By JEFF KOLB
CHAMBERSBURG – Boston is a long way from here.
But for me, it’s not. I live here in the 717 with you, a sports reporter at the Public Opinion since November. But for the past four years, I’ve been a Bostonian to the bone.
The events that unfolded April 15, as I attempted to cover a historic local baseball game, were devastating for me. Hundreds of miles away, my home was bombed with my friends in it.
Emerson College is on the Boston Common, a beautiful green space in the heart of the downtown. The Little Building (oddly, yes, a 12-story dormitory) on the corner of Boylston and Tremont streets, is where I lived until I graduated last May with my broadcast journalism degree.
For me, Boylston Street – where the Boston Marathon concludes near Copley Square each year – is an avenue of memories. On that street I’ve taken dates to restaurants, had nights out on the town at the various bars with my friends, even witnessed world championship sports parades.
The night Barack Obama won the 2008 presidential election, a group of fewer than 100 Emerson students traveled down Boylston Street in celebration. By the time it reached the Christian Science Church reflection pool, thousands of area students had joined in, running through the water, losing shoes and bikes and not caring in the least, exhilarated by the history of the night.
It’s a tough city, full of gritty people who love their sports. Of course, they share the hard “Bahhhhston” accent,
that of Mark Wahlberg in the movie “Ted,” or Matt Damon in “Good Will Hunting.” “How ya like them apples!”
It’s a small city, but with a strong pulse.
When I took my camera down Boylston Street to the finish line of the marathon on April 16, 2012, as a video assistant for the Boston Herald, the thought that I could be at risk of being the victim of a terrorist attack never crossed my mind. To think how lucky I am that these bombings were not last year still gives me chills.
So many emotions flew through my mind when I heard that bombs had gone off on Boylston. Were my friends there? Were they hurt, or even dead? (Eight Emersonians were hospitalized; none died, thankfully, and from what knowledge I have, those students at least aren’t missing any body parts.)
Which of my favorites spots were demolished? Did this really happen in Boston? I love every inch of that street. I’ve walked it hundreds of times.
A little more than a week later, I can’t express how proud I am of Boston. Boston Strong!
As shocked as I was at the news of the bombings in Boston, I was unsurprised by the response we all witnessed from the police, government and people of Boston.
People in Boston aren’t just tough, but smart too. Like 35,000-plus Red Sox fans screaming the words to Neil Diamond’s ‘Sweet Caroline’ in unison during the middle of the eighth inning of a playoff game at Fenway Park, the people of Boston cooperated as one last Friday, allowing police complete concentration on tracking down the brothers Tsarnaev. Bostonians spoke out on social media to help pinpoint the bombers. They were amazing.
I’m like a lot of people in this country and world: a Bostonian at heart. Just like the diehard following of Red Sox fans call themselves the ‘Nation’, so too now do Bostonians have a nation, a family of people who share a common love for the city. Lyrics from the Standells song “Dirty Water” never held more truth: “Boston, you’re my home!”
We Bostonians aren’t perfect; we should have been more vigilant. People should have been more involved in the life of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev – for me, that’s the main takeaway from all of this. As a former resident assistant, I know that involvement in the lives of 19-year olds like him can make such a difference. This could have been prevented or detected.
But what’s done is done. Tragedy is an ancient Greek word about a phenomenon that won’t disappear from the world anytime soon.
Boston and its nation suffered last week, but it’s come back stronger than ever. We banded together for an unprecedented counter to terrorism.
It might not have been reversing an 86-year old curse of terrorism attributed to a man named “The Great Bambino,” but it felt even better.
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Jeff Kolb is a sports reporter for Public Opinion.