M. Gessen

He asked my dad, hey, do you mind if me, my mom, and the kids camp out in your backyard on Cape Cod?

I said, of course.

So they came.

Solar charges, rugs, two full mattresses, a treasure trunk with treasures, I guess.

It was very Alan.

Awesome, spectacular, ridiculous.

Though later it occurred to me that this time at least, there may have been a point to this.

He wanted everyone to remember his camping trip to my father's backyard.

Because it was summer, my father's house was full.

Two of my younger brothers, one of them with his girlfriend, were there.

Everyone had a nice dinner together and then went to bed, some people in the house, and Alan, Lena, and the kids in the tent.

And then, around six the next morning, the dog, Altin, started going nuts.

Someone was banging on the front door.

Could you step out with your phone?

My dad is surprised, but he's not panicking.

He goes to get his pants and his phone.

FBI agents go around the house banging on doors and make everyone sit down on the couches in the living room.

No one understands what's going on.

But soon, through the picture windows that look out on the backyard, they see two male FBI agents take Alan away in handcuffs.

Then a female agent escorts the kids to another car.