"It was a swanky hotel; my own room, meals in the dining room, shrimp cocktails, butlers," he said when we first met. "A few other guys had to pay their own way, and they'd give me their laundry and tell me, 'Put it through with yours.'"
At Catholic High, he billed 48 textbooks to the Canadiens for classmates from families who couldn't afford them.
As he spoke that afternoon, his mind fogged by cancer, Gerry would fade into a heavily sedated sleep. And then he'd stir awake with something new.
"Here's one about Skippy," he said. "Do you have a notebook? Jot it down if you want. Maybe you'll want to retell it one day."
Fred "Skippy" Burchell, a friend and former senior-league Royals teammate of Gerry's, had been called up to the Canadiens for a road game in Chicago against the Black Hawks.
Gerry went to the front desk at 11 p.m. and told the hotel clerk, "My name is Skippy Burchell, and my doctor wants me to take some pills throughout the night. I need you to call me every hour, on the hour.
"Now, understand I'll be confused and a little angry when you call, but that's why I need the pills. I'll probably curse at you for waking me, and I apologize for that now. But remember: every hour, on the hour."