 Quick stories about Anthony who is in my cohort and who kind of gave me the courage to keep going, so. On the first night or the first day that we had a seminar here, I didn't know a soul and I sat down next to Anthony and he looked at me and he goes, are you stalking me? Okay, so that's, I don't even know what to say to that because I'm like shy and not stalking him. And I, we're both in our fifties, so I thought he was safe. Yeah, and he was, but you know for me it was, so and my second story about Anthony is in the winter of the surf and turf night. So for some reason last year in the winter, Anthony decided to become a vegetarian. And so when I saw his card I'm like, you're kidding, right? So and Anthony and I were friends outside of here after the thing, so I should just tell you that. So he said, well I'm going to try to be a vegetarian this time, what can it hurt? And so I'm like, you know, all right, don't look for that. And so on surf and turf night, and I don't know if Baron remembers this, but Anthony was sitting next to Baron, like I think an avid vegetarian and they started bringing out the plates of steak and shrimp and it all smells so good. And Anthony quietly takes his vegetarian thing and he takes, you know, he puts it in, I don't know where he puts it. And they put a big plate of steak and shrimp in front of him, Baron goes, no, no, he's a vegetarian. And so they take the plate away immediately and he's just sitting there. And I love it so much, like I can't even stand it, right? Because I have like steak and shrimp and they bring him this like horrible, like boiled vegetable meal. And he's, and so the whole meal I'm like, oh my. And so those are my Anthony stories and one more. So I've been married for 31 years and Anthony posted something on my Facebook and my husband's like, who the hell's Anthony? And so right before he passed away, we all went out to dinner and yeah, he's, he was kind of like my cohort buddy and I will always miss him and it's been a rough couple of months. And to Anthony, thank you. So I remember that surfin' turf. He told me, Anthony told me. It's like, man, I love Baron, but I wanted to strangle him. So those who knew Anthony know he was one of the funniest people you're gonna meet, right? And when I think about other funny people, I know some of them made us laugh because it would make them feel better about themselves. But one of the things I loved about Anthony is he would make us laugh to make us feel, so we'd feel better about ourselves. He was a lovely guy and definitely miss him. I was, I was Anthony's mentor in his last semester here. And we talked on the phone every week and it was great. It was just really great talking with him. But he called up, I don't know, early on into things, I don't know, January or so. And, you know, he was, how to say, very a viable and direct human being. And he said, Baron, what you doing? And I said, I'm making granola. And he said, you write all those books and you're making granola? You know, seriously about him, I mean, we all come here because, you know, we want to write good books and good books are hard to write. But along the way, one thing that could happen to us here is we opened up as human beings. And Anthony just opened up so much. I mean, he was working on this novel, which was about a Japanese soldier after World War II. And during the semester I worked with him, he was immersing himself in Japanese culture. And it was just amazing, fascinating, and inspiring to see someone. Let's face it, Anthony Perotta, not the world's most Japanese name. But he just, it was just very inspiring and moving to him. And, you know, as Ellen said, I'm missing a great deal. Great opportunity of meeting Anthony's brother outside after the mass this morning. He so looks like Anthony, or Anthony looks like him. He really could see the resemblance. But now he told his brother this, so obviously he'll be hearing it again. But one of my fondest memories was walking down from the dinner table to the chapel for the rings. It always seemed like Anthony was walking next to me. But I was not stalking him, like, you know, Ellen's story. But I always seemed to be behind him. And when we came out of the chapel, I always seemed to be behind him. I consider myself a very gracious person towards people with handicaps, physically or mentally. Obviously you heard that in my story today. But Anthony was so funny. I would walk behind him every night and say, could you walk a little faster? He had that cane. And he would turn around and slam me to the ground with the funniest remarks. I just can't even remember. He was so funny. So we'd go to the chapel, listen to the rings, come back up. There he was walking in front of me again. And I always, always remember saying to him, could you walk a little faster? We need to get to our rooms now. And then he would come and he would be standing in the street with laughter because he always got the last word. And then you were the brunt end of his joke. So a lovely man couldn't