Excerpt #3 - Mitch Sturgeon

Excerpt #3

From Chapter 45 – Boston Strong

We watched replay after replay of the two bombs exploding near the Boston Marathon finish line. Kim and I were appalled by the senseless violence, and our hearts went out, not only to the victims, but to the whole city. After a few minutes, Kim wondered out loud, “Should we still go to Boston tomorrow? Does that option even exist?”

In the spring of 2013, my dear friend and longtime Boston resident, Randi, purchased tickets to a traveling Broadway show, Book of Mormon, as a fiftieth birthday present for me. Our show would be on Tuesday, April 16, the day after the marathon.

Before responding to Kim I consulted Google Maps to see how close everything was to the action. “The hotel is near the finish line, so I can’t imagine they will be open,” I said. “But I’ll call them and the theater and see what they say.”

A few minutes later I reported to Kim, “The hotel will be open even though the businesses across the street from it are closed. The theater is quite a distance from the bombings, and tomorrow night’s show will go on as scheduled.”

“You still want to go?” Kim asked.

“I look at it this way. If the hotel will stay open despite all the chaos around them, and if the theater is keeping their schedule, I feel an obligation to give them our business. What better way to say ‘fuck you’ to the terrorists than to go on with our lives, uninterrupted?” I continued, “Plus, there’s no safer city in the world than Boston right now, with all the security they have in place. And those terrorists—I’m sure they are long gone. But, I understand if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I agree with you. Let’s do it.”

I was dead wrong about the terrorists being gone. That issue played out later in the week as the culprits were apprehended in a dramatic chase across several towns in the Boston area.

Randi and her significant other, Al, met us at our hotel, and we walked to the theater district. The atmosphere was surreal. Military-style vehicles roamed the streets. Heavily armed men walked through Copley Square and Boston Common like it was Fallujah or Kandahar. I felt at once sickened and awestruck, vulnerable and protected.

Such an assortment of uniforms. The city cops and the Massachusetts State Police stood out. But so many military and paramilitary individuals looked over us, I couldn’t tell what organizations they represented. I approached one particularly impressive gentleman, both physically and in terms of his dress and his equipment. I asked, “What branch of the armed services are you affiliated with?”

“None. I belong to a private security company out of Worcester. We are made up mostly of retired Special Forces personnel. As soon as the bombs went off, the mayor’s office hired us to come in and help.”

Then, it was his turn. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

I knew what was coming. “Please, ask away.”

“How do you balance on two wheels like that?”