Sylvia. One of the very sad things I remember—the weekend before Harry got sick, he was sitting over there. He was always so articulate. And all of a sudden—it must have been during the Vietnam War, because all of a sudden he couldn’t think of the word for the Vietnam War. And I remember sitting here and saying, “something is wrong, because Harry just can’t seem to be able to get that word out.” And the following Monday, I got a call from his office telling me that he couldn’t talk, and they were sending him home. So I called the doctor, and they took him right to South Nassau Hospital where the opinion was that he had had a stroke. I wish it had been that, but it wasn’t. It was a brain tumor. And that’s what I remember. That’s the sad thing I remember here. And the only sad thing. A very joyous room. Everybody was eating and talking and having fun. Deedee. I remember the last Thanksgiving my father was alive. I was living in Chicago, but came home for the holiday. My father was quite ill and dying of a brain tumor. I remember the kosher butcher, who always made the turkey, bringing it to the house—and knowing a sea change had occurred when my father couldn’t carve the turkey. It was one of the most poignant things about the disease—that he just accepted the loss of his ability with great grace.