Like many athletes the game persona was different once the pads were off. He usually came to the Edward L. Bennett Rink about 90 minutes before face-off and would hang around the concession stand, taking to Sue McCarty or her late husband, Bill, mill around looking at the trophy cases, and getting his “game face” on.

If the opponent was a good team or the game was a pivotal one, the milling around was a bit more pronounced. There was a lot of energy that had to be siphoned into the game.

When one talked with Rob, two things instantly impressed one: he had a great wit, and he was talkative. He actually put a subject and a verb together and conversed when so many other kids his age communicated with one-word answers and furtive glances.

The rink in those days was family. The hockey players were the favorite sons. West Haven hockey had and has a tradition. The players who came through the program knew it then and know it now. You can’t get through the lobby of the rink without having it slap you in the face.

Rob was one of the favorite sons, but as he progressed through the program, he became a “favorite” favorite son. His easy nature and his personality bespoke someone who was going to be a special adult. Little did we know just how special.

Interestingly, when Rob got a penalty, he didn’t make the commensurate excuses you expected. Penalty boxes are like prisons. They’re filled with people who usually vow to high heaven they didn’t do anything. Fumiatti was different. If he deserved a penalty he admitted it – sometimes with a smirk on his face. He never got a bad penalty that I could remember. It wasn’t out of laziness or a mental mistake.

Of course, the respect and esteem in which he was held was shown by the fact he was elected captain his senior year. That was a special year because it was one the Westies copped the state championship. He was a big part of that team, but he never lost that “aw shucks” way about him. It was a true humility not seen in too many.

When he graduated, he still came to games, urged on his former teammates and got involved with younger players. We’d see each other and exchange greetings and he was still the same. Age, maturity and experience did not jade his outlook.

When I’d heard he joined the New Haven Police Department I thought he’d make a great officer. As future events played out, he was, in fact, one of the greats.

It was related in one of the news stories leading up to Saturday’s funeral that West Haven is still in many ways like a small town. Everyone knows everyone. When Rob was shot and people were looking for ways to help, the notices and fund-raisers were a testament to just what makes West Haven so special to so many. People went out of their way to help.

We watched and followed with interest his recovery and his dogged determination to make it back to the job he loved. The love of his wife and family was inspiring. We all watched, almost vicariously living through the recovery.

That’s what made the news of his passing so hard. He succeeded. He came back. He was making a living for himself and his family. It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right.

West Haven lost a favorite son last week. He was a favorite son not because of his hockey prowess, nor because of his determination, nor even because of his personality. He was a favorite son because the many hundreds or thousands of people who came in contact with him were made better people.

Good-bye Rob. We’ll miss you and the affect you had on this community.