I knew Shields as a man-about-dance. From 1971 on, his name appeared on the masthead of Ballet Review, first as an editorial assistant, then as managing editor, and finally as editorial consultant. Attending a dance performance with him (always spiffy in a hand-knotted bow tie) or running into him in the lobby was inevitably energizing. He was knowledgeable and critical, but what he loved, he loved almost unreservedly, his whole body tensed and tingling with excitement. "Glorious!" was a word he used a lot, whether applying it to a ballerina's performance, a new piece of choreography that moved him, or high points in his life—like the 2003 trip he took to Durham, New Hampshire, with a contingent from St. Luke in the Fields to celebrate the Episcopal Church's consecration of Gene Robinson as its first openly gay bishop (Shields could have flown home from there under his own steam; he was that buoyant of heart).