Thursday, November 25, 1999 Older Editions

It's marshal McQuade

By Neil Fater

As the man responsible for keeping Andover's roads safe, newly retired public works director Bob McQuade has long hated snow. At the first sight of a flake, his pulse would quicken and he'd be on the phone to every highway official he could find.

"If I see a flake, I try to ignore it and don't bring it up. But if he sees it, he's onto the Weather Channel," laughs his wife, Ruth McQuade. "Even now, the Weather Channel is his favorite channel. I said to him the other day when he had it on for the third time, 'Do we have to watch this?' I suppose it just became a habit after a while."

That story tells a lot of what you need to know about Bob McQuade, say co-workers. He was a man who was always his job, always in touch with his employees -- and a guy who really hated winter.

So it seems a bit strange that McQuade will usher in winter as the Grand Marshal of this Sunday's Firefighters Santa Parade, which forms behind the Town Offices, starts at 1 p.m. and parades through the downtown. But firefighters say they had to do something for the man who has given so much to the town.

Although McQuade made a point to avoid the spotlight during his lauded career, firefighters were able to do two things few have ever done before -- convince McQuade to change his mind, and accept a public honor.

"Because of who asked, I was very honored. My peers -- I hold them in high esteem so I felt very good about it," says McQuade.

"I don't like publicity much, so when they first mentioned it, it surprised me," he says. "But then I got serious and based on who asked I accepted. If it was the politicians, I wouldn't have done it, but it came from the ranks."

The ranks say they knew McQuade never would have attended a retirement party -- and even a surprise party was out of the question.

McQuade was too sharp, too on top of everything, for anyone to every slip that kind of surprise past him.

The town learned that back in 1991 when it tried to secretly rededicate the expanded water treatment plant in McQuade's name.

Wanting everything to go smoothly with the rededication, but not knowing it would be named after him, McQuade kept badgering people to produce a copy of the dedication program, says his wife.

The workers involved had to keep making up excuses why the program wasn't ready yet.

"He nagged and nagged," says Ruth McQuade. "So they finally had to make a bunch of mock-up programs without his name on them, just because he was driving them crazy."

None of which surprises those who knew him.

"He was a tough guy. He was demanding and you always knew where you stood with him," says John Canavan, highway superintendent, echoing the words of nearly everyone interviewed for this article.

"He's like a top sergeant sometimes," says Ruth McQuade, "and yet he did a career day at Sanborn School with second-graders and they loved it, so I guess he's not that intimidating. I had to laugh. One little boy wrote a thank-you note and he wrote, 'You must feed him a lot.'"

Because of McQuade's size and deep, booming voice, many people are intimidated by him.

Fire Lt. Jim Cuticchia grew up next door to Bob McQuade, and often swam in McQuade's pool with his children during the summer. But when Bob McQuade returned home, the kids scattered, he says.

"As a kid you were always... a little cautious of him. You never approached Mr. McQuade," says Cuticchia. "But after you know him, he's very approachable. You realize after a while, that wasn't the whole person."

Later, Cuticchia would see in meetings with business leaders or developers how McQuade's demeanor benefited the town.

"I've seen him squeeze every possible concession out of them without them realizing what was happening while it was occurring. He has the town's best interest at heart," says Cuticchia.

But McQuade was not only in charge of road openings and acceptances, he also handled the roads themselves, the sewer and water lines beneath them and, his baby, the water treatment plant.

"(Residents) probably should realize he's one of the top sanitary professionals in the country. He was one of those guys who could look out into the future and see what the town needed before the town knew it needed it," says John Polanno, water treatment plant superintendent, who worked with McQuade for 20 years. "He certainly paid attention to a lot of details and made sure his staff was trained and not afraid to learn new technology."

When McQuade moved to town in the 1950s, Andover residents lived in fear of water bans. Today, for the town to run out of water, says Canavan, "the Merrimack River will have to run dry."

McQuade consulted regularly with Carrol Morrisi of MIT and Paul Singer of the University of North Carolina.

"They're top chemists and engineers, and I think Bob belongs in that category," says Polanno. "Bob could have been in that group if he had gone in that direction."

