Memories of Timmy Shields

I’ve spent the day struggling with the need to say something meaningful, in tribute to my good friend, Timmy Shields, whose passing I learned of early this morning. My words are far too small. No combination of letters could capture the absolutely hysterical individual he was, the true, loyal friend, and the enormity of his heart. I feel cored, hollow like a gourd. Missing does not even begin.

I’m thinking about our trips to the Gorge, chasing wave trains together, renting mountain bikes and climbing for a solid hour and a half in 95-degree temps, laughing and cursing alternately, vowing revenge on the bike rental guy who assured us the trails were only fifteen minutes away. I’m thinking about him making our group of paddlers “firehouse eggs,” about him gifting me Boston Fire Department hoodies and shirts. When I’d wear them, people would always thank me for my service, and I loved it, because I’d get to brag with pride about my buddy the firefighter, who gave them to me.

I’m thinking about the Shark Bite Challenge, when Timmy picked up a guitar from the fireplace hearth, and launched into his infamous “Dolphin Song,” replete with clicks, squeaks, whistles, and dolphin chatter, to lure them closer to our balcony overlooking the water.

I’m thinking about Ray-Ray Fusco and I showing up at the Gorge when Timmy, the Flan Man, and Chrissy Bear rented this massive state-of-the-art motor home on wheels, and how they all contracted some stomach flu, trapped in the confines of their metal box, passing it from one to the other. They were ready to kill one another, in the touching way that only the closest of friends, brothers actually, could enact.

I’m thinking about his recount of paddling in CA with Pat Hemmens and crew, falling off the ski, and dorsal fins popping immediately up in the water, him yelling, “Shahk! Shahk! Shahk!” (Only dolphins, once again…) In his Boston accent, I was always “Mahk! Mahk! Mahk!”

I’m thinking about our weekly chats, and even more frequent texts, just picking up the phone to shoot the shite about boats, bikes, whatever, and how this will no longer be. About planning to visit and paddle the “Hahbah” with the boys, about riding the mountain bike trails from his newly purchased place in VT. Yes, missing does not even begin.

Wherever your spirit lies, my friend, I hope you’re calling dolphins and chasing wave sets. Love you, bud.

Like many of us we would see Timmy at most of the races here in New England like the Blackburn, Sakonnet River Race, Run of the Charles, and later seeing his buddies at the Gorge. My remembrances of Timmy all are around paddling. My first memory was Timmy at an early Sakonnet River Race showing up late and finishing late in his sea kayak. This was before he got his first surf ski. Timmy was fond of owning several boats hoping he would find the holy grail. I remember one conversation where he asked me about his technique. He was a little disappointed in his latest race results. I said with a smile, “You got to train Timmy”.  While many of us focused on our training and results, Timmy focused on having a good time and seeing all his buddies. It did not matter if he trained or not, he was in for the camaraderie and fun.! It is this spirit, I like about Timmy.

I was always happy to see Timmy with his warm smile and greeting “What’s going on Bruther”? We would talk about boats or race conditions, or even touch on training.  His sense of humor often made me laugh. Along the way,  I bought several boats from Timmy meeting him at the Fire Station where he was a long-time Boston fireman, and once at his home in West Roxbury. My wife and I also got one of our dogs, Daisy, from a friend of a friend of Timmys.

The paddling community will certainly miss Timmy, his big smile, his sense of humor, his friendship,  and his service to the country as a young Marine and later as a firefighter. I am sure in another life, we will see Timmy again asking us “Where have you been Bruther?”