A Common treasure
Parks official knows, and loves, his territory

By Sam Allis, Globe Columnist  |  June 11, 2006

So I'm sitting on a park bench on the Common talking to Tom Sullivan. We're by
the bandstand near Tremont, along the walk whose moniker, he tells me, used to
be Whore Alley because of the profusion of strumpets who trolled the area.

Anyway, he spots a woman wearing a pink coat. ``That's Margie," he says. ``She's
homeless. She's sober, a nice lady. I know the good ones by name. She lives on
the Parade Ground near Beacon. She's there winter, too. Been here as long as I
have."

Margie, I learn, totes her worldly belongings in tourist luggage on wheels.
``The wheels broke so she's dragging it everywhere," he says. ``I was just in
Marshalls looking for another one for her."

Good guy. Sullivan, 36, has been Superintendent of Region I of the Boston Parks
and Recreation Department for six years. His domain includes the Common, the
Public Garden, the Commonwealth Avenue Mall, Copley Square, along with Beacon
Hill, the North End, Chinatown, Charlestown, and East Boston. But it's the
Common that interests me today, and Henry Lee, the definitive authority on the
Public Garden and the Common, says Sullivan does yeoman service at both spots
with limited resources.

He also tends bar twice a week at Doyle's, where his effervescence brings to
mind Churchill's hall-of-fame line about FDR: Meeting him is like uncorking your
first bottle of champagne. It's a family thing. His brother Jimmy served
libations at Doyle's for almost 20 years.

The man is pure Boston. Grew up in Roslindale. One of 10 kids. Five boys, five
girls. ``My mother would ring the dinner bell and you could hear it four yards
away," he says.

Sullivan knows things. He knows the area of the Common near the corner of
Boylston and Tremont is called the Deer Park because deer used to graze there.
Who knew? Lee confirms deer were there from 1863 to 1882. Peacocks, too. Then
things get fuzzy. Lee's best recollection is that deer, maybe reindeer, were
brought back at Christmas off and on until the 1970s.

Sullivan points to the decrepit circular building with a collapsed roof I never
noticed before under the trees near the tennis courts. Park people call it the
Pink Palace because of the hue its stone used to have. It was once a bathhouse
where people showered after sports, but badness started happening there and the
city closed it down.

I'm thinking it would make a great police substation to boost the uniformed
presence in the Common which, face it, is still sketchy after dark.

Speaking of police, Sullivan tells me about the Survillo brothers. George is
head of the Mounted Unit of the Boston police while Gene runs Boston's National
Park Rangers. Imagine the colloquies between this pair at family dinners.

Back to the homeless. ``Let's see, there's Michael over by the Visitor Center,"
he continues. ``He's on a list for housing. Some mental problems, but he's not a
drinker. There's Damm, an Asian guy over at Brewer Fountain. Won't take any
money, but he'll take cigarettes. He pulls trash bags for us early mornings.
There's Herb. Nice guy. Goes between here and Copley looking for cans."

Sullivan follows the homeless population on the Common the way we do the
weather. There are, on any night, 30 to 50 people sleeping there. They are,
until someone comes up with a new plan, part of the fauna.

The heaviest concentration, he says, is between the Park Street subway stop and
the State House. That's also where most of the nastiness occurs -- drugs mainly.
(The corner of the Public Garden at Boylston and Charles used to be bad, too.)
Those wanting solitude usually sleep elsewhere on the Common.

He was once asked by a man who lived at Tremont on the Common, that ghastly
affront to the skyline with the pretentious name, what he was going to do about
the homeless. ``I told him, `What are we going to do about the homeless?' "

What infuriates Sullivan is the Commonwealth Avenue crowd dumping mountains of
household trash into cans on the mall meant for public refuse. Ditto for the
Beacon Hill types who unload at the stairs into the Common near Joy Street and
the Myrtle Street Playground.

He's also unamused by the tiresome skateboarders in Copley Square who
periodically put detergent into the fountain to produce bubbles and force him to
shut it down. Remind me again what the upside of a skateboarder is?

Sullivan informs me that over a week ago, churls lopped off the head of the
Christopher Columbus statue in the North End. What psycho would do that? More
bad news: I later learn the splendiferous Brewer Fountain on Tremont, dry
because of damaged plumbing, will not spout water any time soon because there's
not enough dough to fix it. The only thing sadder than a dry fountain is a ski
town in the rain.

The good news is that the Ether Memorial, my favorite monument in the Public
Garden, is being fixed to spray water once again, and lights will be installed
for the first time.

One more thing about Tom Sullivan. You know what he did? He proposed to his wife
on a Swan Boat back in 1994. That's what he did.