Our Lady of Knock

Gonna try something a little different here. I liked this tune so much that I thought I should put it on the pipes!!This is my version of the tune Lady of Knock, a Marian hymn to Our Lady of Knock, written by Irish singer Dana Rosemary Scallon. The hymn is popular with some Irish Catholics, especially at funeral services. The song tells of the story of Knock in County Mayo, Ireland where there was an apparition of the Virgin Mary, Saint Joseph and St. John the Evangelist at the south gable of Knock Parish Church in 1879. I think it is a very pretty tune. What do you think.

A little blury, gotta work on my videography skills!!

Peter

What was it like, Walsh and Kennedy? The Conclusion

     It amazes me when you step back and take a look into the life of others, you realize just how many people are affected when someone is lost. Mind boggling.

Lt. Edward Walsh E-33, FF Micheal Kennedy L-15

     I guess I took the long route to answer the short question, "What was it like." Inspiration is one of the most telling feelings I have taken from these two funerals, but I have been inspired by funerals all along. The feeling of being able to give back to the family of the men lost is so great that words couldn't possibly explain. I feel that some of us think we are there to honor the men lost, and yes that is partly true. More than that we are there for the family. That little boy taught me that so many years ago. The person laid to rest doesn't  know what type of response they are getting during their funeral services, (not going to get into the afterlife here) but the family and friends will never forget it. In the fire service we come out in droves for the men and women that die in the line of duty. Why do we do this? For our brother firefighters? Sure, I guess so. I mean, that is the moment you really feel the "Brotherhood" when we all stand together for one common cause. Are we there for the person that lost his life? Sure. The real question is what cause could be greater than standing in place of the person that lost their life? In their place? To stand not just for them but stand in for them to support of their family, stand as a true Brother. So would that make me the Brother to Mrs. Walsh (Ed's Wife), the son of Mr. Kennedy and Mrs. Crosby-Bell (Michael's parents)? How about Alex the little boy that Kennedy acted as a Big Brother for? The American Infidels? The members of the Boston Fire Department? For that day it does. Yes it does! Speaking for myself and not the entire fire service I would step out and do whatever they asked of me. This is why I prepare my ability to play my music so diligently. Why I enjoy the kilt and bagpipe jokes. Why I will try my damnedest to never say no! It's my way of giving back and helping them. This job owes me nothing.

     I know the families will receive financial assistance, but that is not enough to fill the hole. I watched as the news talked of the new bill in Massachusetts to raise Line of duty Death benefits 50% and thought "boy that's nice." That's all that came to mind, "that's nice." In a few short weeks the news articles and blog posts will stop for these men. The fundraisers and donations will end and we will all move on and follow our favorite sports teams or get lost in the summer sun, making these events a distant memory for us. The beloved firefighter will once again be on attack by the political machine and the community will be right back where it was before 9/11/01, December of 2011, and yes March 26, 2014. The families will move on too, It will take them a little longer but time heals all wounds, right? They will move on but they will never forget, just like William Noonan (BFD photographer), Local 718, The PFFM, IAFF, and Brockton Fire Museum as they continue to work tirelessly to remind us of men giving the ultimate sacrifice for the good of others. I know I will always carry these men with me. As I add Lt. Ed (Edzo) Walsh Ladder 15 and FF Michael (Dork) Kennedy Engine 33 to my ever growing list of Line Of Duty Deaths I have piped (Now at 31 men and women in 17yrs) I reflect on the question "What was it like?" My answer, my real answer? You tell me...what was it like?

Peter

What was it like, Walsh and Kennedy? Part two

FF Michael Kennedy BFD L-15

     Here we are just one week since the funeral for Boston Firefighter Michael Kennedy. For those of you that may be new to "A Piper's View," Michael died from injuries sustained while operating in the basement of  the 9 alarm fire located at 298 Beacon Street just opposite the Charles River on March 26, 2014. Michael was born in Boston on October 11, 1980 and served honorably for over 6 years in the U.S. Marine Corps where he had earned the rank of Sergeant. Michael was a Combat Veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom prior to being appointed to the Boston Fire Department on November 5, 2007, where he would work on Ladder 2 before moving on to Boylston Street assigned to Ladder 15. Michael was a caring sort who gave and spent time with others, joining the Big Brother Program in East Boston, working as a fundraiser for the Wounded Warriors Project, and the Boston Firefighters Burn Foundation. So much has happened over the last week, but not one thing from this day a week ago has left my mind.

