To the Editor: S. Kirk Walsh's essay (Jan. 17) about the influence of E. L. Doctorow recalled my own experience. In the spring of 1973, Doctorow and I were both approaching commencements of a sort, I a college senior and he about to hit the big time with his novel "Ragtime." My English professor at Union College, Pat Allen, had assigned us "The Book of Daniel," a novel that still resonates with me both for the merits of the book itself — every time I hear the name Paul Robeson, I am taken back to the riots in Peekskill, the rocking yellow school bus — and because Doctorow graciously accepted an invitation to join our seminar and talk about his craft. There we were, students on couches and the carpet of a social room, Doctorow seated in a chair, as we talked about narration in first and third person. Over the years I read a good deal of his work, but as a Brooklyn boy, perhaps the greatest pleasure was curling up in my own chair around 1984, lost in Doctorow's music of the Bronx and the 1939 World's Fair. From my end, that intimate encounter cemented my bond to a great writer and citizen.