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

The Pseudobulbar Affect

       The Pseudobulbar Affect is defined as "emotional lability, labile affect or emotional incontinence. Refers to a neurologic disorder characterized by involuntary crying or uncontrollable episodes of crying and/or laughing, or other emotional displays." So basically what that means is something triggers an emotion within you and you react in a way that you can't control, like uncontrollable laughter. Everyone experiences this to some degree at some point in their life. Usually this happens when we are among friends and can find a way to remove ourselves from the situation by simply leaving the room. Well not for me! I was stuck on a fully loaded airplane.

       I have to start by introducing you to a friend of mine. He was a member of my department for over 34 years, and was influential in starting our band. He is a jack of all trades, master on none type and really enjoys making people laugh; hence my problem on the plane. Although some of these stories will seem like I'm beating him up, I really do have tons respect for this man and his family. Since this friend will appear in so many of these stories I find that I must give him a name. For the purpose of these stories we will call him The Diver. Now this name is not a stretch by any means, it just not his real name.

       In September 2008 The Diver and I traveled out to Colorado Springs for the IAFF Fallen Firefighters memorial. He is obviously very interested in deep sea diving, hence the name. Well apparently the dive company he works for has a national head quarters in Fort Collins, Colorado. He was very excited about heading up there from the Springs. Me not so much. On the plane ride into the Springs from Boston I ended up in the last seat on the plane. This twisted my back up pretty good and I really was not interested in jumping in a crappy rental car for the two hour ride to Fort Collins. I did anyway because that's what The Diver wanted to do. I thought maybe it would be interesting to visit the headquarters of a national dive company. I thought we would check out some cool equipment maybe even do a little diving. Well...There is NO DIVING in Fort Collins! This place was nothing but a giant warehouse full of safety pamphlets and handouts. I mean think about it. The closest ocean is 1200 miles away, why on earth did either one of us ever think there would be diving in Fort Collins? Once again The Diver sucked me into one of his hair brained ideas, just like the time we went to watch a band competition at the IBEW local hall wearing matching green shirts and red kilts. We weren't competing, we were watching. We were the only ones looking like Christmas, wearing kilts. Oh, so embarrassing. I would continue to bust on him for the next five days telling everyone we came across that "There's No Diving in Fort Collins." At one point I think he was ready to choke me out. I thought it was funny. You ever tell a joke so much that it becomes funny? Yea that's me. I'm sure it bugs the heck out of people, but I tend to get a kick out of myself. Don't worry, The Diver would get the last laugh. Well the last one before the plane ride home.

Fly Fishing the Arkansas river in September 2008

We decided before we left we would spend a day fly fishing the Arkansas River. Yes, the Arkansas is in Colorado, I know I thought the same thing. That morning we woke up early to head out. We brought three other friends with us, two of which had never been fly fishing before and thought it would be fun. Little did we know the fun would be on me. By the time we got to the river my back pain was pretty much gone. Up until this point I thought it was the plane ride. Oh how I was mistaken. Have you ever had Kidney Stones? Yup you got it, I was passing stones out in the middle of nowhere. I figured I would just tough it out, they offered to take me back but I didn't want to ruin the trip. I dressed in my neoprene (I was much thinner then) and head out into the water. To be honest the cold water felt great if you know what I mean. I made my way up river and the pain began to be unbearable. I remember thinking if I just pass this stone I'll be fine, good to go. The problem was actually passing this brick! I attempted to fish for about a half hour and decided I would walk to the opposite bank and try to pass the stone. Without all the gory details, I lost my favorite sunglass, the biggest fish I had ever hooked, and passed the stone. I was right, I was a new man and thought this day was about to turn around. It turned around alright. As I headed back to where the rest were fishing I noticed a woman in green khakis. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was a game warden. I thought holy crap, what else could go wrong. We were all licensed so I really wasn't too worried, but the way things had gone so far on this trip anything was possible. She had the others lined up on the shore and was waving me to make my way to them. The current was strong and swift to the point you could easily be swept away. I was trying to get over as fast as I could. She seemed a little peeved that I was not moving a little faster, she kept looking and threw out the occasional wave for me to get over there, like I didn't see her the first time. I kept thinking, is this lady serious right now? I'm gonna kill myself just so she could check my fishing license? By the time I got to the shore the rest of the group was on the ground laughing. As it turned out she wasn't planning on waiting for me at all and she packed up and left.  I'm pretty sure they planned this whole thing knowing what I was going through. All I could do was laugh, even though I wanted to cry. I turned to The Diver and like a child said, "There's No Diving in Fort Collins."

After a great week and a beautiful memorial service it was time to head back home. We are to fly from Colorado Springs to Dallas Fort Worth and then on to Boston. The Plane from Dallas Fort Worth was packed and this would be like the fourth time ever on a plane so I was still a little nervous. The Diver knew I wasn't fully comfortable on the plane so he began to tell his never-ending jokes. Most of his jokes are extremely funny but I have heard everyone of them at least 6 times so I know them by heart. We began to talk and giggle about the trip, how the day went on the Arkansas. He was doing a good job of putting my mind at ease, well at least until we turned on the TV in the headrest in front of us. It was a segment from the David Letterman show. The segment featured the kids from Piedmont High School. They were the top 3 winners in the bird calling championships. Although I only remember the first and second entries. This was so ridiculous I completely lost it! This is a real competition. They have teams of two to three high school aged kids and, in an animated way they recreate bird calls. If you haven't seen this you have no idea how funny this is. These kids take this competition very serious. The first group was a brother and sister doing the American White Pelican. This would get me started. These two would begin to wave their arms up and down and eek and crow in unison while also bouncing up and down. It was really pretty funny. Now I'm chuckling pretty good and not only The Diver noticed. The next group of kids was comprised of three girls. They would do the Black-Bellied Sand Grouse. This one is what did it! The three girls stood in a semi circle sort of facing each other and began flailing their arms making this craziest noises all while bouncing up and down shaking and swinging their heads from side to side. Their hair just flipping and swimming through the air. Then to make it worse they replayed it in slow motion. When I saw the replay I began laughing so loud and hard people were jumping out of their seats. I tried to stop but every time I did they would show the slow motion again. I remember looking over through the tears in my eyes at this lady a few rows up and to the middle of the plane. She was staring with this angry look. That just made me laugh even harder. This laughter would go on for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Just as I would calm down The Diver would just crank me back up again by shaking his head and making his own ridiculous bird noise. I truly couldn't get control of myself. Soon the flight attendant would come over and ask if we were ok. The Diver tried to explain to her what had happened and why. For some reason he felt compelled to tell her "by the way, did you know there is no diving in Fort Collins?' Now I'm trying to hold the laughter in with my hands like my mouth is a leaky faucet. She just looked at us with a blank stare on her face, and asked us to try to quiet down as she walked up the aisle. Once again, like a sound from a bullhorn, I died right there. This was some serious laughter. I kept trying to apologize but couldn't get the words out it was so bad. Soon the angry people on the plane began laughing with me. Some even clapped. Really it began to be catchy. One guy walked by and gave The Diver high five. Even the angry lady would turn and give a smile. After a good twenty minutes or so I was finally able to gain my composure. I had truly experienced emotional incontinence and I was relieved it was over. Is there a moral to this story? No, not really, but I did learn one thing through all of this. There definitely is no diving in Fort Collins.

Peter