     The sun was shining so bright on my arrival at the church where all of this pipe band stuff started for me. That's right the funeral services for Kennedy are at the same church where I stood in 1996 as a young wet behind the ears probationary firefighter. Only this day I was not green and knew exactly what to expect. This day I would not be in awe of the swing in the kilt or the snap and whip of the flag. There were no snow covered grounds dusted deep in sand and soot. No clouds in the sky and the starched polyester and bell cap were replaced with wool and a Glen Garry. There would be no child staring back at me, I could not lose focus today, heck I still had all my inspiration from the day before.

Funeral Procession of FF Kennedy as it passes the rotary

     We arrived at the staging area and right away were grabbed by the Pipe Major of the Boston Gaelic Fire Brigade. Today's plan would be slightly different from yesterday. The Gaelic Brigade would play in front of the church while we would be given the honor of leading the massed bands beyond. When I say we, I mean Greater Boston Firefighters Pipes & Drums/Brockton Firefighter Pipes &Drums/Worcester Fire Brigade Pipes & Drums. After a short discussion prior to a massed bands meeting with all the Pipe Majors and Band Managers I was asked if I could go and begin to tune the bands. Everyone was pretty close to where they needed to be so tuning was rather easy. So many people would stop me and comment on the day prior and how wonderful the services were. Once again the band would have well over 300 pieces for today, a great showing! One of the guys on my department was walking by with his son, he had kept his son home from school to pay his respects. I thought this was great. What he would learn today could not be measured on one lost day in school. We would step off without incident and this time I was able to see the other side as we made our way to the church from the opposite side of the hill. There were people everywhere. Not just the sidewalks but in windows and roof tops alike. It just seemed there were more people today than the day before. This could be because West Roxbury is far more open than Watertown. As we played the Minstrel Boy up the hill toward the rotary I quickly realized maybe I didn't really fully have hold of the feelings of the day, maybe my concentration wasn't as tight as I thought. There, just opposite the church on the rotary is the Holy Name Elementary School. The teachers had brought all of the children out and lined them along the fence. So many of these kids standing and watching as we passed by. Waving the American Flag and responding to us like this was a joyous occasion. I know these kids didn't really understand fully what was going on but them being there created a beautiful tribute to Kennedy.

Holy Name Church, Members Saluting FF Kennedy

     As we passed by the church the Gaelic Brigade broke off to the front as we continued on. Once the massed band made our way beyond the front of the church we would finish playing. The Brigade would then take over and pipe the casket into the church. The arrival went off like clockwork!! After we were dismissed I began looking for the members of my department that had ridden in on two separate bus loads. As I was making my way through the crowds, (many of the people were making mention of how nice and fitting these two days have been) I saw a friend of mine. His brother (Engine 2) and sister (Fire Alarm) are on my department. His family is rich in the fire service as his father is retired a Boston Jake. He himself is also alarm operator. He has been on the Boston Fire Department for quite sometime and took part in some of the communications during the fire that took the lives of Walsh and Kennedy. I had known that his wife was the operator in charge of the fire so I asked him how she was doing. He had told me how she was handling the whole thing, she is a trooper, and that she was returning to work after taking just a couple days off. I don't blame her. This woman was incredible and kept her wits about her through extreme tragedy. She held her composure throughout the entire event never wavering even for a second. A true professional. I can only imagine how proud of her the Boston Fire Department and her family could be. A job well done!

Members of the American Infidels during church services

     I found myself standing staring at the front of the church, almost exactly the spot I stood 17 years ago. I couldn't help but think of the young boy (How it all Started) as I equated him to the men I had seen lined up in front of the church earlier. These men all with bodies and faces that have clearly lived a life time stood at attention wearing boots, jeans and the signature leather vests of a motorcycle club. They were the members of the American Infidels, a motorcycle club that Kennedy(Dork) belonged to. The club is made up of military men that have the interest of motorcycles and camaraderie. These men have seen battle in the field and have battled enough in their minds through their life time. They may be standing differently than the boy so many years ago but their inside emotion was just the same. I watched as they made their way up and into the church marching in unison. These men knew brotherhood and it showed in the way they carried themselves. It amazes me when you step back and take a look into the life of others, you realize just how many people are affected when someone is lost. Mind boggling.

to be continued…

Peter

What was it like, Walsh and Kennedy? Part one

     I've bumped into a lot of people the past few days. Each one asking the same question. "You play the funerals?" My answer of course, "yes I did." My response was followed up with "so tragic, what was it like?" I didn't really know how or have an answer. Each time I had to sit and think, what was it like? Awkwardly I would say to almost all of those people, "It was ok." As I sit here tonight, the word inspiring came to mind.

