I last met David Brudnoy at a party prior to the Boston Film Festival two summers ago. He looked cheerful as ever as he made the rounds, chatting with local filmmakers. I told him I was helping my dad put together his memoirs of the Boston newspaper business as he knew it over the decades after World War II. Brudnoy smiled, nodding, and said, “Tell your dad I said hello. And good luck on that book. He knows where all the bodies are buried.”
Brudnoy will be missed in this city.