18 October 1993 - Malden, Massachusetts

Jeff was reading a book in the condo’s living room before his shift when the phone rang; he’d be working a three p.m. to seven a.m. shift in two hours. He glanced at the Caller ID box next to the phone. “Harry, is that you?” he asked.

“Hey, Jeff. You’ve got Caller ID, don’t you?“

“Sure do, buddy. I know you didn’t call to chat at one hundred fifty dollars a billable hour, so what’s up?”

“What, I can’t call to say hi?“

“‘Hi, Harry.’ Now, I say again: what’s up?”

“Okay, okay. I think I know what your answer to this will be but, as your attorney, I am required to present this offer to you... “

“Get to the point, Counselor.”

“Hey, that was pretty good; you sounded just like some judges I know... “

“You’re charging me by the syllable, aren’t you?”

“Geez, a guy can’t have a sense of humor... ? Anyway, WREMS has made another offer to settle out of court.“

“Great, I’m sure it will be as insulting as their last one. Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Five hundred thousand and a bilateral non-disclosure agreement.”

Jeff closed his eyes and took some slow, deep breaths. “Harry, when I say this, please understand that I am not angry at you; I am not going to kill the messenger.”

“I’m a big boy, Jeff. Let me have it.“

“Here goes. You go back to those assholes in Westfield, and you tell them that their offer is even more insulting than the one they made back in August; what I really want you to say is that they can shove their offer up their collective asses like a rolled-paper enema. I know that’s not polite language, so I’ll let you clean up the wording of my refusal. My counter offer is this: ten million. And that’s ten million NET, Harry, not gross; they’re gonna pay the taxes and court costs.” Jeff heard Harry inhale sharply.

“Harry, those bastards tried to take my livelihood away. Fifty thousand is two year’s salary at a good-paying company, like where I am now. Five hundred thousand might cover my potential salary over the length of a twenty year career, but not the defamation of character I endured; nor does this offer come close to covering the pain and suffering caused when I had to move away from family and friends involuntarily due to the actions of their company.”

“I fully understand that their former general manager was at the heart of what happened, but he’s disappeared so they’re left holding the bag. They hired him to represent them at one time, and he acted in their name. Someone’s hide is getting nailed to the wall and theirs is the one currently in my sights.”

“This is a bit of a gamble, Jeff. I’ll present this to them, you know that, but they’re already on shaky ground financially.”

“Other than seeing you get something out of this I don’t care, Harry. They think they can throw some money at me and make me go away. If they don’t realize the story of what that numbnuts tried that day isn’t already out there, then they’re too stupid to stay in business. Better that they fold now so that any good folks still working there can find decent jobs. I’ll go as low as four million net, Harry, so that you get an even million.”

“Remind me never to piss you off.“

“Go big or go home, Harry. In all seriousness it’s good to talk to you but, I’m working at three, so I do have to go.”

“No worries, Jeff. I’ll keep you in the loop on this. Talk to you later.“

“Bye, Harry.” Jeff shook his head while he hung up. He walked upstairs to get ready for work.

A month later Jeff and Aaron were given a present - a new EMT to train; the newbie was named Sean McNeil. Sean was a twenty-two year-old man who was clearly not from New England.

“How far south of the Mason-Dixon line are y’all from?” Jeff asked.

“Clinton, North Carolina, sir.”

“Hey, I’ve been there! I was stationed at Fort Bragg back in the late ‘80s. And don’t call me ‘sir, ‘ Sean; I was a sergeant! I worked for a living! How’d you wind up here among all us Yankees?”

“I just finished my business degree at Duke. I’ve always been interested in EMS, so I also picked up my EMT down in Carolina. I want to get into the business world, but I think I’d like to be in the EMS part of it. It took me all summer to get everything accepted by Massachusetts; I got everything finalized last week. I wanted to move out of Carolina and I picked the Boston area.”

“Where are you living?”

“Up in Melrose.”

“Did they give you the grand tour during your orientation day?”

“No, I filled out all my paperwork but then I had to scoot; the gas company had to check the fitting on my stove that day.”

“Well then let’s get that done. Come on.”

Jeff showed him the layout of the base and walked him through the office area. Knowing Mr. Brophy would want to meet a new employee, Jeff knocked on the open door to his office.

Seamus looked up. “Hey, Jeff. Who do you have with you?”

“Mr. Brophy, this is Sean McNeil; he’s starting today. Sean, this is Mr. Seamus Brophy, president and owner of Brophy EMS.”