Boston Fire Lt ed Walsh

     Boston Fire Lieutenant Edward J. Walsh Jr. Perished in a valiant effort fighting a fierce wind driven fire in a brownstone nestled in Boston's Back Bay on March 26, 2014. A devoted and loving family man, he leaves behind his wife and three children. A second-generation firefighter, he loved the firefighters he worked alongside and found a home at Engine 33, Ladder 15. He loved working out of the "busy house" on Boylston. Eddie adored his young family and as a devoted father, he was deeply involved in his children's activities, spending many hours coaching his son in baseball, football, and basketball as well as daughters soccer team. His love of family and children extended even beyond his own as he consistently volunteered his time for the Brian McNeil Memorial Foundation, Lt. Paul J. Sullivan Scholarship Fund, Franciscan Children's Hospital, and others. In addition to his philanthropic efforts, Ed worked at the Oak Square YMCA as a facilities director. Ed clearly had a plan with his forever. His selflessness was inspiring.

   

380 pieces to this massed band for Lt Walsh

     We arrived in Watertown by 830am. Plenty of time to get ready and mingle. There were already about a hundred and fifty pipers and drummers from all over the country at the staging area when we arrived. Right away we saw the Gaelic Fire Brigade P&D and the Greater Boston FF P&D. The plan of the day was the Boston bands would lead the massive 380 piece massed band. As I met with the Pipe Majors of those bands they asked us to join them as we play together all of the time. We were honored to stand with them. It meant a lot, more than words on a page could describe. The instructor for The Brigade began tuning the bands from Boston. The circle of pipers was rather large and was taking him a little longer than I think he expected so I asked him if he wanted any help and without a second thought he told me to start on the other side. With the two of us the tuning went much faster and came out well. The remainder of the massed band was instructed to tune themselves respectively at 477hz. I know too technical for you non pipers, but the point is everyone knew where to be. Back to the plan of the day, Boston bands up front, with Worchester following, They would be leading the massed band beyond St Patrick's church as we were to peel off and circle in front of the church on the lawn. Worcester Fire Brigade would then take the remainder of the band beyond the church and up the street. I can only imagine the thoughts of the Worcester band for being given this honor. We here in MA sure do stick together in the times of need. Inspiring.

The salute to Lt Walsh

     I am quite sure you have all seen the photo. The little boy sporting the black fire helmet that donned his head so perfectly, wrapped in the tiny red fire coat with the words "Fire Chief" on the back. I saw him too. I know full well when you are in the circle you need to present yourself proper. Stand tall, at attention, eyes fixed front. I usually do much better but I caught a glimpse of the boy and lost myself. Once I saw him and his youthful innocence I couldn't contain myself as my eyes fixed on his saunter and continued that way as he made his way up walk way to the church. His inability to fully comprehend the feel of the day was oddly refreshing and his commitment to the salute was to say the least, inspiring.

     We would not enter the church during the service and were told we were free to move about. We were instructed to be back on the lawn in less than one hour. I began to make my way through the crowd looking for the Brockton Fire contingent, to no avail I might add. As I made my way through I kept seeing many guys I've known though my travels as a piper. It's always amazing to me that out of ten thousand or so people you can still find friends. I guess that is why they use that term brotherhood all of the time, I don't know. As I stood conversing with a fine gentleman from the Gaelic Brigade a woman from a Boston paper (that has been no friend in the past) came to us looking for a quote. I told her I had no comment. It was not my place, she seemed miffed that I did want to speak to her. I wasn't concerned, someone would give her the fuel she needed for her payday, it just wasn't going to be me. As we continued to speak many guys came up to us and the common theme was appreciation and admiration. I always find the admiration of your peers to be inspirational.

