BRISTOL -- They laid out his firefighter's uniform on a simple wooden table. They propped his helmet with his nickname, Flea, on top.
The guys from Ladder Company 1 had worked all week getting ready for yesterday's wake for 28-year-old Michael Andrade. They painted the fire station door, draped the windows with black bunting, scrubbed the linoleum floor to a shine and tacked down red carpeting.
Andrade's buddies -- Skip, Biz, Burger, Chichi, Bouky, Sly, Messy and the others -- had set their minds on a single task. They wanted to turn the garage of the red brick fire station on the corner of Church and High Streets into a sanctuary.
Andrade, a Rhode Island National Guard specialist, died in Iraq on Sept. 24 when the Humvee he was riding in collided with a fuel truck on a road north of Baghdad.
Andrade, nicknamed Flea because he was skinny and always jumping around, had grown up in this town with its historic Fourth of July parade and the red-white-and-blue stripe down Main Street. He and his wife, Kristin, had bought a house on a quiet cul-de-sac off Broad Common Road. He had a job at JRA Collision Center on Metacom Avenue, repairing and refinishing cars. And for 10 years, he served as a volunteer for Ladder Company 1, called the Dreadnoughts, at the fire station.
So when it came time to chose a place to hold the wake, said Assistant Fire Chief Telly Gatos, it seemed only fitting that it should be at the fire station.
Anthony Merryman, the captain of Ladder Company 1, was up until 2:30 on Thursday morning helping get the place ready, "to make sure it's the perfect day."
Merryman, a burly marine mechanic with a goatee and piercing blue eyes, knew Andrade from the days when they worked together at a bakery. Andrade's younger brother, Kevin, used to ride his bicycle to the fire station when Andrade was on duty. The kid brother couldn't wait until he turned 18, Merryman said, so he could ride the trucks like Michael.
Bristol, a town of just over 10 square miles with fewer than 23,000 residents, depends on its all-volunteer department in ways large and small. People call when they get locked out of their houses, Merryman said, and somebody almost always responds.
One time, Merryman said, a call came in for a fire at a condo. Andrade was trying to cut a hole in the roof. It was raining, and Andrade had climbed up an aluminum ladder. Then a bolt of lightening struck and knocked Andrade off the ladder.
Andrade wasn't hurt, just shaken up, Merryman said, smiling. "He was always the good kid that the weirdest things happen too."
The last time Merryman saw Andrade was at a party. Andrade was training with the National Guard so he arrived late. "He came in with his fatigues on," Merryman said. "It was a sight because he's a tiny kid."
Merryman was in Atlanta attending a training program a week ago when he heard the news about Andrade. He was gazing out the window of his hotel room at the swimming pool and his cell phone rang. Assistant Chief Telly Gatos was on the line.
"I got some word from the military that Flea has passed away in an accident . . ."
Silence.
"I'll call you back," Merryman said.
He caught an early flight home, dropped his bags at the house and spent the next five days at the fire station.
The Bristol Fire Department has lost men before. One took his own life a few years ago; another died in a nursing home, Merryman said, but nothing like this.
Yesterday, less than a mile from the Cape on Shaw's Lane where Andrade grew up, along a tree-lined street of historic colonials, shops closed early and merchants made plans to pay their respects.
A janitor from the elementary school across the street sat on the cement steps of a shop and watched the preparations. Arthur "Skip" Bazinet, 57, had stowed his dress clothes in the school's boiler room so he could change after he got off work. He said he wouldn't think of missing the wake. He'd been serving in the Fire Department since 1975.
A few blocks away, the owner of Goglia's Market, where Andrade had stocked shelves as a teenager, worked the cash register and fretted. Victor Goglia's meat cutter was out sick; he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make the funeral today. But he was going to close at 6 o'clock yesterday no matter what, he said, so at least he would get to the wake.
At 4 o'clock church bells tolled and the line of people outside the fire station snaked around the corner of High Street, past Joe's Barber Shop. Somebody had posted a sign on the door that read: "Closed today & Saturday Wake & Funeral."
In a small vestibule just inside the fire station, on the table next to where Andrade's firefighter's suit was laid out, somebody had made a collage of photographs. There was Andrade the newborn. Andrade praying at his first Communion. Andrade the firefighter. Andrade on his wedding day.
Andrade is one of four children in a large, Portuguese family. His father, Alfred, works as a mason; his mother, Mary Lou, cares for Andrade's twin brother, David, who is disabled. The family was kept away from reporters and photographers; they wanted to grieve in private, one Fire Department official said.
The fire station's garage was too small to hold all of the mourners, so they waited quietly in line.
An older man in a wool shirt and corduroys watched from across the street. He said he'd grown up in Bristol and was visiting from Georgia. He keeps up with the local news and he'd heard about Andrade. He hadn't been back in years, he said, but he was sure he would run into somebody he knew.
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