What I was feeling trying to organize Gatsby's funeral

From the moment I telephoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg Village, every surmise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then as he lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested--interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end. I had this feeling that I had to get someone for him and he was telling me " Look here, old sport, you've got to get somebody for me. You've got to try hard. I can't go through this alone." I tried my best to get others, contacting Daisy and Meyer Wolfsheim. No one arrived except more police and photographers and newspapermen. I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all. It was not until the third day that Gatsby's father, Henry C. Gatz, arrived. Now there were two people to attend Gatsby's funeral. Klipspringer, a friend of Gatsby's, called asking about the funeral. It turns out he was not so interested in the funeral, but rather a pair of shoes he had left at one of the parties. I felt a certain shame for Gatsby---one gentleman to whom I telephoned implied that he had got what he deserved. However, that was my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby's liquor, and I should have known better than to call him. The morning of the funeral I went up to visit Meyer Wolfsheim since I received no reply about the funeral.  He was Gatsby's closest friend so of course he would want to go to his funeral. To my surprise, Mr. Wolfsheim did not come, saying " Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead. After that, my own rule is to let everything alone. "When the time for the funeral came, no one came. I want Gatsby to know I tried and that I am sorry for failing him.