News of Robert Goulet’s death saddened hearts in the Intelligencer Journal newsroom Tuesday night.

Goulet had this endearing practice of sending Christmas cards to reporters who wrote stories about him after doing an interview. Best of all, once you got on his Christmas card list, you were on forever.

The Intell began receiving cards, which always featured either photos or cariactures of Goulet and his wife, Vera, in 1988, when he performed in South Pacific at the Hershey Theatre.

The arrival of the card became a tradition sometime in the 1990s and it was eagerly awaited every year as Christmas approached. We often laughingly said that the Christmas season did not officially arrive until the card did. At some point, I think that became true.

I do know that one year Christmas was just days away and the card had still not arrived.  With each passing day we quickly rifled through the mail in search of the card. When we realized it wasn’t there, it felt like the Grinch had crept into the newsroom and stolen our Christmas cheer.

The card arrived Christmas Eve. We let out a mighty roar, the card was posted on our bulletin board and we all went home to our families and friends in a celebratory mood.

Christmas traditions are important and the Goulet card took on added weight with each passing year.

I will miss not getting that card this year. It may seem silly but Christmas will somehow be diminished.

 It makes me wonder if Goulet ever realized how much happiness he spread through his simple generosity with Christmas cards. I hope he did.

An aside: Every year I sent Goulet one of my family’s Christmas cards, which always feature a photograph of my two children. I don’t know if the card ever made its way past Goulet’s publicist, or whoever it was who opened his mail, but I have this mental picture of Goulet opening the envelope, looking at the card, turning to Vera and saying, “Who the hell are these kids?”