When we met Joe, John was twenty-four and I was nineteen. Joe was seventy. We managed the apartment complex where he lived.
We’d visit him monthly to collect the rent, and at random times when
maintenance was required. The other apartments in the building all looked exactly
alike. But the walls of Joe’s place were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
During one visit, Joe showed us a very real-looking human skull. It was a
souvenir, he said, from when he’d played Hamlet in New York. Joe De Santis told
us he was a retired actor, but we didn’t realize until after he’d passed that
we’d actually seen a lot of his work. He’d appeared in some of our favorite TV
shows and movies. If we’d known, we might have asked him what it was like to
work with Dick Van Dyke, Humphrey Bogart, Lana Turner, or Lucille Ball. Would
he have been pleased, or annoyed? I guess we’ll never know.
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