believe the Facebook when it was posted. And again, as I said earlier today, his presence is felt everywhere, I think on Enders. And we will always miss him. So maybe because Ellen and I are such good friends, Anthony and I were pretty good friends too. And he was a really nice guy. He's one reason why I'm going to sing in the talent show tonight, because he told me, I've seen him come and I've seen him go, but honey, you've got what it takes. That's not for Anthony. But maybe it was that night after the talent show. It was pretty late in the residency. You know, when I went through college the first time, I wasn't much of a party girl, but Ellen is just kind of corrupting me. So we had this, you know, like this, this after the party party in Susan's room. And you know, there was a couple glasses of wine. I got real sleepy. So I went back to my room, I had to get up. Anthony's at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him, he's like, the bros are trying to... I can't do anything with him. Why don't you come up here and tell him, I can't go in there with all those ladies and they're in their gowns. Very much a gentleman. And he had this nice little smart car, you know, we called it his clown car, because he just looked so clowning in it. But he was very concerned about, you know, the environment and all of those things. When Ellen called me and gave me the news, I wrote some stuff. Baron, do I have your go ahead? I mean, I know it's kind of rough, you know, so are you. I'm working on it, but it seems like maybe inappropriate times to go ahead and share it called trying to trust. I finished my ride, lifting bike onto hitch when a call comes in from a friend. Something inside, a rudely flipped switch, sudden darkness from light. From, oh look, Ellen's calling to, oh God, when I hear the words, Anthony died. How can a man age 52 die in his sleep? Damn, why? This sucks. No, it's how our conversation goes till trying to fill the empty space. Ellen asked, what else is going on? And I try to tell her the news I would have told. But me walking off the stage the wrong way and my daughter making fun is not news, but a ridiculous banality. Drowned in awkward ums and thens while my inside swoon in real until we simply say goodbye. I love you. Don't die. To, I hate death. I hate death. I hate death. It's how the conversation goes between me and whomever might be listening on my tightly gripped steering wheel drive home where it's three. You know, the one I told you about. My friend who looked longingly at the state being taken away. The one who's text you found on my phone, who is Anthony Perrata. You asking your severe tone. The guy who with his thick, joisy accent made fun of my southern accent. Who drove the little clown car to save the environment. He's gone. And my words catching my throat for in my backyard hammock suspended between heaven and earth. I close my eyes. I'm gripping a rope descending hand under hand into the empty space death creates into the dark looking for the light that lit Anthony's face. I want to confront death and take back what it stole. Did Jesus feel this this loss and anger and longing when he descended into the prison of the dead? I loosened my grip. I have no power to defeat death. Find my friend and bring him back. But I can exhale and try to trust the one who can. I had nothing prepared but I was the director and accepted him. I spoke to him on the phone and emailed him. I didn't know Anthony well. I did have him in his one of his last workshops last winter. He was a kind, gentle, funny man. We had several conversations. But what I what I found remarkable, and I wasn't going to say anything tonight, is sometimes a person's worth and a person's stature and a person's person's definition is reflected in the people who say things about him. And this community, we talk about community all the time. How important community is. We're here as writers. We're also here as a community. And hearing this kind of outpouring for people. Who do we am in passing? But sometimes more than passing is really remarkable. So we are a community that remembers him, will hold him in our hearts, and we are touched by him. I don't want to say that. Anthony, he's an Italian. I'm an Italian. I'll get up here and I'll talk about food. I'm not going to talk about food. So I have this other moment that I think of when I think of him and it's last winter. I walk into a workshop and he's like, oh, you know, what are you stalking me? He's like, oh, you look like something's different. You do that like lighty thing to your hair. And I'm like, no, Anthony, I didn't do the lighty thing to my hair. And he's like, no, come on, you did the lighty thing. And I said, no, it's just like the sun. He's like, oh, yeah, so now the sun's kissing your hair. And he's like, you know, tell me how to do that. And I'm like, that's going to be kind of hard, Anthony. And he's like, what are you trying to say? I'm like, I'm trying to say you're bold. I was like, man, I hope that we all get