Who gets it, do you? Do they? Do I?

       Feast or famine round these parts!! I hadn't played the pipes at an event since November 17. Well here we go, the last few days have been a full agenda. I figured once I began "The Scranton Connection" this would happen. I'll get back to that one, you'll just have to wait a little longer. After some basic editing I guess I could have made this three separate posts, oh well dig in!

Thursday December 19, 2013

       Today would be the MA. Firefighter of the year awards and it would take place at MIT in Cambridge. My youngest was to play the saxophone in her first Christmas concert. I wasn't torn on what to do, my plan was simple. I was going to go to the Christmas concert then make my way to Cambridge for the end of the awards ceremony. I had found out the day prior that they were having a pre concert for the kindergarten kids, so I asked her if I could go then to see her play instead, she was happy with that plan. I made the arrangements with the school and saw her and her friends sing and play on Thursday afternoon. This assured that I was able to go to the awards on time. Hectic but I think everyone was happy. Oh, can't forget how awesome these kids were. Brockton has such a great music program! I was so proud, especially for my little Cyclops,(when you go nose to nose with each other you look like a Cyclops).

       We met up at one of the fire stations to ride into Cambridge together. Only three members of my band were able to make it. In the van was our pipe major, our drum sergeant, and myself. We were to swing by Braintree headquarters to pick up the pipe major of  the Greater Boston Firefighters Pipes & Drums and ride in together. When we arrived we were given prime parking, right in front of the building. I hadn't really put too much thought into why this year's ceremony was at Kresge Hall on the campus of MIT but once I realized what the plan was it all made sense. MIT Officer, Sean Collier.

       One of Brockton's FFs was going to receive an award. This award was for his actions on April 15, 2013. He had been at the finish line waiting for his son to complete the Boston Marathon. He is the EMS coordinator on my department and found himself smack in the middle of the mayhem. He was watching the race just steps from the explosions. He would take a major part in the triage and recovery efforts. I really don't feel comfortable telling his gruesome story, I'll just say what he may have seen or had done that day would affect most people for the rest of their lives. When we met with the woman running the program my only request was that we do not traverse any stairs while playing. Playing the pipes & drums does not mix well with stairs. I made this request at least ten times and I was told no problem we won't have to do any stairs. Wrong answer, we had to do stairs. Thanks for that, ugh.... The opening of the ceremony went well. Between the Brockton and Greater Boston bands we had 6 pipers, a bass and a snare drum. Kind of small but it worked seeing as how we were indoors. Once we were done we made our way to the lobby. As usual we all started reminiscing about past events, how they went, how we feel they should have gone, this conversation spurred on by the damn stairs. We were colorful with our words, not disrespectful but colorful. We noticed in the program they had mixed up some names of the guys in comparison to what department they are actually on. It just seems these people (the ones running these type of awards) do really do it for the show or their own glory and advancement and not for the act, or the honoree, which is upsetting. If you really want to honor a guy get his name and job right. Like when they get the name of our band wrong. People it's easy, Brockton Firefighters Pipes & Drums, we are not a brigade and for that matter I have never even seen a fife. In my opinion the honorees are the most important at these events, not the presenters. Anyway, as the stories began to get more colorful we noticed a couple of gentleman sitting at a table close by. They were news men from a local news station. Oops. Should pay more attention to our surroundings. We joked with them a little, they were good guys. Just before heading in to watch the ceremony one of the men and I had a brief conversation. We laughed a little and I told him he just made my blog, he then told me to make sure I spelled his name right. Loved that comment! So Jon Keller you're in the blog. Merry Christmas! The ceremony went much faster than any of us expected. We rushed to warm up for the closing. We would pipe out all of the dignitaries including the Governor. We played well once again and once again we would descend stairs. I was in front of the bass drum so I found myself helping him navigate the stairs. I needed to make a path through the people to get the drum down the stairs. There was this one guy towering over everyone. I have seen him before but couldn't place him. I tried to move him from our path but he didn't budge. I then realized who he was when I noticed the pin on his chest at my eye level. Now his chest was eye level to me and I was two steps above him if that tells you how big this guys was. At first he didn't seem to happy I wanted him to move, and I didn't realize why. Well he is the guy that protects the Governor. Nice we are going down the stairs with pipes and drums at the same time as the Governor and his people, like it wasn't hard enough. I would quickly change his mood when I quipped that his guy was as important to him as my guy was important to me. He chuckled and let us past. I think he understood my point. Man he was big.

Friday December 20, 2013

       The Northville cemetery is a small cemetery tucked in behind a greenhouse on route 14 just before Ridders country club and golf course on the opposite side of the road. The old roads that run along the cemetery are narrow and separated by just two rows of headstones. The greens keepers had plowed just two roads around the grave for the retired Brockton firefighter that had just passed in his home surrounded by his family. He would be the fourth Brockton guy buried there. The ground was covered with soft melting snow about 4 inches deep. The cold from the snow mixing from the warmth of the air caused a faint but noticeable fog layer just above the ground. I enjoy playing on snowy areas, the sound seems to travel more.