“Welcome, Sean,” Mr. Brophy said, extending his hand.

“Thank you, sir. Glad to be here.”

The portable on Jeff’s belt crackled with the sound of dispatch hailing his ambulance. “Sorry, sir. We have to go.”

“I’ll see you boys later.”

“He seems pretty down-to-earth,” Sean commented as they walked back to the garage and Ambulance Twenty-two.

“He knows everyone’s name here; he’ll even remember your kids’ names if you have them. I’ve been here three months and I already don’t want to leave. Most of us here feel that way.”

“Hey, Jeff.”

“Hey, Tim,” Jeff replied to Malden Catholic’s track coach, Tim O’Halloran, while he tied the laces on his running shoes. “You guys using the track?” Jeff asked, surprised. It was the first week of December; the light was fading in the late afternoon.

“No, I’m just getting some running of my own in. I like to run on the track once in a while, not on the road; you can kinda zone out, ya know?”

“I do. Plus I can get interval workouts in. I’m glad the snow’s gone; running on the treadmill in my basement’s not quite the same.”

“No, sir, it is not.”

Jeff planned to run a punishing six miles of quarter-mile sprints alternating with a quarter-mile of jogging. Tim waved goodbye after Jeff started his third mile. Jeff was exhausted, though he also felt better, after he’d completed his run. He walked back to his car to cool off before driving back to the condo.

“What? They’re splitting up the band?”

“‘Fraid so, Jeff,” Aaron said the next day; Sean had the day off. “With Frank leaving for Somerville Fire they need someone to work with Carlie; she’ll need more work than Sean.”

“Who’s going to be working with Sean, then?”

“You are, Slick.”

“Me? They’re gonna let me work without a net? I’ve only been here five months!”

“Yes, but you’ve got a year and a half of working EMT experience plus the time you were an NCO in the Army. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you’re decisive, you’ve got great skills and you’re great with the patients. You’re ready.”

Jeff broke the news to Sean when they both reported for their next shift three days later. “Ready to ride, Sean?”

“What about Aaron?”

“You’re off your third-ride time, remember? It’s just you and me in the Twenty-two bus from here on out, kid. You ready?”

Sean looked uncertain. “I don’t know...”

“Aaron and I told Marty you were ready last week. You’ll be fine.” Marty was Marty Friedman, the training coordinator for Brophy. “Come on, we’ve got to get the coffee order and get over to Malden Hospital for our first call.”

Sean was quiet when they went to get the coffee for the office staff; he was just as quiet on the ride over to Malden Hospital for their first call of the day. He was more animated with their patient while they returned her to one of their contracted nursing homes in neighboring Medford.

“You better now?” Jeff asked after they’d cleared the call.

“I guess. What if I mess up, Jeff?”

“You will.” Sean looked at Jeff sharply when he said that. Jeff shrugged. “We all did when we started, Sean. You’re going to make mistakes, that’s part of being human. Are you going to make the same mistake more than once? That’s the real question, Sean.”

“I try not to do that.”

“There you go then. This job is tough on people; you may have already seen some of that, maybe not. You’ve got to be able to have fun while we do this. Don’t let it eat you up.”

“Have you seen lot of that since you started?”

“I hear about it. People stick with this about a year then get out, or they’re in it forever from what I’m starting to notice. I also hear that this job can be like carpal tunnel syndrome - repetitive strain; police work, firefighting and emergency nursing are the same way.”

“How have you dealt with it?”

“Mainly by working out. I hang out with my friends who would understand, friends I’ve made here or the other place I’ve worked. You’ve met Charlie at the Malden ER? She and I went to the same high school; she graduated the year after I did. We’re pretty comfortable with each other, and we can relate somewhat to the stresses the other experiences.”

“You’re making me nervous now. How do I know I’ll be able to handle it?”

“We need to be somewhat nervous; we have to stay vigilant, to watch out for ourselves and our coworkers. And how did I know I’d make it through Basic Training? Through Airborne School? Panama? I shared experiences with people I knew. Losing my best friend during the Gulf War hit me pretty hard, but I got through it because I was able to talk to people who understood my pain; I spent a week with Ken’s family and had friends in Enfield who could relate, fellow combat vets. I think people who do this job need to talk about what we see; the stoic act is bullshit in my opinion.”

Sean looked thoughtful while they drove down Route 60.

Just after New Year’s Day 1994 Jeff and Sean were working together as they had been for the past month. Towards the end of their Tuesday double, a seven a.m. to eleven p.m. shift, they were given one last call.

