How it all started

       I must have been in drill school for close to six weeks when we were visited by members of the Union and Fire Department Honor Guard. They spoke to us about the job and how we should get involved early in our career. To make this our own and take pride, share in the camaraderie, get involved in the brotherhood. This is what being a firefighter is all about. It was mentioned that there was to be a funeral the following day and we should think about attending as there is nothing quite like a Line of Duty Death Funeral. I remember thinking, this is more like something I had to do, rather than something I really wanted to do. It was going to be Saturday and we had a long week of training. Also it seemed odd to me to go to a funeral of someone I didn't know. I realized though that this may not have been a request but more like a suggestion, a serious suggestion.

       I remember Saturday December 28th 1996 like it was just yesterday. I found myself putting on the Department issue Class A uniform for the first time. This was my uniform, sounds strange the way I say that now but it's true. This uniform would represent me. You see I had never joined the service so I didn't understand how wearing the uniform would make me feel. I'm not referring to the feel of polyester or the starched stiff creases. I'm talking about feeling as though I belonged to something. At this point I still didn't quite get it. I felt cool and looked sharp! I think it was that ridiculous Bell Cap, It fit perfect...on so many levels. I stepped out of the house knowing how sad I would be if it were to snow or even worse rain. I didn't want to have to cover up with an over coat. I was still thinking about myself, heck I didn't even know this guy's name or how he died.

Holy Name Church Jamaica Plain, MA

       We arrived in Jamaica Plain with plenty of time to spare. Right away I noticed there were so many firefighters from so many different places. You have to understand, this was a sea of those ridiculous Bell Caps. You may find this normal in the post 9/11 world, but in 1996? I would have never expected to see so many strangers in one place, celebrating someone they didn't know to the scale of Times Square on New Year's Eve. The clouds were thick and gray, heavy with precipitation just yearning to leak from the sky. The air was crisp and whipping over the hill just past the rotary to the west of the  Holy Name Church.  The weather and the feel of the morning only compounded by the fact that we were there to celebrate someone's death. At this point I just wanted to go home. There was nothing good about this day. I remember a couple of men gathering the crowd to the front of the church. The leader of our Honor Guard instructed us to wait for all to assemble. It was his intention to wait them all out and put us in the front. The most prominent place possible. He had this swagger about him and felt that this Honor Guard should always be in front to represent our Local. I agreed! I wanted to be seen. What a fool....

       We ended up directly in front of the church, like I am sure has happened many times before by the way these men carried themselves. To us new guys, we were giddy to say the least, we got over on everyone else. It seemed we beat them. How sad is it that I took it that way. We stood in rows as long as the eye could see, from the rotary at W. Roxbury Parkway past the fork in the road onto South Street. Columns of at least ten men deep from the double yellow line onto and past the granite edge of the sidewalk. The sky grew darker accentuated by the blackened red brick of the church. The only real color noticed at this point was the seven pale stone statues that adorned the portico. As I stood at semi attention feeling the blight don, I began to hear the voices around me. I could now make out what was being said. My ears tuned into the voices as they were talking about how this man died. The circumstances were unbelievable to me. How could this day get any worse. That was when I noticed the boy across the street. He stood looking off to the west  toward the rotary, down the street to the east, back up the stairs to the church. This boy clearly had no focus. After hearing the words, "is that his oldest boy?" I realized this man had left a family.

       This boy stood in his crisp black suit and tie, couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, clearly his troubles cause his lack of focus. Can you imagine, tears running down his face, his swollen red eyes, his chest pumping up and down from the lack of a consistent breath, what seemed to be his mother rubbing his back. Him paying no mind to her attempts to calm him. Just then his numb empty face glanced forward at us. Our eyes connected with a snap and the air emptied from my chest.  This was the moment I was not prepared for when making our way to the most prominent position. Gone was the feeling that we got over. No longer did I care how cool I looked, not for the Bell Cap, or the starched polyester. Just the thought of what could this boy have done to deserve this? How can I help this boy? I couldn't believe the change in me. I had a daughter and couldn't imagine her not growing up with me in her life. This man had died, leaving four children, and this boy with tears and real sadness was about to grow from the age of nine to forty in a matter of seconds. Was there nothing I could do or say. As I racked my brain for the right words to match my feelings, should I wink? NO! Thoughts of what I should do drown out everything around me. This was true tunnel vision. That's when I noticed the most amazing change. The boy's eyes jerked away. He was no longer connected to me, no longer looking forward at us, or at any of the contingent. It was like we were no longer there. He was now experiencing that same notion of tunnel vision only a slightly different type. I stayed fixed on him and his gaze for a few more moments while I collected myself from the tidal wave of emotion coursing through me. I realized he was fixed on something special. His face was now bright and uplifting, no longer are the tears flowing from what now seemed more like a ruddy completion. What could cause this change? I myself now experiencing the trouble to focus. I then followed the line of his sight to the top of the hill. Just past the rotary, over the gray tar street, beyond the dying brown grass lined with the snow blackened by the dirt, sand, and soot; to see the first burst of color I would see this day. It was the American Flag! Cracking and snapping like a whip, straight out, dotting to the left then to the right with the harsh winter breeze. This assault on the gloom of the day snatched me from deep within the tunnel. I turned to the boy. He was now full with smile and even seemed to be walking in place to a beat. That's the moment I was fully awakened. The sound of a hundred pipers filled the air. The swing of the kilt, the march in time. This, to this point in my life was the most impressive display I had ever seen. As the Bagpipers past by I found myself in another place. I found myself filled with pride. Clearly I had chosen the right profession for me. As the last row of snare drums walked past, the boy and I locked eyes one last time. This time he saw a reflection of himself from just five minutes prior. I reached to wipe the tears from my eyes as the boy simply stared back at me, he waved and with a sharp jerk, he turned and disappeared behind his mother not to be seen again. I knew that day, just as I know now. I had just found a way, even if for just a moment, I can take away the worst sadness anyone could ever experience. I was meant to play the bagpipes.


Peter