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…

Six degrees?

         Yesterday I piped a funeral with a rather interesting set of connections. We all know or have heard how small a world we live in. Six degrees of separation is the theory that everyone and everything is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world, so that a chain of "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. So basically we are all connected within six acquaintances.

      The obituary read, "Robert C. “Bob “Kelley, of West Yarmouth passed away peacefully on Sunday, December 22, at home surrounded by his family. He was the beloved husband of Ann (Brady) Kelley of West Yarmouth and his first wife the late Margaret (Yuskaitis) Kelley. Robert, born in Brockton, MA on February 26, 1924, was the son of Margaret (Calnan) Kelley and Fred F. Kelley. He graduated from Brockton High School in 1942 and enlisted in the US Navy in 1943. He served in the Central and Western Pacific as an Aviation Radioman Gunner. Upon his honorable discharge from the Navy, Robert joined New England Tel & Tel. After a distinguished career Bob retired in 1983." What the obituary did not tell me was all the connections I had with this man, whom I never met, or so I thought when I first got the call to play the pipes. 

       The request for me to pipe the funeral came through fire alarm. The daughter called to see if the fire department knew of any bagpipers, knowing that the fire service and piping are connected. I left the station for Hyannis right after my night shift. The funeral mass was to be celebrated at St Francis Xavier church just outside downtown Hyannis at 10am. I arrived with plenty of time to spare so I stopped in Hyannis Fire Headquarters for a quick visit and talk to the gentleman that runs the MDA Chili festival each March. He seemed happy to get a face to face instead of the usual banter back and forth through email. After squaring away the plans for the festival I made my way over to the church to begin to warm up the pipes. It was cold! The wind seemed to rip right through the wool like it wasn't even there. I knew then that the cemetery would be a joy. After about 15 minutes of warming up the pipes I began to head into the front lobby of the church to warm up my hands, face, and ears. I noticed three well dressed older women coming toward me on the walkway. I found it strange at first the look on their face until I noticed one of them. It was My Great Aunt, my Grandmother's sister in-law, the last of our family from that generation. I gave her a quick hug and kiss before asking her why she would make the trek, wondering what her connection was. As it turns out she is a very close friend of the gentleman's widow Ann. They spend time together quite often. I realized I could have kept her talking for quite some time with questions of my kids and the holidays so for once I ended the conversation before I got out of control. Yes, I could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

       As the hearse opened I began to play. It was cold and the weather could be rather harsh on the tone of the pipes. I was able to tune them and lock them in but if I struck the bag in just a hair too hard or too soft my drones wouldn't sound just right. I was a little nervous because of this which would veer my concentration just enough that I noticed the people entering the church. I usually keep my eyes fixed down or at something specific so I don't lose concentration looking at the family. I didn't lose it but I did notice a man walking up the path while I was playing. He is retired Brockton Firefighter. That's when I remembered the obituary. He glanced at me and gave me a low wave from the hip and a quick head nod. I'm not sure if he noticed who I was or was just being polite. He was the widows brother.

Frederick F Kelley Eng Co. 1
Died March 10, 1941

      After the mass started I ended up standing inside the lobby of the church as there really wasn't too much room to sit in the mass. Which is surprising for an 89 year old. He must have made a great impression on his circle. I started chatting with one of the men from the funeral home. As it turns out he did not directly work for this funeral home. He worked for a close friend of mine that owns a funeral home back here in Brockton. He will send his limos to other funeral homes when they need the extra cars. We chuckled about how we were both from the same place and "how small the world is." Just then two women walked in the church. They were very pleasant and asked me what clan I was from. I had to explain that the kilt I wear represents the County Clair in Ireland as this is where my family originates, to the best of my knowledge. This conversation was very brief as they were about ten minutes late already. They turned to head into the church with a Happy New Year in tow when they realized they were at the wrong funeral. I felt bad for these women, but there really was nothing I could do other than wait for them to leave before I laughed. Sorry folks but that is funny. As we continued to chat I told the driver the most interesting connection with this funeral. You have heard me mention here numerous times the Strand Theatre fire and collapse of March 10, 1941. I found out I had met Mr. Kelley back on May 10, 2008 and didn't remember. I had met so many that day. Robert Kelley is the oldest son of Frederick Kelley of the Brockton Fire Department, assigned to Engine Company One. Frederick lost his life while operating at the Strand. Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. When he died he left his wife Margaret and two sons; Robert, (who we celebrate) and Frederick.in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.    

       The service ended and the pipes played much better, even though the sun was gone and it was much colder now. I was so right about the cemetery. The grave was just off the side of the hill in the middle of the St Francis Xavier cemetery off of route 28 in Centerville. There were a few pitch pines and scrub oaks but not enough to block the slicing winds. The Navy had sent a two member unit to fold and present the flag. They had the "radio" bugle but for some reason they didn't fake it. Instead the seaman held the bugle at his side while taps rang out. Not sure how I felt about that. As I finished my walk away I noticed something a little different. The few trees that did line the cemetery held numerous wind chimes, all of which were ringing beautifully, filling the air with the thoughts of pleasantries and spring mornings. As I packed my pipes away on the tailgate of my pick-up I didn't think of the blistering cold or the usual feelings for the families loss. The chimes took my mind to all of the connections of the day. My Aunt, my colleague, the driver, the funeral director friend. Even the women that came when they didn't need too. To the thoughts of why I started this blog. To thoughts of my kids, how this is a great lesson for me and for them. The people we meet. We never really know who is connected to who or how they are connected, but we surely are within six degrees.
  

