This is Our F---ing City! April 2013

 

That's how Red Sox slugger David Ortiz put it when he addressed the exuberant crowd at Fenway the day after the second Marathon bomber was caught. While his sentiments may be considered a bit indelicate, anyone who grew up in Boston would understand exactly what he f---ing meant!

When the bombs exploded on Boylston Street, some lives were lost and many lives were changed forever. We could all see this as the television reporters gave us the increasing injury counts over several days. What we couldn't see, what was not as "reportable", was the fact that the blasts from those two disgusting devices ripped open a seam buried deep down in every Bostonian's consciousness and, once opened, that seam poured forth a tremendous amount of wonderful stuff. Out of that newly ripped seam came Ashmont Station with its fabulous complex of ramps and rails, Eggleston Branch Library and one well worn copy of My Turn at Bat, Codman Square and Colstone's restaurant, Jake Wirth's and its sawdust on the floor, White Stadium and Friday afternoon football games against Tech, Gary Geiger, Larry Siegfried, Pie McKenzie, Ross O'Hanlon and all the other non-stars who have worn our teams' uniforms. Out of that seam flew an order of onion rings from Simco's, which was the first destination this old Bostonian chose once he got his driver's license, an apple pie from Jordan Marsh, a bowl of clam chowder from The Union Oyster House, and a couple of dogs from Joe and Nemo's across from the Garden, mustard and relish please.

Those explosions also released a fleet of trackless trolleys from Blue Hill Avenue, a spirited game of boxball on Nantasket Beach, another order of onion rings (What was it about onion rings?) from 7-E's in Quincy, two tickets to a Kim Novak movie at the Paramount, a pickle from the Essex Deli, and a hard salami on pumpernickel  from the G and G.

Forced up from the depths of Boston's collective memory were Ben Scully, standing eerily erect in front of his room at Latin School, Sunday editions of the Globe being sold out in front of Saint Leo's Church on Esmond Street and by vendors at the intersection of Morton Street and Blue Hill Ave., buses, affectionately known as Brighies for their Brigham Circle destination, leaving Dudley Station packed with students, plastic coated book covers from Ivy League colleges, and several 1960's vintage cars with curiously fogged up windows from the MDC skating rink in Milton.

Flowing through all of this stuff, binding it all together, was a remarkable Boston adhesive made of equal portions of love and pride for a city and its people and places.

It's the strongest adhesive known to man. Not even ten thousand pressure cooker bombs could blow it apart.

Boston Strong forever.

Ain't life grand?

J