Panoramic view of the Boston Gaelic Fire Brigade, Greater Boston, and Brockton Firefighter Pipes & Drums in the circle.

     Following the service we played Amazing Grace as the casket moved from the church down the walk to the street and up onto Engine 33 for the Lieutenant's final ride. The band played well and held on for an incredible tribute to an incredible man. Once again I found myself looking at the front of the church. I lost myself again, but only for a moment. I'm happy I did. The moment I looked on I saw a young girl (quite possibly Walsh's daughter) as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs. The young girl wearing a pretty pink jacket, carrying a Minnie Mouse pocket book in one hand holding the woman's in the other. She stopped on the bottom step only for a short pause, she bent her knees and made the youthful jump that many of us parents have seen and been involved in since the beginning of time. Her face framed by beautiful blond locks carried a broad smile and her reflection of innocence bounced of the woman in such a positive way. This jump is so cute and fun each and every time. Can you not chuckle? Question, is it not true, the meaning of life is our children? It is apparent to me the Walsh's knew this. How can you not be inspired by that?

     We would then make our way to the cemetery for a service private to the family and the Boston Fire Department. After the beautiful service at the graveside I was left with many feelings. Through all I had seen today my reflections would be to Mrs. Walsh and those beautiful children. His family is left with a hole to fill. I can only hope the way we (the band) carried ourselves was enough to drive them through the day. Clearly what we do is not enough for them but as a community we can attempt to get them through all of this. As for the question, "what was it like?" Clearly it was sad, pain filled, demanding, and taxing, but I must say through all of that the feeling that is presented to me the most. Inspiration! Inspiration for the next day.

To be continued...

Peter

Thank you for what you do

                I don't know how this happened but it has been two months since my last post. Well I kinda know, I had a health scare that was just that, a scare and nothing more. It would seem that I got lost on my plan here. Yesterday I was reminded why this blog is so important me, so strap in because this one might take you a few extra minutes to read. Eugenia Clifford, John Burke, Jack Lynch, John Albanese, Kevin Lyons, Vincent Ramio, Harold Cribben. These are the names of the people I was able to honor since my last post. I feel the need to come right out and say their names where I wasn't able to tell their story. All wonderful and amazing people that I will remember during my forever.

                This week will be a tough one. Boston, the city just north of my city, had a nine alarm fire just the other day. While battling this blaze the Boston fire department (local 718) was met with incredible odds. Heavy fire, tight quarters, possible entrapment, and extreme winds coming in off the dirty water of the River Charles. Eighteen men were injured and two men were killed. Their story is coming.

                Yesterday I had the honor of piping with some of the greatest men I know as we paid respect to Firefighter Arthur Moscufo of the Medford fire department (local 1032). Mr. Moscufo was just days from retirement when he passed, only moments from getting home after his shift. Firefighter Moscufo was 64 and lived in Wilmington, MA. He died suddenly on March 23rd, 2014. Born in Boston on December 21st in 1949, Arthur attended St. John’s Elementary School and Christopher Columbus High School. He served his country as a soldier in the United States Army C/227 Aviation Battalion of the 1st Air Cavalry Division during his tour in the Vietnam War. He was honorably discharged on November 2nd, 1971. Arthur joined the Medford Fire Department on April 17th, 1980 and was an active member of the department at the time of his death. At first, during the days before the funeral it seemed as though we would not be able to put together a band, and I thought I was going to be piping this one on my own. Even the night before I was under the understanding that it would just be myself, a new piper from Somerville, and a Snare from Whitman. I knew regardless of the size of the band, we would play well for this man and his family. I heard an amazing quote yesterday. It went something like this, "Firehouses are filled with great and wonderful men, men that would give it all for others. You go in and pick out the best of those great and wonderful men and you have a pipe band." This is so true. We ended up with eight pipers, four drummers and we did play well. All of us were so proud to be allowed to play for the Moscufo family in their time of need.