Peter
 

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

 

 

 

 

 



The Scranton Connection~ "Anthracite"



City Hall Rotunda

As you make the climb up the interior stairs of City Hall and onward into the octagonal shaped rotunda adorned with golden plaster carvings of civil war troops and accent flowers, surrounded by hand carved wooden frames depicting marble panels filled with inscriptions from wars past, you notice a rectangular black granite base about three feet tall supporting what appears to be a jet black stone trapped inside a glass square protective box in the center of the room. This base and stone sit just outside the Mayor's office as a reminder to the city what happened many years ago. What is this stone and where did it come from?

       As many of you may know, on March 10, 1941 my city fire department lost thirteen men to structural collapse while operating during the overhaul phase of a fire in a local theater (a story to be better touched on more in-depth at a later time). This news in 1941 would travel throughout the United States shaking the core of the fire service. At the time the amount of firefighters lost at this incident was catastrophic to say the least. As the news reached down the east coast and onto the central part of the country firefighters from Scranton Pennsylvania took notice.       
       
       The Coal region or Pennsylvania Anthracite region is home to the largest known deposits of anthracite coal found in the Americas. There is a reserve of seven billion short tons of Anthracite believed to be within the valleys. It is these deposits that provide the region with its nickname. The discovery of anthracite coal was first made by a hunter in Schuylkill County 1791. It would only be 16 years after that the North Field saw its first mine. The Region lies north of the Lehigh Valley and Berks County Regions, south of the Endless Mountains, west of the Pocono Mountains, and east of the region known in Pennsylvania as the Susquehanna Valley. The Wyoming Valley is the most densely populated of these valleys, and contains the cities of Wilkes-Barre and Scranton. According to Erin L. Nissley an assistant metro editor at The Times-Tribune.com "What most people saw simply as fuel to heat their homes, C. Edgar Patience saw as fuel for his imagination. The Wilkes-Barre man coaxed art out of chunks of anthracite coal, from small trinkets to a 4,000-pound altar for the chapel at King's College. A 3½-ton piece of coal Mr. Patience polished and sculpted was displayed at the Smithsonian, and a 5½-foot-tall, 1-ton monolith he made was displayed at the William Penn Memorial Museum in Harrisburg. Scranton's Pennsylvania Anthracite Heritage Museum owns two busts he carved - one of George Washington and another of Abraham Lincoln. The Lincoln bust has been selected as one of the state's top 10 endangered artifacts by the Conservation Center for Art & Historic Artifacts." To date I have not been able to pin down exactly who carved the Anthracite in our rotunda but this guy makes perfect sense to me.


        The Anthracite is about twelve inches square and about four inches deep, a striking stone with its own base. The front of the stone had been polished to a high sheen prior to its carving out to create a negative image on its front. You can easily read the names of the thirteen men lost on the Strand Theatre fire as well as who the stone was dedicated to, Local 144. The base of the stone once again clearly shows in a negative image that it was donated by the members of the Scranton Local, then 669. In the center of the base is carved the firefighter scramble donning the IAFF logo. This memorial stone clearly shows the strong union stance of the forties one that truly is carried on today.

       At some point during the summer of 1941 a Brockton firefighter and his new bride had made their way to the Pocono Mountains to celebrate their nuptials. On the return ride this firefighter and his wife happened to stop in at a Scranton fire station where he would intern be given the Anthracite that had been carved in memory of the 13 lost on March 10th earlier in the year. He would wrap the carving in a shirt or towel from his luggage and place it in his trunk for the return trip. I had heard stories of this carving staying in the truck for quite some time before its unveiling but this is not something I can confirm. In the fall of 1941 members of the Scranton Fire Department made their way from Scranton Pennsylvania to Brockton for a dedication ceremony. At this ceremony these two departments would unveil the beautiful Anthracite coal carving that is still in place to this day. This was not just a ceremony for the coal, but more of a ceremony of a symbol, a symbol of people and friendships. This ceremony would build a bond not to often spoken of but one that would stand the test of time. As time would continue on, fifty years to be exact, in 1991 the members of the Scranton fire department would once again make their way up the east coast to celebrate the remembrance ceremony for the Strand theatre fire of 1941.

       After numerous attempts to raise funds over the years the members of the Brockton Fire Department decided it was time to move forward with our own memorial to our lost members. In early 2007 a committee was formed one of which I am honored to have been a part of. I was assigned 3 tasks; Logistics-parking and where the membership would place during the ceremony, contacting and organizing the massed bands, and inviting the Scranton Fire Department. The first  two tasks were simple, the emotions of contacting Scranton on the other hand would be a different story. The day my assignments came up I had coincidently read online that the Scranton Fire Department lost a member of theirs at a fire. They had been operating a tower truck when the bucket of the tower had contacted the live power lines in front of the house. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to invite these guys to a ceremony of remembrance up here in Brockton when they had just lost one of their own, with another lying in a Scranton hospital bed. I then decided to take it up with the band. The members of my band, without hesitation, said yes we would go down and pipe any ceremony they wanted, we owed them for what they had given us over 65 years earlier. So I took a deep breath and made the call.




to be continued...