By Liam Boylan-Pett
November 5, 2026
The last time I saw him in person was at our daughter’s baptism, which may come as a shock to the people that knew him and were coached by him. Because if one thing was certain, it was that Frank Gagliano did not do weddings.
No, as someone who coached hundreds—probably thousands—of runners, there were just too many weddings to go to if he went to any at all. Whenever he and his wife, Robbie, received an invite in the mail, he would return the RSVP with the “Regretfully declines” and then send the couple a set of knives. He used to joke you got two, four, six, or eight knives depending on how fast you were.
So, when we invited him to the baptism, we didn’t have high hopes. We did, however, have a secret weapon: We texted his daughters. And on a cool spring day, Gag (that’s what we call him—Gags works, too) and Robbie walked into a restaurant in New Jersey and he took a seat at the head of one of the tables.
The man demanded a crowd, even at a party for a baby, and I eventually found a window to say hello. I leaned down to meet him in his seat and put my arm around him for a hug. We embraced and I said, “I love you, Coach,” and he said, “I love you, too, son,” and then, seemingly out of nowhere, we both cried.
Gag died on October 25. My wife and I hugged in our kitchen when we got the text. We both had the privilege of working with him. We both cried.
It is hard to lose the people you love. And we, like countless others, loved Frank Gagliano.
It is not lost on me that I was far from the best runner Gagliano ever coached. In fact, I’m not even the best runner in my family. Ashley Higginson, my wife, made a world championship team in the steeplechase under Gag. But I did spend over two years riding two-plus hours in a car with him twice a week while he drove me to track practice from the Armory at 168th Street in New York to the track at Rutgers University in New Jersey on Mondays and Fridays from the fall of 2010 to the spring of 2013.
And thanks to those car rides—where another member of my family (my sister-in-law Delilah DiCrescenzo, who, it happens, was also a more accomplished runner than me) and I would chat for hours with Gag—I had the great opportunity to write a feature story about my coach in 2016.
The story resonated with people, and I became somewhat of an “expert” on my coach. Runner’s World asked me to write his obituary. Miles Irish, one of Gag’s early Georgetown runners called me when it was becoming clear that Gag did not have much time left and asked me if I would write something. I’m not sure this is what he was hoping for, but it’s my version of trying to add one more bit of love to all of the praise that has been heaped on since he passed less than a week ago.
I have seen tributes and comments from countless people who have a story about Frank Gagliano. And my favorite part? Pretty much none of them are really about running. They are about small acts of kindness. Like the time he gave his Big East Coach of the Year award to a coach whose team had improved from 10th to second in one year. Or about how he would be out in the rain watching the seventh heat of an 800 meter race because one of his guys was in there. They are about Gag taking a chance on you, and then making you feel like you were the only runner he cared about even though you knew he was doing the same for countless other athletes.
It’s not that Gag didn’t care about running fast, it was just that he cared more about helping to see how good you could become—on the track and off. Looking back through old texts, he once, long after I had stopped running seriously, asked me for my PRs. When I told him 3:37 and 1:46—good, but when it came to Gag’s standards, not great—he responded: NIIIIIICE!!. In the next text he asked how Ashley, ZOFIA and DUNKS (our daughter and dog; the capitalization his not mine) were doing, because that was what he cared about.
Looking at other tributes to Gagliano, so many posted photos of Gags and their families. He might not have gone to weddings, but he couldn’t turn down a home visit from his athletes and their kids.
I feel so fortunate that we were able to introduce our two daughters to Coach Gags and Robbie. When Ashley and I were crying after we found out Gag had died, we told them that we had lost someone important to us, someone they had met.
We told them that he was up in the sky now, like we had to do when we lost our dog. And then Zofia, our 5 year old, asked if he would have his phone up there. Ashley and I both cried some more after telling her that he couldn’t bring his phone, knowing we would love another text or signature voicemail saying: “Ashley. Liam. Gag. Call me back.”
While we are sad, we are cherishing our moments we did have with him. Our house has laughed a lot since he passed, thinking about the times he joked that we were B.I.s (bad investments) or those wonderful voicemails he would leave us.
We know others are having similar feelings. Sad, but grateful.
A week or so before Gags died, I got a note from an old high school friend. She asked me to pass along a note to my mom. My mom was a teacher at Bath High School in Michigan for a long time, and my old friend wanted me to thank my mom for helping to set her on the right path. Soon after my mom got the note, she called that friend back and they had a wonderful conversation.
I messaged the friend and thanked her for reaching out to my mom. And I said that we should all reach out to the people that matter to us more. The friend agreed, telling me it was uplifting for both people.
I bring this up not to say that I wished I had told Gags how much I appreciated him more often—I think he knew—but to double down on my belief that I spelled out in the title of this essay: We all deserve a Frank Gagliano in our lives. A teacher, a coach, a mentor. It doesn’t matter where they come from.
Having someone outside of your family care about you like he cared about so many makes us better people—I, fortunately, came from a family that had a lot of love, but I think having a Gags is even more important if you do not. He wouldn't let you whine after a bad race or dwell in it and say the world is out to get you. No, Frank Gagliano would tell you to get back out there with the people you care about and try again.
I loved working with Gag. I am honored I had the opportunity to do so. I can thank him for many things in life, but mostly, I am thankful that he took in so many people who wanted to see how good they could get at something, and worked as hard as he could to help them do it.
The man had a lot of love. It will be missed. But hopefully we can all pass that love along to someone else. Maybe we can even be a Gags for someone else. I think he would love that.
To honor the legacy of Gags, the USATF Foundation launched the Coach Frank Gagliano Memorial Grant Fund, which is intended to invest in athletes who continue to pursue ambitious goals despite unconventional means, who remain devoted to the process even when recognition and resources are limited, and who embody the enduring belief that extraordinary achievement often grows from uncommon commitment. Donate via Venmo at @USATFFoundation or online.
Liam Boylan-Pett
Liam Boylan-Pett is the founder of Lope Magazine, which publishes longform stories from the track, road, and trail. He holds a master’s in journalism from Georgetown, and his work has appeared in Runner’s World, Bleacher Report, SB Nation, and NBCOlympics.com. A former collegiate and professional runner, he has personal bests of 1:46.66 for 800m, 3:37.05 for 1500m, and 3:57.75 for the mile.
