Saturday

On Tuesday I felt like a failure for not photographing BU students in their dorms and apartments glued to their TVs, watching events unfold after the Boston marathon bombings on Patriot's Day. Granted, this was something that would have taken place on Monday when they were in lock-down, and to be kinder to myself, travelling into and around campus would not have been very easy.

But when I woke Saturday morning to find images on the university's website from Friday night's  celebrating, I literally cried a bit. Just a little. It wasn't a lot. I swear.
I felt defeated. And the worst part was I had defeated myself with stupidity by considering going in after Suspect #2 was captured and the lock-down was lifted but second-guessing myself.

I went to the gym hoping that some physical exertion would help my mood. I was on the elliptical about six minutes before I accepted that the gym was not where I needed to be, got off the machine of torture, went home, showered and hauled it into the city to see what's what.  I knew there was a slim chance of much going on. The city would surely be back to normal by now and people would be getting on with things; going shopping on Newbury Street, attending this afternoon's Red Sox game.

I still had to go see. I still had to document for myself, even if it wasn't at the height of the excitement or during the thrill of the victory.

I started in Kenmore Square where the T stop was burping-up droves of people on their way to Fenway for the game. There was a substantial Boston police and military police presence and they all had a real openness and friendliness about them. One of them took one look at my camera gear and told me "That's quite a rig!"  This surprised me; hadn't they been seeing nothing but big rigs all week?  "Did you guys get any sleep at all last night?" I asked them.

"A few hours last night" they moaned.

I heard compliments to the police ringing out from the passing crowd, "Thanks guys!" and "Well done guys!"

It was pretty cool. The sense I got that the police were holding their heads a little higher than typical likely comes from this feeling that people have a new-found respect for them. Today they do not have the reputation so often placed on them by the public. Today, they are heroes who got the job done in a really big way.

On the streets leading to Fenway, vendors were on fire "Get a free 'Believe in Boston' flag when you buy a program!"  they rang out "Programs! Get yah programs hee-ah!"
In the T to head over to Copley, I saw a runner (or at least she was dressed like one) sitting across from me, wearing a marathon jacket and holding a bouquet of of small orange and yellow roses. To my left was a couple in regular clothes, the girl also carrying a bouquet. I saw a lot of this. Wherever I was within the city.

I exited at Hynes and walked with the crowds to the corner of Boylston and Hereford Streets. Up to that location, it was busy city business as usual. As I approached the gated area where many flowers, notes, signs and photos were placed, it got quiet. Like, funeral viewing quiet.

In the middle of the city, in this one spot, you could have heard a pin drop.  I thought for sure as I was on my way in that it would be a bit of a circus; people clamoring to get photos to show off to their friends. That wasn't the case. It was as if we were all on hallowed ground. People did take pictures, but it wasn't in a sensationalistic kind of way. People were there to pay their respects. And they did that.  The woman in the marathon jacket approached with her flowers and laid them down as she quietly wept.

Looking down Boylston Street beyond the barricade was eerie. Something out of an apocalyptic movie. I've never seen Boylston Street so deserted. I'm not sure anyone ever has.

I walked on, taking Newbury Street. It was a typical Saturday on Newbury; lots of people walking around, talking, smiling, eating lunch al fresco. Until you came to another spot where a side street had been barricaded. At the corner of Newbury and Dartmouth, there were military police on hand who kindly accepted praise whenever it was offered. Which was often. From this vantage point, you could see the beautiful Boston Public Library, her flags still at half-mast.  On the other side of the barricade, a select few in marathon jackets were being handed and getting into white bodysuits. The ones we've seen evidence collectors wear on the news.

As I walked on, there were occasional memorials. A seemingly random light pole near a restaurant was covered with flowers. It was near this corner where I saw a woman approch a trio of police and go down the line, shaking each of their hands, "Thank you...Thank you...Thank you." she praised them quietly. Outside one business there was a huge area where people had written down their thoughts with sidewalk chalk. There was a bucket of chalk in the middle of it all for anyone to add to it if they wished. And in this spot too, where there was only chalk drawing, there was silence and reverence.

It was incredible. Every last person wandering the streets and coming across these sights knew what it was about. I don't mean to state the obvious. What I mean is, everyone felt effected by this. No one was out of the loop or outside it's effects.

Taking a right on Berkeley Street, I was lead back to Boylston, which is where the more substantial memorial had grown by the barricades blocking off the other end of the street. There were police and Red Cross volunteers (not sure why. Perhaps to answer questions?), therapy dogs hanging out, and more and more people. The crowd was large, but with the exception of one girl talking loudly on her phone, it was a respectful crowd.

In the outer rim of the crowd, there was friendly talking, people petting dogs and chatting with their owners, but as I made my way to the front of the crowd closest to the memorial, the sound dimmed again. No one was pushing or shoving to view, they would peacefully get out of each others' way when someone was trying to take a photo. With exception to one couple who, judging from their outfits had been in the marathon themselves, I didn't see one person photograph themselves with the scene behind them.  One man
approached and tied a pair of shoes to the barricade. Periodically, another person would approach, crouch down and lay flowers with the others.  People held each other and read all the words on the notes and signs, taking it all in.

I don't know what I thought I might see going into the city that day. Large crowds of gawkers, maybe. I was pleased and impressed to see what I did; People being human. Being kind and friendly, compassionate.

It definitely made me proud to be a Bostonian.

(To see more images, visit here and scroll down)

Dawn Moore and her son Brady Moore, 7, stop  to pay their respects at a make-shift memorial by the barricades blocking off Boylston Street at Hereford Street April 20, 2013. The Moores are from Sturbridge and were in town to see Blue Man Group.  © Cydney Scott