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    A father’s sacrifice is his son’s calling

    40 years after Vendome Hotel tragedy, family, friends honor fallen firefighters

    Bill Greene/Globe staff
    Richard Magee Jr., whose father died in the Vendome fire, is now a district fire chief, who often visits the memorial.
    Firefighters searched the rubble of the Vendome Hotel, which collapsed after a fire had been brought under control on June 17, 1972.

    Just weeks after his high school graduation, on the afternoon before Father’s Day, Richard Magee Jr. returned home around 4 p.m. to find his ­father headed out the door.

    “Where are you going?” the 17-year-old asked his father, a 40-year-old Boston firefighter who typically didn’t begin his shift until 6 p.m.

    “There’s a big blaze, I’m headed in early to give the guys some relief,” Magee Sr. responded, in what neither father nor son realized would be their final conversation.


    That four-alarm fire, which broke out in the abandoned Vendome Hotel at the intersection of Commonwealth Avenue and Dartmouth Street on the ­afternoon of June 17, 1972, drew more than 200 firefighters to the scene before an interior wall collapsed, killing Magee Sr. and eight others.

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    Despite multiple investigations, the cause of the fire remains unknown. No other fire in department history has taken as many firefighters’ lives.

    Forty years later, Magee Jr., now 57 and a district fire chief with the Boston Fire Department, will ­return Sunday at noon for a wreath-­laying ceremony at the site where his father perished.

    Pride in his father’s sacrifice softens the sharp pain caused by memories from the Saturday night before Father’s Day 1972 that are revived in his mind each year.

    “I think I had gotten him a card that year,” Magee Jr. said, adding that each Father’s Day he attempts to focus on the good times — memories of a hard working, caring father — rather than his father's death.


    The moment he realized his father had been killed, he said, “I went numb.”

    After the front porch encounter with his father, he headed to a park to hang out with friends. From there, he marveled at the smoke filling the sky, visible from most of the neighborhood. Not long after the hotel collapsed, his older sister tracked him down at the park, told him something terrible had happened, and insisted he come home.

    Magee Jr. thought maybe his father had been hurt — not an uncommon occurrence for a firefighter.

    Richard Magee Sr. was one of nine men killed.

    But then he spotted his grandfather, also a firefighter, standing on the porch.

    “If my father had been hurt, he would have been at the hospital,” Magee Jr. said. “I saw the look on his face, and I knew.”


    The Rev. Daniel Mahoney, Boston Fire Department’s chief chaplain who was an assistant chaplain at the time, had rushed to the scene when the fire broke out, then left after the flames were subdued.

    He was soon called back.

    After three hours of being hosed down with water, one of the building’s steel beams — ­already weakened by construction underway on the former hotel — crumbled.

    “When I got back, it was a pile of rubble,” he said. “All I could see was smoke and firefighters on top of the rubble moving debris with their bare hands.”

    Firefighters worked until 2 a.m. rescuing 16 men and recovering the bodies of nine victims: ­Magee, 40; Thomas W. Beckwith, 35; Joseph F. Boucher, 27; Lieutenant Thomas J. Carroll, 52; Charles E. Dolan, 48; Lieutenant John E. Hanbury Jr., 46; John E. Jameson, 52; Paul J. Murphy, 36; and ­Joseph P. ­Saniuk, 48.

    “It was really a heartbreaking event,” said Leo Stapleton, the Boston fire commissioner from 1984 to 1991 and a deputy chief at the time of the Vendome fire. “I knew all these guys, that’s the kind of job this is. We’re all brothers.”

    The department and the entire city were devastated by the deaths, said Stapleton, 84.

    “It was terrible for a while,” he said. “But when you’re a firefighter, you know that you have to go on.”

    The first step after recovering the bodies was informing the families of the fallen firefighters, a dismal task that fell to Mahoney.

    “I’ve had to inform loved ones of fallen firefighters 68 times,” Mahoney said. “It never gets easier. In fact, it gets harder each time.”

    The sun was rising on ­Father’s Day as Mahoney ­approached the final house — that of Paul Murphy, where he shared the tragic news with Murphy’s son.

    “Telling a son that his father was gone, on the morning of ­Father’s Day — it was heartbreaking,” Mahoney said.

    In all, 23 children were left fatherless.

    “He wasn’t just my father, he was my best friend,” said ­Phyllis Welby, who was 23 when her father, John Hanbury, was killed in the fire.

    Welby remembers her father as a practical joker — known around the firehouse for his gags — as well as a dedicated father and grandfather.

    “I remember coming home and my daughter’s face being covered in chocolate,” she said. “I was upset because here she is, not even 9 months old, covered in chocolate candy. He thought it was hilarious. That was him.”

    Wesley Lowery can be reached at Follow him on Twitter @WesleyLowery.