Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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been distanced from his other son and from his only
daughter. Perhaps there was some kind of compen-
sation in the close attachment he developed with my
father.
I still have vivid recollections of the warm but
often anguished references my father made to me
about O’Neill, as well as his frustration with the
playwright’s wife, who, as I recall, competed with
her husband for my father’s time and loyalty.
I also remember the December day on which
O’Neill was buried at a cemetery close to Boston.
There were only three mourners at the grave site: the
playwright’s nurse, my father, and Carlotta. None of
O’Neill’s close colleagues from New York was pres-
ent at the burial. My father later told me that they
hadn’t been invited by Carlotta, in keeping with her
husband’s wish that he be buried with simplicity and
privacy.
After the playwright’s death, my father under-
went a period of grief that my mother felt was almost
clinical in its duration and intensity. “I held his wrist
within my hand as his pulse was failing and his
heart stopped beating,” as he recollected in one of
the memos he was writing at the time. “I didn’t want
to let him go. I had a sense of desperation. . . .” He
later brought me and one of my college friends to see
Long Day’s Journey into Night when it began its run
in Boston, but he grew distraught during the play and
had to leave the theater to recover his composure.
His memories of O’Neill and other patients he
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ISBN 978-0-8041-4097-3
eBook ISBN 978-0-8041-4098-0
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