Rory Celentano

Mr. Wonderful

Gary was always down to hang out at Caffe Reggio. One quick glance and a shrug—and it was done. Going to “Reg” was what we did. 

Gary noticed EVERYTHING and his unique commentary on life’s nuance and detail was simply delightful. Gary knew who was slinging behind the espresso machine just by how our drinks looked and tasted when they arrived at our favorite table. Whenever “Lipstick Lopez” was at the helm, Gary was the first to pick up on it and when he was the most comfortable. Food and drink were Gary’s domain and he didn’t need some part-time lackey fucking up his vanilla milkshakes or Minty Mochas (the namesake of our early times together: The Minty Mocha Era-succeeded thereafter by the Soy Cappuccino and Oat Milk Latte Epochs). Gary would have so many vanilla milkshakes in a week that Reggio would often run out of vanilla ice cream. As much as this may have pissed Gary off, as with anything that irked him, he would just shake his head and smile like the Cheshire Cat because Gary didn’t waste precious time on trivial matters. He also didn’t gossip, dwell on how things shoulda been or talk shit about people—he left that all to us. And although he took schadenfreudeun pleasure in listening to our seething character assassinations and trite assessments of other’s personal inventory, whenever it crossed the line, Gary’s laughter would cease, usually followed by his signature Irish Goodbye. In this way, Gary was the arbiter of the appropriateness of our resentments.

Gary was also something of prude and particularly didn’t like to hear the girls talk about their sexuality—which just ratcheted up the TMI and propelled his uncharacteristic squirming to unbearable levels.

Gary also left the cursing to us—unless he was telling a racially inappropriate joke—something he was wont to do. Gary was also quick to console someone down on their luck—regardless of their creed or color. Gary relished being an enigma. We also knew he had let us get as close to him as anyone was ever going to get. 

Gary’s irresistible laughter essentially held our group together over the few years we spent as a collective. There was nothing that any of us enjoyed more. He would made a face like a slithering snake and the sound of it just made everything feel complete. It put an exclamation on what we’re the best of times. Someone would run through an interpretation of the oft-mimicked impressions of those in our orbit—pivoting from one to the other in rapid succession-and Gary’s giggling would reverberate throughout Reggio, infusing it’s cacophony with his irresistible cackling crescendo. His laughter was the soundtrack of this golden era and what I will remember and miss the most about him. It was the panache on these simple and special times. Our little crew of misfit toys—retread adults finding happiness in one another’s company and moving into our Silver Periods a little more comfortable and a little less complicated. 

All I wanted was to spend the rest of our lives enjoying these wonderful Reggio nights together. What Gary meant to them and us cannot be overstated. But since this was not how it was meant to be, we are now just left to cherish the echos his laughter has left behind.