WHEN I BEGAN working on this project and was searching for a way to take hold of Joe McCain's saga, I received a letter from a woman named Marcy Richardson, who worked for my late father, Jim Atkinson, in the 1970s and 1980s. Her memories of my dad, who ran a small insurance agency here in our hometown, were vivid: “Every May first, your very distinguished father would arrive at the office in his perfectly groomed suit and tie (he reminded me of Mr. French on the original Family Affair) and announce, ‘Hooray, hooray, the first of May, outdoor screwing starts today.' He loved children, loved life, and loved good food. I have many stories to share about your dad, but here's just one. It's 4:30 on a Friday and the office is winding down for the weekend. My husband, Mike, plans to pick me up at 5:00 so we can head into Boston for a wedding. I have brought my formal dress with me so I can dress at work and save time. I unzip the garment bag and remove the dress. As I give it the ‘once-over' before putting it on, I am horrified. I never hemmed the dress. The bottom is jagged and crooked and I am freaking out. It's 4:40 P.M. and I am wearing the dress, standing on my desk, and your father is stapling the hem of the dress as I slowly turn. . . .

“Back then, the cast of characters included Mike the Italian cop, who stopped to flirt with Louise Carney; Gerry the Irish cop, who shared the local news with your dad; Dick— I can't remember his last name— owned a lot of commercial and residential real estate in the area. He never made a move without consulting your dad. Smith Williams was a retired attorney in his seventies who dressed like Mark Twain, was well read, and had traveled the world and enjoyed eating snake meat. He would tip his hat when he arrived and left. Your uncle John, who your father adored, visited often. Jim saw him as the ‘swinging bachelor,' and your father's face would just beam when John stopped by. One of your father's clients, a man named Roger, was arrested for killing his girlfriend. He was hauled off to jail and allowed one phone call. He called your father and canceled his auto insurance. Shorty DeGaspe (who was a town worker with a few missing fingers and the shortest man I've ever seen) always checked in during rain and snow— I think he had something to do with cleaning out the storm drains— and your father always treated him with great respect. From your dad, I learned a lot from this seemingly simple gesture. There is nobility in all work and always acknowledge a job well done. . . .”

When I was a kid, I knew people looked up to my dad, and when we walked down the street together, I felt like a king. Reading Marcy Richardson's letter, it occurred to me that by writing about big Joe McCain, I was also paying homage to my own father and my mother, Lois, as well as an entire generation, reared during the Depression, that perceived duty and sacrifice and integrity as facets of the human condition and lived up to those responsibilities with a sense of humor and personal style. These Americans knew how to live, and we owe them all a great debt.

A lot of people cut from that same cloth helped get this story into print. My agent, Peter McGuigan of Sanford Greenburger, is patient, knowledgeable, and works tirelessly on my behalf. Pete Fornatale, who bought this book for Crown, continued to champion it even after going to work someplace else. My editor, Caroline Sincerbeaux, offered innumerable keen-eyed suggestions. Helen McCain, Joe McCain, Jr., Maureen McCain, and their kids, Joseph, Liam, and Lucas, treated me like a member of their family and provided heaps of great information and insight. Mark Donahue and his wife, Maureen, and their children, Connor and Julia, helped shape this book from start to finish. I could not have done it without them.

All of big Joe's friends came through in the clutch, as they always have: Metropolitan District Police assistant superintendent Al Seghezzi (ret.) and his wife, Mary; Mass. State Police Lieutenant Gene Kee and his wife, Ellen; Mass. State Police Major Mark Cronin (ret.); Secret Service Agent Stew Henry (ret.) and his wife, Diane; Attorney Joe Doyle and family; Brian and Michael O'Donovan and their families; Mike Kettenbach and family; Mass. State Trooper Bill “Battlin' Biff” McLean; Mass. State Trooper Al DiSalvo (ret.); Mass. State Trooper Dennis Febles; Mass. State Trooper Chris Brighton; Mass. State Trooper Mark Lemieux; FBI Special Agent Matt Cronin (ret.); Attorney Tom Peisch; William Simpkins of the Drug Enforcement Agency; and Boston Police Detective Jack Crowley (ret.) and his wife, Ellen.

Many individuals in law enforcement contributed to this project, including Mass. State Police superintendent Colonel Thomas J. Foley (ret.); Mass. State Police Detective Lieutenant John Tutungian (ret.); Mass. State Police Detective Lieutenant Paul Stone (ret.); Mass. State Police Sergeant Bob Beckwith; Detective Sergeant John Goodwin of the Revere Police and his family; FBI Supervisory Special Agent Patrick Gibbons; Chief Paul Donovan, Sergeant Sean Patton, Officer Jonathan Hoellrich, Sergeant Bill Teuber, Canine Officer Mike Robbins, Lieutenant Bill Ganley and Detective George Baker of the Salem, N.H., Police; Boston Police Detective Gerard McHale; Sergeant Mike Ewing, Detective Gus Flanagan, and Officer Rob Prindle of the Methuen Police; Sergeant Bob Clark and Detective Rueben Torres (ret.) of the Newark, N.J., Police; FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge William Chase and family; Chelsea Police E-911 operator Andrea Doherty; as well as Captain Dan Murphy (ret.), Officer Leo Martini, Officer Mike Kennelly, Officer Timmy Doherty, and E-911 operators Scott Lennon and Terry Medeiros of the Somerville Police.

Special thanks to Darrell M. Agnew of S.O.S. Services, Inc. in Kingston, MA, and investigator Kevin McKenna; you guys taught me a lot. I also want to thank attorneys Stephen Hrones and Jessica D. Hedges, who provided court documents and facts pertaining to Timothy Doherty v. Det. James Hyde, et al. Salem State College reference librarian Eleanor Reynolds, the staff of the Nevins Memorial Library in Methuen, Mass., and the West Roxbury Public Library helped me dig up a large number of elusive facts. Paul Marion, Keith Bowden, Frank Baker, Steve Whipple, J. D. Scrimgeour, and Joe “Dutch” Kurmaskie offered many useful suggestions and paced me through the early drafts. “Surfer” John Hearin, Bill Fitzgerald, the late Jeff Ness, Glenn Gallant, Bob Sheehan, Frank Posluszny, Norm Litwack, Jason Massa, Jim and Maryanne Connolly, and Tim Croteau encouraged the project and bought most of my drinks. For putting up with this book and all my quixotic endeavors, I'd like to thank John and Jackie Atkinson and family; Paul and Shirley Crane and family; Arthur and Natalie Wermers; Lawrence Berry and Peg Burr; John, Jodie, Matthew, and Katelyn Berry; Patrick, Deanna, and Owen Bower; Jill Atkinson; James Atkinson Jr.; Patricia Foxx, Eric Shaw, and my son, Liam.

One last Joe McCain story: It has been well established that Joe was a little clumsy at times. One morning, riding to play golf in Michael O'Donovan's brand-new Chevy Tahoe, big Joe asked his friend to stop at Dunkin' Donuts in Arlington. Returning with two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin, Joe proceeded to scatter bits of the muffin over his shirtfront and onto the floor of O'Donovan's immaculate new truck.

In a calm voice, O'Donovan said, “Next time, Joe, you should get two muffins.”

McCain arched his eyebrows “Why's that?” he asked.

“One to eat, and one to crumble all over my fucking truck.”