Forgetting the conversation of the night before, Rusty and I were taken by complete surprise a few hours later when we heard a car door slam and we went out and this big man, full of life, was saying, “OK, where’s Bob?” and I just remember looking at him going “Oh my God, how do we tell him?”

It was George Johnston, Gaudino’s old friend, with his new wife. I remember it vividly. I was horrified. He had not seen Gaudino for some years and had arrived with the anticipation of a child at Christmas. Who were we to deliver this horrendous news to a stranger but a dear friend of Gaudino’s?

After he pulled himself together we all decided he would have wanted us to have Thanksgiving anyway. We had the food there, we cooked it. I’m sure we had turkey. I’m sure we had some bottles of wine. It was something out of a play. They returned to Boston that night.

Dick Slade came back the next day. We felt a little bit like we were prying but we found these photo albums in the living room and went through them. I remember one in particular, of Gaudino when he was younger and well. He was doing a cannon-ball hamming for the camera. I don’t really remember anyone else coming over.