Good Morning Gloucester

Joey, I wasn’t able to get to Gloucester this summer (only the second time in forty years…and for exactly the same reason, a husband being treated for illness), but GMG has saved my soul–thank you very much–with wonderful stories and photos. I was deeply saddened when I read that Fred had died. As you’ll see below. Print it if you want to, and if not, not. I hope Andrew and I will return to Gloucester before winter, but if not, we’re looking forward to returning next summer. Best to you.

I didn’t know Fred, except as one of the many people who made the gallery a permanent stop every summer when I arrived in Gloucester. When I had a few coins to rub together, I purchased some photos. He didn’t care if I bought a photo or not. He could tell I loved the then and was happy to talk about the photos I lingered over and tell wonderful stories about the landscape, the provenance of the photo and photographer, or the printing and framing.

Several years ago (before Fred took ill) I suggested to friends who were returning to NY from a week in Maine that they spend a few days in Gloucester, which they had never visited. I enticed when with stories of good food, friendly people, and interesting art work. On my list of where to visit was, of course, Bodin Historic Photo.

But my friends met Fred before they ever entered the gallery, indeed before they reached town. On 128, their car sprung a leak (gas, oil, water—memory does not serve up the detail) and they found themselves by the side of the road as darkness took over the sky trying to figure out whom to call for help. A vehicle stopped behind them and a genial giant stepped out, called for assistance, and stayed with them until it came. He drove off for a few minutes–to return with coffee and snacks to tide them over.

My friends, overwhelmed by the kindness, told me the story when they returned to NY. “That’s Gloucester,” I said. “That’s Fred Bodin.” Later that summer when I arrived in Gloucester, I went to the gallery to thank Fred on behalf of my friends. He didn’t remember having done this act of kindness to strangers. That’s Gloucester, I thought; that’s Fred.

I followed Fred’s monumental battle for survival on GMG, and I hoped all the time he’d triumph. He deserved to. He was a good man. He did triumph, in so many ways; he just didn’t survive. And even though I didn’t know him, I miss him