the chance to have as little hair as Anthony did and still find that much joy in life. So I wrote something because I'm not as brave as all of you. It's like two pages. I won't take your whole night. Here it is. It's been strange that in the community of writers, it's been so hard to find the right words about Anthony passing. I'm included in this week. When I got the news, it went like this. Silence. Just silence. That may seem like an acceptable reaction, except that I was at that moment, dragon writer of the West Hills of Dolly Lolliland, fighting the ninja. And my four-year-old felt like my sudden silence wasn't doing it. What's wrong, mommy? And my answer was this. My friend moved. I think it's hard to know what to say here, perhaps, because there's such a unique community here. We want to say friend, but we don't really know if you've earned that right. But after meeting Anthony's family today, I think we did. Anthony, you were our friend. In understanding what it meant to lose Anthony, I needed to find a word for what he was as a part of all of us, and I came to fellowship. According to the dictionary, the first definition of fellowship is companionship, and what a companion he was. He was to myself and so many, the face that walking down a path made a smile. Anthony was the reason that life was never quite too hard here, no matter what we walked in the door with. He was that guy. That in a feminist era had the guts to write a poem about milking the cow, which might I let you know was a love poem. And he followed it by saying, so like that felt kind of weird with the baby over there and the whole milk thing and all. Anthony, Yuri taught us how to laugh at life. You were our companion co-worker friend and the face we looked for when we walked onto this place. You brought life here, light and joy. I think perhaps that's what's part of so hard about losing you, grieving both the loss of a friend and also what you represented. In a time when we all come here unsure, needing that light more than ever, it's appropriate to remember Anthony and that we keep that light alive with us. Martin Luther King says, darkness cannot drive out, darkness only light can do that. Hatred cannot drive out hatred, only love can do that. And Anthony lives that. Anthony, you're a light here. The second definition of fellowship according to the dictionaries, the community of shared interests, feelings and experiences. To be a writer can be alienating, but when your words are shared with others, they become a home. Anthony's writing is a part of this story of words that we have built here, that we have made a home of. The third definition in the dictionary is friend, that he was exceptionally and what an exceptional thing to be. Anthony, member of Celestial, Trubin, true friend, the part of our fellowship that kept the light here, no literally go see the belt. We, our lucky world, have been given a chance to learn from your joy. Anthony, our friend, you are a part of our story here and lucky for all of us. Those stories are eternal. Anthony put himself out for others. Whenever there was a reading at the Fairfield bookstore, on the Kozak Frassic poetry at the museum at Fairfield, reading after reading, Anthony showed up. And he showed up and he bought books and he talked to people and he schmoozed and he made the person who was about to read feel considerably less nervous and he clapped loudly and he participated. And at one of the readings, he said, yeah, I want to move closer to Fairfield, do you know a place? And just that morning, our dearest friend had said, how about looking for somebody to live in my grandmother's old apartment in their house? And I said, Anthony, how do you feel about Stratford? He said, let me see the place and I'll tell you. And he wound up renting from the Domenos and it was such a joy to have Anthony in my town and in my friend's parents' house. She's expecting her first child tomorrow. And Anthony talked to her a lot about the baby and promised the teacher how to play the guitar once she could hold it close enough to do that. And she said that the friend always took longer when her father went to Anthony's apartment because the two of them would start talking about how to make their pair and who knows where he's going to happen. But he was a joy and continues to be a joy because we have the memory and we have his example. Thank you, Anthony. So Anthony sort of permeated my time at the MFA. The first time I came to the island to visit about a year ago, I sat in on Eugenia's workshop and his piece was being workshopped. And I mean, it was a fun day. It was new for me. I hadn't been in an MFA workshop or seen anything of that caliber before. But beyond that, I remember that every event there after he sought me out and made sure that I was okay. And I remember the first conversation I had with him when I was actually a student here. He was sitting by the door of the cafeteria where we eat and he just said, I'll be here. And I think that it's evident tonight that he is.