“Ambulance Twenty-two, the Malden Center MBTA Orange Line station, Commercial Street side, for the man down.”

“Twenty-two, we have the Center T station on the Commercial Street side,” Sean answered.

“Gee, the T station at 9:45 at night. I wonder what the problem is?” Jeff asked.

“I haven’t been doing this very long, but I’m guessing he’s out of alcohol.”

“Listen, pal, there’s room for only one cynical, sarcastic bastard in this truck and I have seniority,” Jeff laughed. Sean chuckled along with him. The weather on this night was no joke, however: below freezing with a fifteen mile-an-hour north wind; it was the kind of weather that could suck the heat out of you in a hurry.

Sean parked their ambulance behind the two police cruisers - one fom Malden, one from the MBTA - and the Malden Engine. The MBTA police officer met them and guided them to the elevator; it was normally restricted, but they didn’t have to worry about passengers at this hour. They emerged onto the platform and approached the knot of first responders.

Scott Nyquist, the Malden police officer, saw Jeff approaching and said, “It’s George.” “George” was George Adler, a member of the small homeless population in Malden, a “frequent flyer” and an angry drunk; George was in his late 30s. From twenty feet away Jeff could smell the booze and piss George was covered in.

Jeff positioned the stretcher next to George with Sean’s help; George made a fuss when they lifted him onto it, but settled down when they bundled him up against the cold. Jeff tried to ask him some questions, but George ignored him. Jeff then tried to help George out of his coat, which was wet, once they were in the ambulance. George became agitated and pulled violently away.

“Okay, George, relax,” Jeff said in a soothing voice. Sean was in the driver’s seat waiting for him to give the sign he was ready to go, or needed help. “Relax. I’ll need some information first - just the basic facts. Can you show me where it hurts?” Jeff asked, quoting Pink Floyd.

George did something unexpected when he heard that: he smiled. He sang back in a clear voice that hinted at the power behind it.

There is no pain you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying...

Jeff joined in with a somewhat less melodious voice. He gave a startled Sean a thumbs-up that he was ready to go, then another one when Sean asked if they were going to Malden Hospital. Jeff and George finished singing “Comfortably Numb” while Jeff obtained vitals and called Malden ER.

“George, that was pretty awesome. Do you sing a lot?”

George stared out the back window of the ambulance. “I used to.”

“Why did you stop?”

George looked back at Jeff. “Not much left to sing about. I’m a drunk and I’m homeless. I lost my job and wife due to the first, then became the second.”

“Do you want to be those two things?”

George looked at Jeff like he was crazy. “No,” he snorted.

“Ask the folks at the ER for help and let them help you, then. They can get you into a place where you can start to change.”

“I’ve treated them like shit for too long. They won’t help me.”

“Apologize to them. Be sincere and own your behavior. Don’t blame it on the alcohol, either; point the finger at yourself, not the bottle.” George shook his head, looking defeated; tears began to leak from his eyes. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, George. You can do this.”

“Why?”

“Why what, George?”

“Why do you care? I know I’ve treated you like shit in the past.”

“George, all of us - police, fire, EMS, the folks at the hospital - we all got into our careers because we want to help people. We get frustrated when people reject that help and they keep getting themselves right back into the same situations over and over. We react when people lash out and we react badly because we care. If you show the folks at the ER tonight that you really want the help, they’ll give it to you. It’ll be up to you to make the most of that help.”

George nodded, wiping his face. “God, I stink,” he whispered to no one in particular. “I wish I still had my guitar.”

“Guitar?”

“It used to help me think. I’d play and the music seemed to help me think clearer.”

Jeff patted him on the shoulder while they backed into Malden’s ER bay. George began to look scared as he realized his ultimate fate was bearing down on him; his actions in the next two minutes would determine if he ever saw age forty. He did something he hadn’t done years: he thanked someone for helping him. When Sean and Jeff unloaded the stretcher, George turned to Sean and thanked him before they walked into the hospital.

The hospital staff made sounds of resignation when they realized who’d just arrived. George’s head dropped. None of the staff saw that he wasn’t his normal loud, defiant self. All they saw was the dirty abusive drunk George normally was. Sylvia marched into George’s room with the storm clouds already gathered over her head. Jeff started to give his report but saw she wasn’t interested; she threw a gown at George without a word.

Jeff saw the resignation cross George’s face; he’d given up in that moment when the gown flew through the air. Jeff caught his attention and held up a finger, signaling for him to hang on.

