He even got to participate.

He was heavily into stamps.

One of the things that I enjoyed the most was the fact that he would come home with envelopes from other people, and countries, and stuff.

My job, and he paid me, I don't know, what, uh, so much per, per stamp or like that, is to soak them in water, and then take the stamp, and the stamp fell off the envelope, just take them and put them on newspaper.

Put them out on the side to dry, and then obviously give them back to him later.

Being there gave him the gift of connecting with his father through the legacy of their family farm.

To actually sit there and do the work that my, that my father and my uncles did when they were younger, washing the, the cows down, putting the milkers on them.

And then within an hour or so, I'd have to go back in the house and get cleaned up, and then go outside, wait for the school bus to go to Hampton.

Jim's son, Ken Cassidy, will always remember that morning at their home on Winslow Road in Brookline, Massachusetts.

So my father had come downstairs, looked around the corner, seen that I'm still sitting in the living room, and he said, "Good morning." I said, "Good morning as well." And, um, I said, "I'm just waiting for the time to go by for, to walk down to the school bus." He said, "All right.

Have a good day." That was the last time I saw my father.

And then one day later that week, he returned home from school to news that altered the course of his life.

I just wasn't acting myself.

It just felt like there was something wrong.

So when I took the school bus, got home, my Aunt Gerry, police officers were there.

Other people were there.