                I couldn't possibly share every detail of the day but I can share a couple moments. First let me start with the ride in, four of us (Brockton, Quincy, Weymouth, Whitman) met up and drove in together. We drove in this amazing truck with beautiful leather seats, onstar, automatic doors, and a gps system where apparently you shouldn't enter info into while driving. OK, I'm making a feeble attempt at ball busting here, sorry Andy. Anyway, the ride in, like usual we begin to solve the world's problems. Apparently we figure we can get that done in the time it takes to get from Braintree to Malden. Each guy interjecting and cutting off the other as if our point was the fix all, ADD at its best! Hint, we weren't too successful at solving anything. What I did take out of the ride in, apparently Dorchester is the true center of the universe, I had no idea. We arrived in Malden with tons of time to spare, right away we began to bump into people we don't get to see too often and jump right into the old shtick. Each guy/gal identical to the four of us clowns that drove in together. A special sort I must say. Did you know that Dorchester is awesome? Sorry, I digress. Like I said earlier (reiterate) the services went well. The band played together and pushed out good sound. We played before and after the mass prior to heading over to the cemetery for the grave side service. Moscufo is to be cremated but they brought his casket to the area of the cemetery dedicated to the past members of the Medford fire department. A classy memorial that stood before a flag pole where the Standard hung at half staff in his honor. After a short religious ceremony and the folding of the flag that draped his casket by the Army we would all head out giving thanks to the Medford and Somerville guys for having us. The sun was shining at this point and we all felt well. A job well done.

                Later that afternoon we ended up stopping for lunch. We had a great time with even stronger banter. I learned even more about the greatness of Dorchester. The wait staff was very good and so nice to us. We got them to sit and chat with us for a few minutes. Sometimes we forget that others do care and know what's going on, let's face it we were still wearing kilts. In light of what happened on the Charles River the other day a gentleman came to our table. This man was tall with a sporting build. Looked like a solid worker type guy. Jeans and work boots carrying what looked like job folders. We were bantering back and forth and yucking it up pretty good at this point. He stopped short of our table and made eye contact with the three of us. We all noticed he had the beginnings of tears in his lids. The moment was rather surreal. He stood for a slight moment, I imagine to gather his words, and began to quickly thank us for what we do. His chin would then tuck tightly into his chest like the shyness of a toddler and he would then turn and walk away. We each looked to one and other and almost simultaneously said out loud. He was crying. We sat for about fifteen seconds with no words. Without being able to thank the man the tension built, one of us quipped one of the many inside jokes of the day to get us back to the previous feelings and enjoyable ridicule. It wouldn't be to long before the gentleman would return. Immediately I asked him to sit, (as I kicked out the chair from underneath the table) he graciously accepted and began to tell us a story where recently he was playing hockey in a league and one of the players on the opposing team had a heart attack during the game. He told us how most of the men on the teams were taken by the shock of witnessing the attack. How one of the players was a firefighter and that firefighter without hesitation sprung into action. How he, his whole life has felt he was a strong man until that moment when he watched helplessly as this firefighter worked to save the life of the player. He used the term hero which always seems very strange to me. He finished his story with a thank you and a hand shake before heading out the door. I appreciate that moment for sure, but the kindness would not end there. Soon after, as we were getting ready to head out ourselves the waiter would come by again. It would seem that two women in the lounge saw us and paid our tab. We were shocked at this and needed to thank them. We watched as the waiter made his way to their table and once we figured out who they were, we grabbed our drinks and joined them. They were nurses from the Brigham. They had amazing stories of their own. You see they too see what we see, so they and "we" understood. We spent about a half an hour at their table talking about events and people before ending with a couple hugs and thank you for what you dos, and wouldn't you know, the nurses… they were from Dorchester!! 

Peter

Family, Friends, Strangers and the Icon. Forever!

       The Icon closed his chapter in the book of life after 99 years. Could forever last just 99 years? Imagine, 99 years of living, his chapter is chock full of amazing tales and journeys the like most of us have never heard of, never mind seen. He would leave an impression on everyone he touched even in the days up to his passing.

       I can see him, the virile age of 26 at the back end of Ladder Two pulling the roof ladder off the truck. Hip boots, jean jacket down just to the top of his thighs, open, flapping in the crisp wind that whips through the tunnel of buildings that line Main Street. Helmet tilted to the side, sweat running down his cheek sliding over his half smiling face. What's on his mind? Much like many firefighters since, follow orders and go to work. It was roughly 2 am on March 10, 1941. His crew had been ordered to make way to the roof of 15 School St. via the adjacent Kennedy building to ventilate. As he and the crew of Ladder Two reached the top of the Kennedy Building they made their way to the lower roof of what was the Strand Theatre. Mere seconds before contacting the roof of the Theatre with the butt end of the ladder the roof would collapse. Right away the Icon, even at his young age and minimal experience, knew men were trapped under the carnage. His officer without a thought gave the men the order to make their way down to assist in the rescue efforts. I wonder how much thought he put into how close he was at ending his forever the moment the roof fell. Twelve men died that night with twenty others injured. A few days later the thirteenth firefighter would succumb to his injuries.

