From his front stoop in Natick, Ron Simmons has watched two dozen Boston Marathons pass by, shoulder to shoulder with his neighbors. The whole town comes out each year, cheering long after the elite runners have finished in Copley Square. It is a magical day, he said, a day when tradition holds and spirits lift.
Now, on a day where the world felt shaky and unfamiliar, Simmons feared that the Marathon he knew was gone. Those responsible for the bombs that exploded near the race’s finish line had stolen it, he said.