The Fence - Dick Lehr [22]
Growing up in South Boston, Kenneth Michael Conley always wanted to be a cop. His uncle Russ—his father’s oldest brother—was on the force and worked for years at the same station where Kenny was eventually assigned—Area D–4. As a boy, he had been impressed by his uncle’s uniform. “I’d see my uncle coming home, in his uniform with his partners, coming to see my father, and it excited me.” In addition, Kenny’s boyhood perspective on his uncle’s duties neatly fit with the Southie virtue of help thy neighbor. “I like to help people,” he said. To a question in his eighth-grade yearbook asking what he would be doing twenty years later, Kenny’s answer was: “Boston Police Officer.”
His modest upbringing was one of the typical Southie stories unfolding within a few blocks of home. When he and his twin sister, Kristine, were born on December 11, 1968, his parents lived in a third-floor walk-up at 599 East Fourth Street with their first-born, Cheryl. His parents, Ken and Maureen, or “Moesie,” were both from Southie. They’d met when their respective “crowds” crossed paths. Maureen; her oldest friend, Peg O’Brien; and their other friends hung out at Frank and Rosie’s on N and Sixth Street. Kenny and his pals hung out at a spa one block away, on N and Fifth. Maureen and the girls would go to the spa for pizza and to play the jukebox, and the guys in Ken’s crowd would follow them back to Frank and Rosie’s. “Before long it was one crowd,” said Peg O’Brien. Ken, who was four years older than Maureen and a high-school dropout, worked as a truck driver and later as a track worker for the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority, or “the T.” Maureen worked for an insurance company, but quit when Cheryl was born. Within a couple of years, though, Maureen and Peg got part-time jobs at Gillette, headquartered in Southie, testing new deodorants. They’d sit with a “panel” of other women in hot rooms with pads under their sweating armpits to test the effectiveness of the deodorant. The two friends worked as a tag team, alternating between work and home. While Maureen worked, Peg watched Cheryl; when Peg worked, Maureen watched Peg’s daughter.
“Kind of like Lucy and Ethel,” Peg O’Brien said. “I think it was for about ninety minutes a day. We got paid about $35 a week.” When the twins Kenny and Kris were born, Maureen decided to stop working again and stay at home with her three kids.
The Conleys lived in a four-bedroom apartment with a single bathroom, one block from East Broadway, which, along with West Broadway, was Southie’s main commercial street. The two Broadways ran the length of Southie, from Boston Harbor on the east to a bridge on the west side that connected the neighborhood to the city. For a third-floor apartment, the Conleys’ home did not have much of a view. They looked out onto the asphalt parking lot of the telephone company building that occupied the entire block from East Broadway to the side street—H Street. The far side of the parking lot actually rose uphill, an incline leading to the back entrances of some retail businesses on East Broadway. Kenny Conley called the tiny hill Tar Hill. In the winters after a fresh snowfall, he and his pals used it for sledding. The “trail” began atop a sliver of grass, ran under an iron railing, and then across the asphalt lot. The chain-link fence at the sidewalk served as a safety net, stopping their sleds from shooting out onto the street.
The Conley homestead was only 3.8 miles from where Mike Cox and his family were living in Roxbury—but the two neighborhoods were a world apart. Southie was overwhelmingly white and Irish—and had been since after the Civil War when the first wave of Irish immigrants moved into the area.
In the other three-decker apartments and row houses surrounding the Conleys lived families much like their own, where the breadwinners mainly worked in the trades, the public utilities, Gillette, “the T,” or the police and fire departments. The median family income