08:37 AM EDT on Friday, September 26, 2003

BY MICHAEL CORKERY
Journal Staff Writer

BRISTOL -- At the automotive shop, the burly mechanic in the cutoff shirt was afraid to talk because he didn't want to cry.

Outside the firehouse, a black helmet lay on the sidewalk surrounded by candles and pots of yellow mums.

And the little house on Shaws Lane shook with such audible grief that the neighborhood grocer walked by but couldn't bear to go inside to deliver his cold cuts.

This was Bristol. The town with the historic Fourth of July Parade and the red, white and blue stripe running down its Main Street yesterday became home to the nation's most recent casualty in Iraq.

Specialist Michael Andrade, 28, died Wednesday on a road north of Baghdad when the Humvee he was riding in collided with a 5,000-gallon fuel truck. He's the third member of the Rhode Island National Guard to die in Iraq this month. Two other members of the 115th Military Police Company were injured in Wednesday's crash.

Andrade's death rippled through many corners of Bristol, the town where he grew up and wanted to settle one day.

Journal photo / Kathy Borchers This house at 28 Shaws Lane, Bristol, is where 28-year-old Michael Andrade grew up and where his parents still reside.

At Goglia's Market, Victor Goglia stood next to the meat counter, filled with sausage and chourice, shaking his head.

Andrade used to stock shelves at the store as a teenager. He lived around the corner in a white house on Shaws Lane; his mother, Mary Lou, stops by the market all the time.

Around town, many people have nicknames, Goglia explained. The kid who missed the fly ball that landed on his head was known as "rock head."

They called Andrade "flea" because of his size. He was short with a slight build.

Goglia couldn't believe it when Andrade said he was joining the National Guard. "He was so small, I didn't think it was in him," said Goglia. He was even more shocked when he heard Wednesday afternoon that Andrade had died in Iraq.

For months, he had been hearing about soldiers dying in bombings, sniper attacks and accidents.

But this was the kid who used to work for him. This was the kid, who literally lived in his backyard.

Goglia did what he always does: He started preparing a meat plate for the family.

He walked down Shaws Lane, a one-way street with a row of nearly identical Cape style houses on one side and an industrial park on the other.

But as Goglia neared the Andrade house, with the American flag hanging in the front yard and two yellow ribbons on the chainlink fence in the driveway, he had to turn back.

The sounds of grief from inside the house were too much. He had a friend deliver the meats.

A few blocks away, past the green grass of Bristol Common, Ladder Company No. 1 had made a sidewalk memorial to Andrade, a 10-year volunteer in the town department: a black fire helmet, perched on a pair of black rubber boots, surrounded by flowers and votive candles. A stuffed monkey sat on top of the hat.

In the bay of the red-brick firehouse, a group of firefighters huddled with department Chief David Sylvaria and Assistant Chief Telly Gatos. Some had pulled their cars up to the firehouse and leaned against the hoods. They all wore T-shirts or polo shirts with the words and logo for the Bristol Fire Department -- a badge of honor around town. Andrade joined the department when he was 18.

They handed out a photo of Andrade in his National Guard uniform and a written statement that read:

Michael Andrade

"Michael Andrade was a proud Bristolian, raised and educated in our town . . . While his tragic death is deeply felt by the entire community and will never be forgotten, we are comforted by the fact that he served not only his country well, but also his town as a member of the Bristol Fire Department."

The firefighters also remembered how surprised they were with his decision to sign up for the Guard. "He just came in one day and said he was going into the Army. We didn't believe him," said one volunteer.

They recalled how proud Andrade was when he came back from boot camp, having gained 20 pounds.

AFTER A FEW MINUTES, the firefighters politely said they didn't want to talk anymore. One walked over to the memorial and relit the candles that had been blown out by the wind.

Around his garage, David Andrade, 34, wore a black cutoff T-shirt with the words: Andrade's Automotive.

His cousin, Michael, loved these shirts or anything with the word Andrade on it. He was proud of his family, a large Portuguese clan that has lived in Bristol for many years.

Michael Andrade was one of four children. He had a twin brother. His father, Alfred, was a mason who laid foundations.

A husky mechanic, with dark hair and tattooed arms, David Andrade said he was having trouble talking about Michael yesterday. He was too upset.

"When he joined, everything was calm," Andrade said about the National Guard.

The Guard seemed like a good stepping stone, possibly to a career in law enforcement. Michael Andrade had worked in private security at Raytheon and for the Navy in Newport.

Things changed. Andrade got married about a year ago and had to look after a stepson.

"The marriage thing happened. Then the war, then boom, they drafted him," said David Andrade.

Michael Andrade and the 115th MP company deployed to Fort Drum, N.Y., in February. They arrived in Iraq in May, after the Bush administration declared that major combat had ended.

David Andrade remembered that his cousin was nervous about deploying, but also a little excited. "He was getting out of Bristol. He had been in Bristol his whole life," Andrade said.

Michael Andrade had much to look forward to on his return. He had just bought a Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle.

His wife, Kristin, sold their house in Warren and bought them a place back in Bristol, in a quiet cul-de-sac off Broad Common Road.

He had a job at JRA Collision Center on Metacom Avenue, repairing and refinishing cars.

Before he deployed, Andrade left a tape of his karaoke performances. In his honor, the shop kept a flea collar on top of the time clock.

Back on Shaws Lane, a handful of cars had parked outside Andrade's parents' house yesterday afternoon.

An elderly woman a few houses away stood in her driveway, pointing toward the house with yellow ribbons.

She was waving her arms and clasping her chest. She spoke no English, only Portuguese. It was unclear what she was saying. But it was clear what she meant.