NYCivic

Laramie Boomerang Stern (1991-2004)

By Henry J. Stern
August 30, 2004

Boomer left us on a Friday afternoon earlier this month. In the presence of his human family, he was relieved of the pain of osteosarcoma, complicated by a newly broken leg, and put to sleep in a veterinarian's office. Several doctors told us that the condition was inoperable, and they felt he was suffering. He was 13 years and 26 days old.

He was born on July 18, 1991, in Turin, NY, one of a litter of eleven Golden Retriever puppies. Turin is a small town on the western slope of the Adirondack Mountains in upper New York State. His mother's name was Natasha, but their time together was brief. The eleven puppies were put up for sale. One was bought by the parents of a classmate of Kenan's, in the sixth grade at P.S. 6, Manhattan. That dog was named Bounce, and his new owner, another 11-year-old named Nat Johnson (Nathaniel Livingston Johnson, for long), brought Bounce around for him and Kenan to play with. From that moment, Kenan wanted a puppy. He badgered his mother for three weeks, promised to take care of the dog, to walk him, etc. His father thought it would be very difficult to keep a dog in the apartment, especially since we had a cat (Munchie Munch) who had been with us for seven years. Eventually, Kenan's doleful pleading carried the day. His mother set forth with Kenan and a school friend for the long drive to Turin.

When they arrived at the frame house in the back country, they were ushered into the front hall. As if on signal, a small dog came bounding down the stairs from the second floor and leaped at Kenan and his mother. There was instant recognition and affection. Apparently Boomer was the last of the litter to be placed, perhaps because he was a bit smaller than the others. That is crudely known as "the runt of the litter," but we never thought of Boomer that way. He was the most affectionate animal one could imagine. He liked nothing better than being petted, preferably on his belly. Once he grew up, he hardly ever barked. His good nature was his outstanding quality. In his early years, Boomer stayed home. When Jared and Kenan came back from school with the sitter, he was there waiting for them. It was a quiet life, but a pleasant one. The boys walked him in the late afternoon, and his parents took the morning and night shifts. When he was old enough, he was taken to the dog run in nearby Carl Schurz Park, where he could run free, and he did.

One event in Boomer's puppyhood came in the winter of 1991-92. My friend Bobby Wagner and I were walking him in Carl Schurz Park on a weekend morning. Snow covered the ground. We ran into Rudy Giuliani and his son Andrew, who lived nearby. The boy wanted to hold Boomer's leash, so we let him. Boomer moved forward quickly, and Andrew immediately fell on the ice. The boy did not complain, but asked: "When are we going to get a dog, daddy?" His father answered: "When we live in Gracie Mansion, we'll have a dog."

Two years later, Andrew's wish was fulfilled. The Giuliani family adopted Goalie, a Labrador retriever. That chance encounter in the park was the first time that Rudy Giuliani met Bobby Wagner. Later, when candidate Giuliani organized seminars so he could learn details of city government, Wagner was one of his teachers. In October 1993, Bobby did a very appealing TV commercial endorsing Giuliani. If he had lived, he would unquestionably have been a significant figure in the new administration.

Like all of us, when Boomer grew up, he was put to work. In January 1994, Mayor Giuliani appointed me parks commissioner and I began, first occasionally, then regularly, to bring Boomer to the Arsenal. My predecessor and successor, Mayor Dinkins' parks commissioner, Betsy Gotbaum, also had a canine companion, Max, who spent the workday either at the Arsenal or the nearby Zoo Garage, so Boomer's advent was nothing new.

Whenever I went to a public event, Mr. B (as he was sometimes called) came along in the car. When children were present, which was most of the time, they were given the chance to pet Boomer as he walked up and down the aisles. Some kids were frightened at first, they had never petted a dog, and the most common breed in some parts of the city is the pit bull, not noted for conviviality. So I explained that Boomer was a gentle dog, and that although they should never pet strange dogs, Boomer was all right. It was a pleasure to see the boys' and girls' small hands first dart out to touch his side, then gradually stay longer and end up gently smoothing his fur. I wonder if, years from now, any of those children will remember him.

