My dear old friend Will. I met you when we were in our 20s. I was returning from my usual bus trip to visit my grandmother in Brooklyn and wanted one more cultural experience, so I found a last-minute church concert and slid into the nearest seat. The man next to me was Will, wavy reddish hair, short like me. We explored NYC on my other trips in those early 60s. When the sign outside a Channel 13 building said, Do Not Enter, we  entered. No one said a word and we enjoyed the full rehearsal of Under Milkwood. Will played his upright piano. He was proud of his mother's sculpture, I think. Of his brother, Steve's children's record with the yellow dogs on the cover. I bought it and played it for my kids. Will moved to Massachusetts before I did. We connected yearly. He was a classical music lover. He was kind, a seemingly shy person. A good listener. He appreciated others. He was a member of SAG and worked for ABCD Boston community development. He was humble. I miss Will and won't forget him.