       The Icon would be the sixth of just nine Fire Chiefs in the City of Brockton to date. Serving forty years, sixteen of which he spent as Chief. He was a "Chief's Chief, driving a Cadillac and smoking cigars." Clearly he was a Firefighters Chief as well. Many times he fought for the men and many times he won. Hard but fair, would never ask of you what he himself would not do. A good Jake! Throughout his career he had seen many losses. To many losses to count over 99 years. Witnessing death, or even experiencing death in your family (yes firefighters are a family) is quite hard to take. Can you imagine for a moment having to notify a wife or a mother of a loss? In 1964 he did just that. He had to make that notification to three separate families. To report to them they had lost their sons, fathers, brothers. To let them know these three men have ended their forever. As a new Chief he entered these homes and stood for the families in a way that could never be repaid. That was just his way.

The first look!

       I have had many moments with the Icon in my 18 year career. His quick wit and sharp tongue was never amiss. I remember the time about four years ago when he was around the age of 96. He was arriving at the Relief Association meeting by himself in a brand new car. He had just bought the car and purchased a 10 year warranty. I don't know if you just read the last sentence right so I will reiterate. 96 years old, new car, 10 year warranty. I know right? As we opened the door to walk with him into the building he asked us if we needed help, clearly we weren't out there to help him. So, as he made his way to the building he decided he would walk over and not around the giant mulch bed, you guessed it. He fell and broke his hip. Apparently it was our fault, we "slowed him down." He was tough to slow down that's for sure. I do know of one time we actually did finally slow him down, as a matter of fact he was at a loss for words which I'm not too sure that had ever happened before. It was may 10th 2008. The day we unveiled the Strand Theatre Memorial Statue. When the red silk cloak wafted off of the back side of the 12 foot tall bronze likeness of himself, he just stood in awe. Usually we were in awe of him, this day we were just proud.

Retired Chief Edward "Sonny" Burrell's reflection
as he gets his first look at the Strand Theatre Monument

      His funeral service was held in a church just slightly older than he. A wonderful contingent of firefighters both from Brockton and surrounding towns stood tall out in front awaiting the procession. The seven member honor guard and the eight piece bagpipe and drum band off to either side of the brick and granite church baring a century of wear were just the touch the service needed. This was a normal Catholic service with two speakers giving incredibly kind words. First the Icons son would stand at the podium. We tend to forget he was not just someone for us to look up to but his children held him there too. His sons words were brief but powerful. His admiration for him was clear and to the point. His thanks to us for making him feel welcome all of the time was well received. Then the retired Chief would step to the altar. His words were for us all. He spoke the way we all felt about the Icon. He did take liberty for a moment and speak to a topic that was personal to him, and for the first time ever I would see the retired Chief waver. His voice would crack as he was clearly taken for a moment by the emotion. He quickly regained his composure, but I do have to say, it was nice to see his emotion at that moment. Rather refreshing to say the least, if you understand.

       After the service the Honor Guard and Band made our way by bus to the cemetery where his wife was buried. His arrival would not take long. The tree filled snow covered cemetery was prepared with green outdoor carpet leading up to the grave site. I would place the Relief memorial flag and remembrance stanchion next to the family head stone off to the side of the open grave prior to getting with the rest of the band. The funeral director would have the hearse pull up and wait just a moment while they place a few flower baskets near the head stone. As the pallbearers removed the casket from the hearse we began to play. We continued to play while all the attendees made their way to the grave side. The cold had a clear effect on the pipes but the music carried well. The Honor Guard looked sharp and the membership paid no attention to the frigid air. It was a wonderful tribute to a great man.  Once again, as I have done many times before, I had the honor of doing the walk away and with that and era was gone.

