On the day that Darryl Stingley was paralyzed by a Jack Tatum hit in Oakland, Tom Hoffman was a 25-year-old public relations assistant with the New England Patriots.

When the team realized the severity of Stingley’s injury — he had suffered a broken neck that would leave him a quadriplegic — then-assistant general manager Jim Valek told Hoffman to stay behind with Stingley at the hospital. And for the next 23 days, Hoffman was at Stingley’s bedside, keeping the wide receiver updated on the trades and roster moves the Patriots were making as they continued training for the 1978 season, fielding calls from the media, and tending to the needs of Stingley and his family.

At the bedside, a friendship was formed.

Yesterday, Hoffman learned that Stingley had died in his Chicago home at age 55.

“He was one of the great ones,” said Hoffman. “He was a great, great individual; a great friend.”

Hoffman recalled the gregarious player with a big smile who became a fan favorite, likely due in no small part to the interactions he had with Pats’ followers at Bryant College during training camp. Stingley was highly regarded in the locker room, Hoffman said, “which made what happened that much tougher.”

Stingley’s life changed in an instant on Aug. 12, 1978, but the events of that day would change Hoffman as well. Not only did he gain a friend, but the young man learned a great deal about people — both good and bad.

The bad? Tatum, the safety known for his vicious hits and known as The Assassin, never called the hospital for Stingley, never visited to express his condolences. Tatum, who has since lost both of his legs, the left to complications from diabetes and the right to arterial blockage, would never express his regret directly to Stingley, though in one of his books, wrote, “I’m sorry that I can’t change events, sorry that it happened, sorry that he didn’t jump up, sorry that nothing I ever do or say will make it better.”

Over the three weeks in the hospital, Hoffman said he “always wondered” when Tatum would show up. Though Stingley said after the incident that he would have no problem talking to Tatum, he refused to be part of an HBO special a few years ago that would have reunited the men. When Stingley realized that the interview would help Tatum sell books, he refused.

“Darryl saw through the whole thing,” Hoffman said.

The good? Several of Tatum’s Raiders teammates did visit Stingley, Hoffman said, and coach John Madden and his wife, Virginia, were frequent visitors. As Hoffman recalled, Oakland’s training camp facility was at least an hour from the hospital where Stingley was, but the coach made the commute.

“I always looked at Madden as being a gruff person. I’d see him on the sideline and I thought he was a tough guy,” Hoffman said. “And he was anything but. I saw a different side of him, even though that side of him has come out through his broadcasting career.”

Now a father of four and working as a financial planner, Hoffman said it had been a while since he had spoken to Stingley, and his first thought upon hearing the news of his death was, “why didn’t I pick up the phone sooner?”

Still, Hoffman has his memories: Of Stingley coming to his 1981 wedding in Cambridge, Mass., in a bulky wheelchair and several of his former teammates carrying him up the church steps; of the way that Stingley would play with Hoffman’s oldest child on his other visits to Foxboro.

Stingley will be remembered as a man whose career was cut short, but when Hoffman closes his eyes he sees “the big smile. The happy-go-lucky guy. He was the kind of guy that could light up a room.”

smanza@projo.com