By Sarah Murphy THE BULLETIN Posted Apr 24, 2013 (Falmouth)
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Falmouth reporter's Notebook: Thinking about tomorrow
The concert was meant to be a diversion. When I ordered Fleetwood Mac tickets last December, I never could have imagined the climate in Boston during the third week of April.
The city was attempting to return to normality on Thursday the 18th, three days after the Marathon bombings, so I left my safe haven of Cape Cod, tentatively crossing the Bourne Bridge. Outside the TD Garden, SWAT team officers were positioned along the streets, and I got a tiny glimpse into wartime life in Belfast or Baghdad. “We know how strong you are,” Stevie Nicks told the audience. “You are Boston Strong and you will make it.”
After the show, my sister, Courtney and my friend, Mary and I decided to take a cab back to my family’s house in West Newton and as we climbed in, a line of police cars sped by. At the house, I learned of the shooting at MIT and wondered if they had been en route. I went to bed thinking about officer Sean Collier and woke up early the next morning to the sound of sirens. I was baffled by the text from my husband. “Lock the doors. You can’t leave the house. One suspect dead, the other on the run. Could be in your area.” Unable to head back to the Cape, I spent Friday watching coverage with Courtney, my brother, Seton, and his girlfriend, Megan, as fire trucks and ambulances whizzed down Auburndale Avenue and Blackhawk helicopters circled above.
Later, when the shelter in place order was lifted, the reporter in me wanted to write a story, thinking maybe that was the reason I got stuck there, so we headed over to Watertown. On Arsenal Street, people were seeking respite from the lockdown, grabbing pizza at Domino’s, walking their dogs, and chatting with strangers, as familiar faces from television news paced around with cameramen in tow. Heads were bent over cell phones, fingers scrolling for the latest updates. The police officer directing traffic was controlled but polite to the confused drivers attempting to continue down the road. “I’m sad and angry and I just want to know why,” said Jenilee Haber of Watertown.
Darkness fell and an MBTA bus sped down the road beyond the barricade with what appeared to be passengers but was packed with police. Soon after, we heard the crackle of gunshots coming from the standoff about a mile away and later, a second round. For some reason, I was more frightened by the barking of police dogs breaking the ensuing silence as a cruiser transported them to the scene. Finally, a ripple of applause slowly floated down the road with building intensity as the news broke and the crowd began to cheer.
The next morning, I headed into the city and the T was packed with families in Red Sox gear on their way to a Saturday afternoon game. A man got on at Lechmere carrying his dog, Ava, a whippet/Chihuahua cross, who was wagging her tail excitedly, and I swarmed in asking to pet her. “She loves riding the T,” he said and passengers nearby laughed. On the Boston Common, people were enjoying a typical day, eating pretzels on park benches, watching the swan boats glide by. Dogwoods were in bloom under a brilliant blue sky. “I can feel the collective relief of the whole city today,” said Kimberly Thorpe of Dorchester.
At the Public Garden, tiny signs were placed in the grass and the most prominent read, “We are all affected by violence, no matter who we are or where we are from, we stand together for PEACE.” It was then that I finally broke down. A few blocks over at the corner of Boylston and Berkeley, the city sounds ceased as a crowd gathered in front of the memorial, leaving flowers and notes, running shoes and candles, sports memorabilia and stuffed animals. The brightly colored display was contrasted by the vast gray expanse of a deserted Boylston beyond the police barrier. There were audible sobs and parents attempting to offer explanation. “The little boy who was at the Marathon loved the Bruins, so that’s why someone left that shirt for him,” a father said delicately to his inquisitive son.
Therapy dogs and their handlers were out in numbers, as people of all ages bent to greet them. Helen and Tom Davis of Therapy Dogs International had arrived earlier that morning with their two Golden Retrievers, Liberty and Independence. “Our job is to hold a leash. They provide the relief,” Tom Davis said. “With a dog, there is no judgment. They just offer unconditional love. They don’t care about race or religion, whether you’re rich or poor,” Helen Davis said. “Right now, the adults need the comfort just as much as children do.”
Bailey Marcus, a senior at Northeastern University from Newark, N.J., was still feeling the effects of the chaos on campus during the lockdown. “No other city could have come together like that,” she said. “It was eerie but amazing.” I approached three police officers, not authorized to comment, so instead I simply offered my gratitude and inquired about their well-being. “We’re changing shifts soon so we’ll be able to get some sleep,” one officer said and smiled warmly. I smiled back through tears. On the way to pick up my car at the Woodland T station, the train was now filled with slightly dejected Bruins fans but the characteristically uncommunicative passengers were still friendly and engaged. “How did they do today?” someone yelled from one end. “Terrible,” the man next to me responded in that lovably inimitable accent. “A lotta penalty minutes.”
I have relied on rays of light in this time of darkness –stories of selflessness and bravery, such as that of Falmouth’s own Andrew Daley, who along with his friend, used a belt and quick thinking to save a woman’s arm. I was buoyed by the news that officer Richard Donohue, seriously injured in the Watertown shooting, is expected to make a full recovery. I am in awe of our hospitals, first responders and law enforcement. And along with the rest of Boston, I was touched by the public outpouring of support from our various sports rivals. I mourn for Martin Richard, Lu Lingzi, Krystle Campbell and Sean Collier, who lost their lives. I mourn for those who lost their limbs, their innocence and their sense of safety.
In the days ahead, I will continue to take comfort in Mick Fleetwood’s reminder to the crowd in Boston. “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”
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