       As I walked away I thought about the word forever. What is forever? Forever begins the day we are born but does it end the day we die? Could forever for my son be the thirty odd weeks after the five years of studies to finally earn his black belt? How about the 60 years my friends father had or the 26 years my other friend had with his son? Is forever the three short years the young man has spent in the 54th MA, or the 40 year career of a 99 year old legend in the fire service. I mean really was his forever those 40 years or the 35 years he spent in retirement. I guess forever is up to us to determine. We all know the men of yesterday didn't want accolades, parades or even monuments. What do those things mean? Is it bragging or is it telling of history? They just wanted to do the job to the best of their ability and live a decent life. I get that but I feel we should continue to carry these people and their lives on. Everyone deserves the right to be remembered, have their story told. Through our words and stories, keep their history, build their monuments, be proud. Let's continue to give them a real forever.   

Peter

Family, Friends, Strangers, and the Icon

       The last three weeks have been something to say the least. The losses have piled up faster than I realized, with a celebration at home mixed right in the middle of it all. This is the moment I veer from the point of this blog. I guess it's mine so I have that right, especially as the most proud dad on the planet right now. My son has done it, after five long years and incredible odds he earned his Black Belt in Karate. This would be the second time he attempted this training. The first time he went through the 16 week training course he had to bow out at week 14 due to a knee injury. He took two months off and felt it was time to jump right back in, far less than 100% I might add. At the time I wasn't sure this was a good idea. His determination to go through carried him the full 16 weeks and this Friday night he will receive the coveted Black Belt. If you have ever gone through this you know already the time and effort it takes for both you and your child. The feeling of seeing them reach a long term goal and knowing they will carry that with them forever is just amazing. The problem is how long is forever?

       For my friends father, forever may have ended January first at the age of 60. He was a musician his entire life and played in a local rock band with a solid following. I have seen him make his drums sing on many occasions. His son has been a friend of mine since I was a teen and coincidentally we work together at the same station on opposite shifts. Not unlike (I believe) myself, the Musician was a strong family man, and I imagine the son follows closely in those steps. Many times the son and I have bragged to each other about our children, never a competition type or a one ups-man, but more of an admiration type. It's so refreshing to see other men show their admiration for their family. This would be a church only service which I was ok with due to the monsoon that blew through the city the morning of the funeral. I always wonder if the deceased has a choice of weather after reaching their meeting place. If so I plan to create some interesting weather on my day. In spite of the weather, the service was beautiful. This was a traditional catholic mass with fine words from the family. The son, as well as five others carried the casket with grace and poise, a proper send off.  I'm sure the Musician was looking down at his son with the same kind of pride I have today for my own.

       Just two days later we laid to rest a stranger to me. The Stranger would have four more years of forever as he passed at 64. A Vietnam Veteran growing up in Waltham MA, moving to Brockton as an adult. He was a sports fan who loved to play golf and had a decent high school career on the football and baseball teams at Waltham High. I wasn't able to sit in on this mass and listen to his family's words as I spent my time chatting with the gentlemen working for the funeral home. We were discussing one of our friends and how he had lost his son the night before. The son was just 26 years old. I don't know the circumstances of his death, what I do know is 26 is a far too short forever.

Bugler from the 54th MA. 

       The Stranger's funeral ended in a different way than usual. There was no internment or graveside but he would still receive military honors. I spoke to the gentleman that was to give the honors. He is assigned to the 54th MA Regiment of the U.S. Army. A young black man with a promising career he seems ready to tackle the world. He was rather green, (having only served just under 3 years) but knew what he wanted to do with his forever and I found that refreshing. After the mass they held the casket up in the foyer of the church, for outside the doorstep, the Army guard played Taps from the (radio) bugle. The sound carried brilliantly throughout the church, it was kind of neat to be honest. As the bugle began the sun found its way from behind the clouds. I was struck by this so I did something I've never done. I pulled out my phone and took a picture. It kind of felt like my friend's son was looking on at that moment. I don't know, tough to explain. I did get a little choked up.  After Taps the guard made his way in the church to fold the flag. I have to assume it went well because it went quickly. Either it went quickly or I didn't snap out of my funk as fast as I thought (insert winky eye here). As the casket crossed the threshold of the church I began to play AG, as I said earlier there were no services following so at the family's request I finished up out front with two rounds and the walk away.

       The Icon closed his chapter in the book of life after 99 years. Could forever last just 99 years? Imagine, 99 years of living, his chapter is chock full of amazing tales and journeys…

to be continued…