Instead, McQuade came to work for Andover, and took over the public works department.

"With him in charge of those areas, we had a hell of a bargain. He deserved a lot more than we gave him," says Cuticchia. "Usually you name things for people after they die. But the town named the treatment plant after him (back in 1991). That says something."

However, many co-workers say that McQuade was not just interested in pipes and asphalt, but in giving to the community. Bill Fahey, youth services director, remembers when he and a group of youth were called to meet with McQuade shortly after Fahey was hired.

McQuade told them they could have a youth center if they tried for it.

"There was silence, because it was so quick. So he said, 'Come on! Let's hear what you want. Use your imagination. Do you want dirt bike trails around the park? What do you want?'" says Fahey.

"He didn't smile at me when I walked into the meeting. But when I left that meeting I truly believed that I had met an advocate for young people," he says. "He doesn't want to play games or have 20 different meetings. He hates to waste time."

Yet McQuade also has a boisterous sense of humor -- and he'll use it on anyone.

"We're sitting in a staff meeting and the town manager brought up that he was going to do a national search (to fill a position)," says Deputy Fire Chief Chuck Murnane. "McQuade, in the way only he can do, pounded his chest and said, 'Mother of God, Buzz, we did a national search for you and we found you down at the end of River Street (where he was the Wilmington town manager).' Then he'd get up and he'd walk out. His favorite thing to do was to pound his chest, saying, 'Mother of God!' or 'Stop it, Buzz, you're killing me!'"

But as outspoken as he could be at times, McQuade never talked about his numerous degrees, awards or accomplishments, say friends. He's never even talked to his closest friends about how he felt when the water treatment plant was named after him. "You'd have to see the videotape. You could tell he was thrilled. Had he known, though, he wouldn't have shown up for the thing," says Ruth McQuade.

"He kept that kind of stuff to himself. He didn't like to talk about his accomplishments," says Canavan, who's known McQuade since the 1950s. "He let his work speak for him, and anybody who's been in Andover at all knows what he's done for the town."

Canavan probably knows better than most, as he was often on the other end of phone calls from McQuade once the snow started flying.

"As soon as we got a forecast, he'd be calling from then until the snow came. He'd call us two or three times before the storm to check that we were prepared. Once the snow started, he'd call every half hour. He'd be out there himself some nights.

"His favorite thing to say was, 'Call me at 4 a.m. so I can warn the school superintendent," he says. "But it was good to have him there, because he was never afraid to make a quick decision and he wanted to be involved all the way.

"He was like that about everything that happened in town. He wanted to be involved. He'd hear about a fire and he'd jump in his car to see what he could do," says Canavan.

McQuade also wanted to make sure firefighters didn't unnecessarily open hydrants and leave people with brown water for a few days.

"You'd rather beat a fire out with a broom than deal with one of his hydrants," says Murnane. "Sometimes we'd almost have to beg him. He was very protective of his water system.

"But he has a bigger heart than anybody in town. He just does so much," he says. "Some of the guys who have had personal tragedies in the department, he was always there for them, no matter what it was."

Sunday, the town will be there for him, whether or not there's snow on the ground. But if there is snow, there might be bags under the grand marshal's eyes. McQuade figures he'll still sit up all night through the first several storms.

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep," says Bob McQuade. "It's habit, and it's just that I'm not in charge now. It will take some getting used to."

For both McQuade, and -- from what his peers say -- for the town itself.

"It was a 24-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week job for him, and you don't find many people who will be that dedicated," says Canavan.

Here's cheers to later Y2K last call

Cheers. Anyone celebrating the millennium at Andover bars may have a chance to have not only the last drink of the century, but the first drink of the next century.

While Andover liquor licenses require that bars close at 1 a.m., selectmen granted the Andover Country Club, Wyndham Andover Hotel, Grill 93 and the Park Street Pub permission to hold last call on New Year's Eve at 1:30 a.m. and close at 2 a.m.

Other establishments holding liquor and food licenses in Andover are expected to apply for the 2 a.m. extension for the night.

Andover Police Chief Brian Pattullo says he hopes all the bars and restaurants in town will close at the same time to make enforcement easier.