Another reason I brought him along was because he was good company. He never tired of being petted or, even better, having his belly scratched gently. He did not bark inappropriately, and he never bit anyone. He got along reasonably well with our cat, Munchie Munch, until he died in 1997, as long as the cat could fit under the bed while he could not.

In later years, Boomer became a well known dog. He had appeared before tens of thousands of people. For a while, I kept a clicker to record those who petted him. The goal was to enter Guinness' Book of World Records by getting more people to pet him than petted any other dog. It seemed within reach, because I went out so often and saw so many people, but when I read the book I learned that the record holder was Josh, of Glen Burnie, Maryland. It was claimed that Josh, who died of cancer at sixteen in 1997, had been petted by 425,000 people. I did not see how that was possible, considering the normal life span of a dog. It turned out that Josh's owner, Richard Stack, spent his day dropping in on schools. He submitted lists of the names of the children in the schools he visited in order to support his claims that they petted Josh.

Since we did not keep such specific records, but simply indicated the count on a clicker, we could not submit the petters' names Guinness required. Furthermore, by this time, I had dropped and broken four clickers, which cost $9.95 each, plus sales tax. I did not want to make an additional investment in an impossible pursuit, and I did not have the nerve or the inclination to seek reimbursement from anyone for so quixotic an expenditure. But before this mishap, we had recorded a total of 10,400 clicks for people who had petted Boomer. (There may have been just a few duplicates.) We believe this is a New York record, albeit not a national one.

Boomer received food at many of these events, although that was not necessarily good for him. He ate whatever he was given, or what was thrown in his direction. Although we were concerned at his varied diet, he seemed to suffer no ill effects from the food he received. At home, he ate canned dog food, later mixed with dry food. And he never made a mess.

One memorable appearance Boomer made was at the Prospect Park Bandshell in April 2000. The event was the annual little league opening parade. I brought Boomer onstage and young ballplayers in the front began to reach out to him, and wave at him with enthusiasm. He stood like a rock star, looking out at the crowd. The demonstration of affection went on for several minutes, with Boomer taking it in stride and smiling at the children swarming just below where he was regally posing.

In his Parks career, Boomer attended hundreds of events. Every Saturday or Sunday morning he was a regular at the start of New York Road Runners' Club races in Central Park. He was always introduced as Boomer, the Wonder Dog. In fact, his park code name was 63 (six letters in wonder, three in dog). He was the only non-human with a park name (Wonder Dog, of course), although there was no way we could pin it on him, since he usually wore no clothing. His handlers on his travels put up with his constantly shedding fur and occasional slobbering licks because of their affection for him, although it was not always easy.

Since Boomer was a political animal, he was occasionally involved in controversy, and his presence the subject of attacks. The criticism was over things I did, and was not in fact related to his conduct. But it appeared in the media that Boomer was under fire. Mayor Giuliani told me: "Picking on an animal is never good politics," and he was right.

One cannot write about Boomer without thanking the two people who did the most to care for him, in sickness and in health. They are my son Kenan, whose loving bond with Boomer has spanned more than half his lifetime, and my wife Peggy, without whose initiative we would never have had Boomer and without whose care it would have been impossible to keep him. Jared and I helped, but Peggy and Kenan were the principals.

Term limits ended Boomer's eight years' work in the park. In February 2002, Mayor Bloomberg appointed a new parks commissioner, the competent and dedicated Adrian Benepe, my borough commissioner for Manhattan. So Mr. B (Boomer, not Bloomberg or Benepe) retired at the age of eleven years and six months. Under the formula that one dog year equals seven human years, he would have been eighty.

In retirement, Boomer aged gracefully. Some of his hair (not his coat) turned white and his step slowed. His spirit did not change; he was as affectionate as ever. He never could have been a watchdog, he would have licked the intruder's hands, not bitten them. For four months, he endured the illness that took his life, until he fell and broke the weakened right hind leg that was the main site of the growing tumor, and two veterinarians told us it was time.

The whole family gathered and petted him before he left us. While we cried silently, we were grateful for the thirteen years we had with him, and for all the people who knew him and enjoyed the warmth of his body and his spirit.