PAX Centurion - March / April 2014

www.bppa.org PAX CENTURION • March/April 2014 • Page 11 Three of a kind, just different suits… Cops, EMT’s Firefighters, different, but the same By James Carnell, Pax Editor F RANKIE FLYNN, FIREFIGHTER , engine 33, Boylston St., was a friend of mine. Back in the days, the 1970 and 80-somethings, (as the country song goes) we hung around Rexford and Blue Hill Ave. in Mattapan, across from St. Angela’s church. We engaged in stupid and moronic activity, got into trouble, hopped the fence on Regis Rd. so we could drink beer by the railroad tracks near what was-then the Cote Ford dealership, out of the earshot and eyesight of parents and other terrible people, like priests and police officers. If I recall correctly, one of those cops, (Thanks, Of- ficer Bob!) would sneak up on us and “expropriate” the beer we had just paid $3.99 a case for.Yes, it was 1977, we were underage, the drinking age was 18 back then, and the beer was named “Weideman” – panther piss for a case of 24 beers – but what the hell – when you only had a buck in your pocket and four people chipped in, you get whatever’s cheapest. (A belated thank you to Fat Pearl, the ugly old redhead cashier at Pioneer Liquors in Mattapan Sq. for never check- ing ID…) Frankie Flynn passed away a few months ago. He had an aggressive form of cancer that rav- aged him in about five weeks, from diagnosis to death. Writing in the Boston Globe , colum- nist Kevin Cullen said that “ Frankie Flynn could talk to a telephone pole”. He did not grow up with Frank, but he couldn’t have been more accurate. We hadn’t seen each other in years, what with kids and families and college tuition bills and life being what it is; maybe just once in a while at a fire scene or going past the Boylston St. firehouse; then we had a chance to say an old- Mattapan “howyadoin” and talk. I arrived at the hospital only a few hours before Frankie passed away. He was unconscious, but calm and serene surrounded by his family. I was a blubbering coward who couldn’t take being near a dying friend. I had to leave before I embar- rassed myself… I mention this because two firefighters – both of them also from Frankie’s Engine 33/Ladder 15 on Boylston St. – were recently killed in a fire in Beacon St.; Lieutenant EdWalsh and Firefighter Michael Kennedy. I did not know them personally, but then again, maybe I did. My cousin Jimmy is a Lieutenant at the Dudley St. firehouse, and my uncle is a retired Fire Captain fromWest Roxbury. On the day of the fire, knowing my cousin was almost certainly going to be there (…and he was…), and hearing that two firefighters were trapped inside, I frantically called Jim’s wife and anyone else who might know what had happened. At every family occasion, be it a barbeque, a birthday, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, whatever… cops and firefighters have a natural tendency to insult each other. We break each other’s chops. We argue over comparative contracts, working conditions, assignments, duties, responsibilities. It’s all meant in good-natured jest. At the end of the day, all of us, ….police, EMT’s and firefighters… are just wearing different uniforms doing the same job; trying to prevent people from being hurt or from hurting them- selves or others. Many years ago, before proctologists were voted into political po- sitions by our brilliant voters or rewarded with management sinecures by their political benefactors, cops found a “dugout” in the back of every fire station during a cold or rainy night and were often offered a hot meal in the firefighter’s kitchen. Firefighters were always shown “professional courtesy” by the cops during a “difficult night” (ask no more) and driven home by the local constabulary (and vice-versa – no plaster saints amongst the thin blue line, and certainly not from this address!). And some of us are old enough to remember the police department’s “ambulettes” – essentially old-fashioned station wagons with a stretcher in the back for transporting people to the hospital. (From what I’m told by the old-timers, the police – unintentionally – killed more people- from a lack of medical training – than ever made it to the hospital. Thank God for our professional EMT’s; they have saved more lives that can ever be counted, including many, many police and firefighters. I guess the point of this article is this: to express appreciation and remorse for the loss of Lt. Walsh, firefighter Kennedy, and for all of those firefighters, EMT’s and cops who rush toward danger when others run away.Yeah, my cousin and I will probably continue to poke each other in the eye at cookouts and birthday parties. But all of us should remember that the public’s memory is fickle and fleeting. Today, you’re a hero, tomor- row, you’re a goat again. (We saw it soon after the Marathon bomb- ing, didn’t we?) Within a few days or weeks, SamTyler from the Municipal Research Bureau, the general public and the media will again be complaining that we make too much money, we’re greedy, our pensions are too generous, etc. etc. God bless Lt. Walsh, firefighter Kennedy, and their families and children. And maybe, just maybe, if I’m good, someday I’ll be invited to have a bowl of firehouse chili on Dudley St. before I retire…. (Lyrics are from Luke Bryan’s song, “Drink a beer”… Funny how the good ones go, too soon but the good Lord knows, the reason why it gets… sometimes the greater plan, is kinda hard to under- stand… right now it don’t make sense…. So long my friend, till we meet again. I’ll remember you, and all the times that we used to… sit right here on the edge of this pier… watch the sunset disappear… and drink a beer…) I sincerely want to believe that Engine 33’s Frankie Flynn, Ed Walsh, and Michael Kennedy are sitting up there on the end of a pier, drinking a beer. Keep the cooler full for the rest of us, Frankie…