       After graduating from Brockton High School in 1944, this gentleman joined the U.S. Air Force where he served in World War II in the Philippines and Tinian as a member of the 504 Bomb Group. After his discharge he joined the Brockton Fire Department in 1948 where he served for 35 years. He was a member of the Firefighter's Union Local 144, Massachusetts Retired Police and Firefighters Association and American Legion Post 35. I had met him through my work with the Relief Association. He was a helpful man who always seemed to have an eye on what was going on.

       I wasn't really sure at what time the procession would arrive as there was no church service and this was graveside only. I asked one of the guys on shift to call me when the procession passes the fire station as our Chief has the funeral homes pass by as a tribute. I think this is a nice touch. I received the call and began to warm up the pipes. Moments later I heard a car door close behind me. I thought it was the flower car so I continued with setting up the pipes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman walking away. I turned and noticed she had just parked her car directly in front of the open grave. I thought, she couldn't be serious. I yelled to her politely and asked if she was part of the funeral. She told me no, she was there for her daily walk. I asked her if she could move her car because there was a procession coming in. She said she parks there every day. This woman was entitled. I said to her that I understand that she may park there every day for her exercise, it's just that a funeral was coming and with the snow this was the only way to bring in the casket. This is when she said the most shocking comment of our exchange. "Well I don’t want to have to park in the snow." I returned with "move your car!" She jumped in her car and angrily tore out of the cemetery. Clearly she didn't get.

Saturday December 21, 2013

       We go to school till the age of eighteen. We get our career and plan to do thirty two years taking us to around the age of 57 to 60 where we plan to begin our life of rest and enjoyment, maybe travel, plant a garden, do some fishing. Much too often I find myself at funerals of guys that just retire or are under the age of 60. This would be the case today. A friend of mine contacted me about a guy he worked with in Norwell. This guy became a call guy in 1976 and full time in 1980. He retired this past July as a Captain after enjoying 37 years with Norwell fire. A good career. A good Jake. He was a 56 year old married father with one daughter, whom he would spend a lot of time with. I understand that he was an avid hunter, fisherman, and Bruins fan. At least he got the cup.

       Norwell showed up in force. When I arrived the first thing I saw was the giant American Flag perched from the ladder truck in front of the church. The procession arrived with two engines, what appeared to be a relatively new one and one that may have been of the 60's vintage. After the service the casket would be placed on the vintage engine for the short ride across the street to the cemetery. I would be leading the march from the church to the grave side for the traditional service including the famed walk away.   

       I'm not too big on the whole idea that Firefighters are hero's stuff, but was kind of taken a little from a poem read by the gentleman that spoke of him during his eulogy. He said the poem was very fitting for the Captain and his crew. He would change it only slightly changing the names at the end to fit the members of the Norwell fire department. The poem was written to 'Twas the night before Christmas:

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
All the firefighters were asleep, even the one called “The Louse.”

The bunk room was filled, with farts and snores,
With visions of no fires, nor calls to pry open doors.

The Captain had just laid down, his big fat head,
Hoping and praying, the night would be dead.

When he heard a noise, out in the bay,
If it were a burglar again, what would he say.

As he snuck around the corner, and stepped onto the bay floor,
He saw such a sight, one never seen before.

It was Clause standing there, looking at the truck with awe,
The old man was crying, and quivering his jaw.

The Captain, filled with compassion, put a hand on his shoulder,
Comforting as he’d done, helping others many times over.

He said “It’s ok pops”, as Santa shivered and cried,
Clause replied “I’m so sorry, I’m thinking of your brothers, who have died.”

“I stood here looking, at the soot covered gear,
And thought of them all, who advanced with no fear.”

“I thought of the victims, they’d cut out of cars,
And the drunks they’d helped, who just left the bars.”

“I thought of your brothers, who ran out of air in a fire,
And the ones who have helped, a child with bike to put air in the tire.”

“I thought of the their families, who wonder and worry,
When they leave for work, in a mighty big hurry.”

“How fireman give selflessly, in a wreck, disaster, or fire,
How they get the job done, and never, ever, seem to tire.”

“I bowed my head in silence, and much to my surprise,
A tear welled up, then more, ‘Till they filled up my eyes.”

“How do you do it Cap?”, he asked in sadness,
“It’s in our hearts” he replied, and we do it with gladness.”

At that time the tones went off, “Gotta go” said the captain with a sigh,
“Someone’s in trouble, so I must say goodbye.”

As the crew loaded up, Old Clause he stood back,
Knowing these firefighters, Had just left the sack.

As they pulled out the station, wiping sleep from their eyes,
A firefighter said “Hey Cap”, “Was that Saint Nick?” with surprise.

Clause with a smile replied, “Thanks David, Michael, Jim and Louse,
Thanks to all you firefighters, who go to save that persons house,”

“Thanks Art, Steve, Harvey, Sherrie, and Ryan,
I don’t know how you do it, but somehow you keep from cryin’."

“May your God keep you safe, and in the palm of his hands,
Keep you and guide you,
While you serve and protect these great lands.”

Written: 1-December-2001
~Mark S. Warnick

 

 

 

 

Peter