I was married. We lived in Mrs. Carter’s stucco home literally right across from the freshman gate. And I was on the third floor in the back so I could overlook Bob’s house. The proximity was part of the reason why I was helpful. I wasn’t the only one but I began to run errands, to collect his mail from the faculty mailbox and things like that, the things he couldn’t do well for himself. He would have been embarrassed if one of his colleagues, his peers, were taking care of those things for him. So it was easier for me to do it. I was his student and he wasn’t as embarrassed about it. He was always “Professor” and never “Bob.” “Professor Gaudino.”

Funny moment – we’re driving together somewhere, I’m running around scrambling. I’m a full-time student, not alwaysthe best chauffeur. We ran out of gas and we are fighting, literally, in the best way. Fighting over who’s going to push. He says, “I’ll get out and push.” “Professor, you can’t push a thing. You can’t even stand up straight.” He wants to push his little Peugeot. So we’re actually playing like two twelve-year-olds on a public street in Williamstown. I remember it like it was yesterday. Powerful moment. And he’s delighting in this. We’re laughing about how sick he is. He’s making jokes about my failure to be responsible because I didn’t check the gas tank. And on we went like a couple of teenagers. Great fun.