No peace, yet bound by a mutual friend

By John Howell
Posted 10/27/15

As small as this state is and how interconnected we are, I attended an event Saturday where I hadn’t previously met anyone, and for all intents and purposes I could have been anonymous.

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No peace, yet bound by a mutual friend

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As small as this state is and how interconnected we are, I attended an event Saturday where I hadn’t previously met anyone, and for all intents and purposes I could have been anonymous.

After coming to know him because, by some stroke of fate, he chose to anchor his boat in front of my house about 10 years ago, I attended funeral services for Captain Fredy, Fernando B. Silva, at the Lincoln Funeral Home on Londsdale Avenue. The home is a converted house, and for that reason has a number of smaller rooms that makes it difficult to assess how many people are in attendance, but judging from the parking lot, Captain Fredy had a lot of family and friends.

Captain Fredy showed up this summer in a new boat that he acquired for a dollar. By no means was it new, but it was Fredy’s home and he was proud of the additions he’d made and the joyful yellow he had painted it. As he had done in the past, Fredy picked up a mooring and pretty much stayed to himself, paddling ashore every so often to meet his brother or a friend who would take him on errands, to work on his son’s truck in Cumberland, and occasionally to play Keno.

For those who read this paper, you know the tragic story of Captain Fredy and how he was allegedly killed by two men for about $400 in Keno winnings. The murder allegedly – I use that word because in this country you’re innocent until proven guilty – occurred in the early morning hours of Aug. 1. Fredy’s body wasn’t found until Aug. 15, when it was discovered on his boat as it was moored in Warwick Cove.

Warwick Police did a remarkable investigation that led to the rapid arrest of two suspects. A picture of that investigation emerged last week during the bail hearing for one of the suspects. That story is reported in today’s Beacon, and it appears police and the prosecution could hardly have a more airtight case.

But I wasn’t thinking of that when I crossed the threshold of the funeral home, entering a small foyer before facing a reception line of family. In place of a casket was a table surrounded by flowers. On the table was the picture of Fredy we have published several times. He’s sitting in a dinghy, wearing sunglasses, a cap and a blue life jacket. He is smiling and saluting. It’s one of the few pictures I was able to get of him over all these years.

I went down the receiving line introducing myself and meeting his son, Kenneth, and his daughter in-law, Becky, who contacted me when they weren’t able to reach Fredy on his cell phone in early August. It was somewhat awkward, but I gave Becky a hug.

I found a seat in an adjoining room. It was packed. One younger woman was sitting on the floor, and a number of people leaned against the doorjambs giving to adjoining rooms.

I was in the perfect place to view the video of family pictures of Fredy that scrolled across the screen to saccharine music. There was Fredy as a boy, in his military uniform, on his wedding day with his wife, at the service station and mechanic’s garage he once operated, and much later in life with one of the boats he owned. I was interested in getting a glimpse of the Fredy I hadn’t known, but really it was those who had gathered that had me thinking. I couldn’t imagine a single one of them as being a sailor. They seemed to be there as friends of the family – in support of the family – not Fredy’s friends. While Fredy met many, I suspect he didn’t have many friends. This isn’t to disparage the show of support for family or Fredy’s independent way of life.

It’s to say there was a gulf between me and those gathered, yet a bond. I didn’t have time to ask the question I wanted to ask of those who sat around me: “How did you know Fredy?”

A staff member of the home muted the sound on the video, and a voice came on the intercom asking all to take our seats, not that there were additional seats. The voice of the Rev. Barbara DaCosta filled the room. She immediately addressed a concern to many – a life taken by another.

She said death of a loved one is never easy, but “when trauma is involved the pain goes so much deeper.” She said a death of this nature “causes us to search even more strongly for the answer… and why this horrendous thing was allowed to happen.” In response, she said “nothing shall separate us from the love of Christ,” adding that we “look for justice to prevail.”

Kenneth spoke of his father’s love of country, his resourcefulness, and his persistent efforts to pick up beach trash. He said there were people who thought Fredy was crazy, but “if caring about the planet is crazy, we should all be that crazy.”

I will never be at peace over what happened to Captain Fredy. And I don’t think closure will come easily or quickly for the family. There may be trials. There will be news stories and reminders. Fredy is gone, but figuratively he has not been buried.

Indeed, I came to pay my respects, but more than that I was there to support – if that’s possible – the family. I knew no one, yet I felt like one of the group. I couldn’t ask for more.

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