Troy’s pickup wasn’t in the parking lot the next day when I got to work.
“Your partner booked,” Brian Sajack told me when I checked in to get the vehicle keys and radios.
“Is he okay?”
“Hmm. How to answer? Let’s say this, after he told me he wasn’t coming in, Linda comes on the same phone and says she’s booking off too. I’d say he’s doing okay. I didn’t write a reason down on the book off form. Don’s in a stew this morning.”
Just then Don Seurat walked in. “You know where Troy is?” he demanded of me.
I shook my head. “I heard he called in sick.”
“Did he say anything to you about booking today?”
“Last I knew he was coming in.”
“How about Linda?”
“Didn’t talk to her.”
He said to the supervisor. “How are the order-in’s going?”
“I’ve got Melnick coming in to work with Lee and Jen Dumont and Jared Goldberg are coming in. Scott Thompson and Ron Talit said they’d come in when they get off at the fire house.”
“Keep working the phones. And don’t accept any more book-offs.”
“What’s up with all that?” I asked when Seurat had left.
“You mean aside from Troy and Linda? We’ve got Senator Shrieb coming in to town to announce his candidacy and the Hector Ruiz funeral, which the words from the cops is might be a bigger parade than New York last gave the Yankees. We had to call Ben in on his wife’s birthday to replace Linda on the Shrieb standby. He’s on his way to the airport. Now Shrieb’s a presidential candidate, the little man’s getting secret service and the works.”
Melnick and I were told to station ourselves down by the funeral service in case there was any violence or anyone got sick. In the event anything happened we needed our response to be quick.
It was cloudy with an imminent threat of rain. The air was damp and the wind picked up occasionally and brought an unseasonable chill. The procession began at the funeral home on Wethersfield Avenue, turned left at Park Street and went all the way to Pope Park where an open air service was to be held. Shops closed down. People lined the streets. Many ran out into the road and laid flowers and offerings on the small flatbed truck that carried Hector’s casket, guarded by six mourning friends who wore dark suits. Hector’s family and friends rode behind. Many of the on-lookers joined in as the parade went past.
Marchers carried photos of Hector, other held signs. End the Violence. No to Drugs. Save our Streets. Some carried the flag of Puerto Rico, others the American Flag.
“I don’t get it,” Melnick said. “What’s the big deal? This guy was a hoodlum? How does he rate a funeral procession?”
“He’s a symbol,” I said.
“A symbol?”
“They aren’t mourning him,” I said. “They’re mourning what’s happening in their community, and mourning they can’t figure out how to stop the violence.”
“Put away the guns and pick up the books,” he said. “Get a job.”
I handed him the ambulance’s PA mike.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not wearing a vest.”
There were over two thousand spectators in the park. On the stage community leaders, ministers and people who knew Hector addressed the crowd. His grade school teacher read a poem he had written. His minister told of his struggles with faith.
Think what you want about Hector, about the gang-bangers and the violence, being there listening to the voices from Park Street, hearing their stories and their pleas, you couldn’t help but feel the pain of their struggle. These were people like anyone else. People who just wanted their children to grow up with a chance for a good life. One by one they spoke of their hopes, their dreams for a real world where they could just be left alone to live their lives.
Helen Seurat stood on the stage next to Papi Ruiz, and other members of Hector’s family. She spoke only briefly. “Hector adore su familia,” she said in a slow steady Spanish. “Pero de este amor, su famila vino a saber solamente dolor.”
Even Melnick listened.
“El era un hombre,” she said, “que perdio su camino.” He was a man who lost his way.
When the service was over, they carried Hector’s casket up the hill to the cemetery. They buried him and adorned his grave with flowers.
