The Window Closes

The Celtics window was only supposed to be three years.

Tango Is Down

A lot of my friends called me Sunday night to tell me that Osama Bin Laden got killed. I spent the evening out in the North End of Boston with my brother, his girlfriend, his best friend from college, my cousin, my mother and father, and my aunt. We were out celebrating my cousin and brother's birthdays. They were born on the same day, April 27th, three years apart.


On their actual birthday, I took them to the Garden to watch game 7 of the Bruins/Canadiens series. We had a blast cheering on the B's as they finally closed the door on Montreal for good in 2011. That night was just about the three of us, sitting up in the balcony, watching a hockey game and enjoying each other's company. Although no matter how nice it is when the three of us get together like that, we can never fully enjoy it. We can't because there is a fourth who is not at the game with us. His name was Matthew, and he was my oldest cousin on my mother's side. He was Jon's older brother, and he died in 2001 when a plane hit WTC1 where he was working for Cantor-Fitzgerald.


Matthew was a pretty impressive kid. He was really enthusiastic about what was going on in his life but he was also just as enthusiastic about what was going on in your life. His life was moving pretty quickly, too. He had graduated from the University of Vermont and scored a job on top of the world in New York City. He was living at his parent's house in New Jersey while he looked for a place near his big office in Battery Park, which meant he had to be up at 4AM every morning to get on the train in Morristown and join the circus that is the morning public transportation commute in Manhattan. Then he would take the elevator up to the clouds, where he was a young, promising bonds trader in a major New York company. Matthew loved his job. He was 23 years old.

That's Matthew standing behind us. I'm on the right in the green shirt, my brother, Doug, is in the yellow and Jon, Matthew's brother, is kneeling opposite me. Doug and I were raised in Massachusetts, Jon and Matthew in New Jersey. Our mothers are sisters, and their parents lived in Winsted, Connecticut which was a perfect meeting point for us on holidays. A nearly equidistant small town holiday destination for both of our families. That house saw decades of wonderful family parties and when we four boys got together it was always really, really fun. We remained very close through our teens and up through high school and the beginning of college. Even though Matthew was on the fast track to success we knew he would still be around for us. Especially Jon. Jon never questioned it.

On September 11th, 2001, I was a sophomore in college at the University of Colorado. I had a speech due in my public speaking class that morning. It was, ironically, a speech about my family, specifically the various Arcand family businesses. My roommate woke me up at 6am and we watched the news until he had to go to class at 9, my speech was due at 10. My mother called me as I sat alone on the couch, watching the events unfold. I asked her what floor Matthew's office was on, she said it was near the top.

I decided to go to class and give my speech. It went alright. I don't really remember giving it, but I remember that I wore an old work shirt from my father's restaurant. I remember going home and waiting in my room for the call that Matt made it out and was fine. The call never came.

I write about Matthew a lot. It is a helpful way for me to deal with what happened to him. The void he has left in our lives is still felt just as intensely as it was the day of his funeral in October of 01. Especially around this time of year. Jon, Doug, and I all live and work in the Boston area and although we're all quite busy with our various careers we make time to spend together. At dinner on Sunday, our big table of eight had a really fun time together. We told embarrassing stories about each other, we laughed, we reminisced, we smiled. We're a pretty fun family, all things considered.


Then as we were leaving the restaurant and went our separate ways, we all heard that a crew of US Navy Seals had killed Osama Bin Laden. The man responsible for killing our boy. I don't know exactly how everyone else reacted, but my reaction surprised me. I thought I'd be stoked. I thought I would have closure. I thought the news would make me feel good.


It wasn't any of those things. At most, I felt a sense of relief that a man as reprehensible as Bin Laden was no longer alive, but I never pumped my fist. I never cheered. I privately wished that his death was painful, that was about it.


If they had killed Bin Laden on September 12th 2001 it wouldn't have made me cheer. The fact that it happened 9 years later softens the blow all the more. Although I will say this, I give President Obama a LOT of credit here. What he did took some serious courage.

From what I've been following on the news, (and who knows, more details are sure to surface as time goes on) the US had been tracking one of Bin Laden's couriers. A tip they received from a Khalid Sheik Mohammed, or as he's known in certain circles "Carl From Aqua Teen Hunger Force".


So the CIA waterboarded this guy until he gave them the courier's name. They follow the courier to this compound, where they are almost positive Osama Bin Laden is hiding. President Obama then had a decision to make. He could bomb the compound, but he would have to do it without the Pakistani government's permission, and a bombing of a sovereign nation is a big conflict of interest for Obama right now.


Not to mention the fact that they might have dropped the bomb when Bin Laden was out getting a sandwich, and sparked an international incident. Even if they did bomb the compound and Bin Laden was in fact inside, it would be quite difficult to prove that he was actually killed, or even in there at all, since from what I understand, the US uses some pretty big bombs.


So what does Obama do? He sends in the freaking hit squad! A 20+ man team flies into Pakistan in a helicopter under the radar in the middle of the night. 40 minutes. Infiltrate. Acquire target. Firefight. Target down. Recover body. Capture hostiles. Extract.


I gotta admit, that's pretty goddamn cool. It sure beat the Saddam Hussein capture, where they found him living in a hole like a rodent. I have to say, I feel pretty good about being led by a President who was not afraid to send in the SEALS for a mission like this, a high profile mission with a lot at stake politically, fundamentally, and emotionally. Nice job, Mr. President.


But that's it. Aside from that, there is no joy in Mudville. Bin Laden is dead but there are plenty of people who have been taking his place for ten years now. And to anyone who thinks that this may lead to some sort of new attack on the US, give it a rest. These people weren't waiting around for us to kill Bin Laden before they attacked us. Their mission is pretty much ongoing.


Ours is too, and despite the fact that we've cut the head off of this snake there is little for me and my family to really celebrate here.


Oh, and I think those kids dancing on the White House lawn looked like idiots. However, to the people saying that they looked like middle easterners dancing in the streets when the towers came down, get a grip on reality. Cheering the death of thousands of civilians is a bit different from cheering the death of the guy who killed them all. Still, it's cheering death. I choose not to cheer death.


My mother told me once that when someone dies a good way to remember them is to live your life in a way they'd approve of. That's a bit tricky when it comes to some of my relatives from the older generations. I'm sure there is plenty about my life that they wouldn't approve of but that's not saying much. With Matthew, however, I do it subconsciously. Matthew was the oldest, and we all wanted to be like him. He got his license first, he was always listening to cool music. We tried to walk like him, talk like him, just be like him, and we still do. Even though we're now older than he was when he died, we still try to do things he would have thought were cool. We're still trying to impress him. I don't think Matthew would be impressed with the fact that we killed Bin Laden. He would probably be impressed with the details of the tactical strike, but I doubt the overall outcome would be something that really made him jump for joy.


As I pulled into my parking space, talking to an old friend from Colorado who had called me when she heard the news, I shut the engine off and said goodbye. I looked at my phone and saw that I'd missed several text messages from friends informing me about Bin Laden and a few missed calls as well when I was on the other line.


I sat in the car, and quietly wished that my cousin was still around.


RIP Matthew.




-Judge