“Sylvia, could we talk in the hall?” Jeff asked in a quiet voice. She rolled her eyes, but joined him outside the room. “Sylvia, give him just one more chance, please?” She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to roast her first-born on a spit. “I know I don’t really have any cause to ask you for this favor, but I’ll bet anything that if you give him the chance, he’ll apologize to you and ask for help. I bet that he’ll apologize to every staff member here tonight and that includes housekeeping staff.”

“Fine,” she said in an exasperated voice. “He gives me any shit and I’ll roast him on a spit!”

“If he disrespects you guys in any way, I’ll shove the spit up his backside for you.” Sylvia snorted and smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks, Sylvia.”

Jeff walked to the EMS charting area where Sean was sitting with the hospital admission sheet in hand. Jeff took it with a “thank you” and began writing his paperwork.

“How’d you get through to him?”

“By accident, Sean; that was pure luck. I was goofing around, expecting him to be his normal self, and started quoting Pink Floyd lyrics at him. He surprised me when he started singing back. Man, is his voice something, or what?”

“Shocked the hell out of me, that’s for sure.”

“That gave us a connection I could use to get him to open up to me. I don’t know what demon is chasing him, but I can see how I could have wound up where he is. ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”

“What do you mean?”

“If my family and friends hadn’t been there for me after Ken was killed, I can see myself being eaten up by his death. I suppose I care too much in a sense. It’s too easy for folks to lose sight of the fact that the answer they’re looking for isn’t at the bottom of the bottle. All that’s there is a pit to more pain and heartache.”

Jeff spent the next day at the condo doing minor repairs. The ladies wanted to repaint the living room and he needed to do some prep work before he’d start in on that the next morning. He was putting his tools away, getting ready to start dinner, when Charlie came home. She’d worked the seven a.m. to three p.m. shift at the ER today. She put her bag down before wrapping him in a tight hug and giving him a solid kiss.

“Hi,” he said, in a slight daze. “What did I do to deserve that and can I do it again?”

“George was still in his room when I arrived this morning; he wasn’t transferred to detox until about ten. He looked me in the eye when I went in to check on him and apologized for how he’d treated me personally over the years. He went overnight from the patient most hated by the ER staff to someone we’re rooting for! How did you do that?”

“I talked to him, Charlie.” Jeff told her of their impromptu karaoke session in the back of the ambulance the night before. “I’ve got to see where he lands after detox; I’ve got to try and get a guitar into his hands.”

“Guitar?” she asked, unknowingly echoing his question from the night before.

“He sings and plays guitar like you, Charlie. He told me he used to think better when he could play.”

Charlie said nothing, opening the door to the basement. He heard her descending the stairs before she could be heard rummaging around. She found what she was looking for and was soon heard ascending the stairs. She stepped back into the kitchen holding a guitar case. She put the case down on the floor and extracted a bare-bones six-string acoustic guitar.

“This has been downstairs since we moved in,” meaning her and Emilie. “I’d forgotten about it until just now. This guitar doesn’t hold any sentimental value for me, and it’s going to waste down there. If we can figure out where he’s going to be after he dries out, we can give him this one.”

Towards the end of January Jeff was once again running on Malden Catholic’s track. He’d picked up overtime at Brophy, covering a seven to three day shift. As a consequence it was after dark by the time he’d started his run. It was hovering around freezing, warm for this time of year, but Jeff was dressed for it. A Malden police cruiser flicked its lights on briefly as he’d finished his first lap of his run; they were saying hello as they headed for the coffee shop just beyond Catholic’s “campus.” Jeff waved in acknowledgment.

Jeff dropped into automatic mode, zoning out as he ran. Part of him was lost in thought as he ran; a small portion of his brain kept him on the track and out of the snow still lingering on the grass. He was running through possible work schedules that would fit with his likely paramedic school schedule in the fall. He’d finally decided to apply; if he could get in classes would start just after Labor Day.

Jeff entered the turn on the far side of the track from the end of the stands where his car was parked. He was on his slow lap and would kick back into high gear when the straight-away started at the end of those stands.

He vaguely registered a figure wearing a hooded sweatshirt emerge from the dark shadows near the stands. That person passed through the gate on the perimeter fence as Jeff started to come out of what he thought of as “Turn Four.” Just before Jeff began his next sprint lap, that person stepped onto the track proper.

The figure stepped in front of him and pulled a knife.

Oh, for love of...