although in the photo, were not visible immediately. It was the relationship and the love that stood out.

I looked at Starsky. He was in his third week of recovery from the bullet wounds that nearly took his life. My grief over the first days was only matched by my desire for retribution. In my business, there is no room for retribution, or revenge, whatever word you choose to use. But there would be justice, ultimately.

He had fallen asleep before I could get in to speak with him. He was on a schedule for his medication, which put him out pretty fast. But sitting and watching him breathe was good enough for me. As I watched him, I noticed the small vase of flowers on the table on the far side of the bed. I walked over and noticed a card sitting just under them. Captain Dobey and Edith had sent the flowers. It was a lovely assortment, and it reminded me of another of my favorite Starsky photos.

We had taken Sally to the Descanso Gardens. Sally was one of Terry's kids, and Starsky and I had made it a point to spend time with the kids from the school as much as we could. It was the first January after Terry's death, and Starsky and Terry had promised to take Sally there for the annual Camellia show. The camellia was Sally's favorite flower. It was a bittersweet moment for my partner, I know. I could see him struggle to keep it together as he made his way through the gardens, keeping Sally nearby and listening to her textbook definitions of the various hybrids.

I stayed back, admiring Starsky's effortless manner with Sally. It was so easy for him to be with these kids. And the picture that stands out from that day would provide the proof of his gentle nature and his huge heart.

Starsky's patience with Sally was endless, as she could talk your ear off before finally getting to her point. But he leaned in, earnestly listening, giving her more confidence to prove her seemingly infinite knowledge of all things camellia. Sally is retarded, though, and some teenagers not too far away were making fun of her. I noticed it first, and I could tell by the slightest hunch of his shoulder that Starsky had heard some of it, too. And then Sally finally reacted.

It was a pretty severe reaction for such a public place. And it was unfortunate for Sally because her reaction just caused a lot more eyes to fall on her, making her even more emotionally unsteady. Starsky grabbed her and held her tight, despite her concerted efforts to get away. But he held tighter, and spoke soothingly to her. I couldn't hear what was being said, but I could see her start to relax, and then I heard her laugh. It was a sweet sound.

Starsky pushed Sally away, holding her hands at arm's length. He told her to stand there and smile for him. She was barely through crying, but she listened to him, her trust in him overwhelming to witness. He took the photo, and I had no idea what would result from that click of the Nikon.

What I saw of the finished product was, well, I still get a lump in my throat when I think of that shot. Sally was sweet and innocent, with a big smile on her face. A tear remained on her cheek from the moments earlier, and the juxtaposition of the laughter and the tears that Starsky captured was so moving. The background was brilliantly colored, slightly out of focus camellias – the photo was a perfect rendering of a girl who would never really grow up.

So, I have these wonderful memories of my partner, my best friend and I feel grateful to be able to see our lives through his pictures. But I'm even more grateful, sitting here watching him get better, to know that he will survive to make more memories for me, for us. And I am forever grateful to not be left with just his memory.

Time it was And what a time it was It was

A time of innocence A time of confidences

Long ago it must be I have a photograph

Preserve your memories They're all that's left you

The End

Note: The song is "Bookends" by Paul Simon