Kevin Kelley, at 52; lieutenant's life rooted in family

KEVIN M. KELLEY

Six days before he died, Lieutenant Kevin M. Kelley spent the evening with his entire family at his sister's Braintree home. Everyone was there - his wife and daughters, his sisters and brothers-in-law, his nieces and nephews. They had met to celebrate the birthday of one nephew and the departure of another to Canada.

In retrospect, the timing of the celebration couldn't have been better. Lieutenant Kelley had what became a final opportunity to spend time with those who meant the most to him during his 52 years of life. But though the scheduling was extraordinary, the gathering couldn't have been more commonplace.

"We do that all the time," said his daughter Susan. "We always got together for everybody's birthday. My dad was definitely a family man. He was all about the family."

Lauded by colleagues for his devotion to the Boston Fire Department, Lieutenant Kelley died while on duty Friday as he rode in the front passenger seat of Ladder 26, which went out of control while traveling down Parker Hill Avenue and crashed into an apartment building in the Mission Hill neighborhood.

But even at Boston Fire Department District 5, Engine 37 and Ladder 26, the brick building on Huntington Avenue where Lieutenant Kelley shared shifts and stories with fellow firefighters, he was known as a family man first. And to his family, he was the father, husband, and brother who was always ready to help. No task was too small.

"He was so generous to me and my sisters," his daughter said. "Any time we needed anything, even when we moved out, he was always coming over to help us. If I needed a light bulb fixed and couldn't reach it, my dad would come right over. He just did everything for us."

Kevin Michael Kelley was the second of four children, a brother to three sisters. When his father was away at work, he was the only guy at home.

"It was probably hard for him, growing up in a house with four women," his daughter said. A couple of decades later, Lieutenant Kelley found himself in a home with the same gender breakdown, as the only man living with his wife, Gloria, and their three daughters, Susan, Christine, and Maureen.

Growing up in the Fields Corner section of Dorchester, he was the son of a Boston firefighter in a neighborhood where it seemed all the boys wanted to be police officers or work in the Fire Department. Lieutenant Kelley graduated in 1973 from Don Bosco High School in the South End, then headed to the University of Massachusetts at Boston.

"My dad went to college for one semester and decided it really wasn't for him," Susan said. "He joined the Army. That's how he met my mom. And then he wanted to become a Boston fireman, just like my grandfather."

The Army sent him to Alabama and Texas, where he and his buddies would go over the border to socialize. It was there that he met Gloria Perez, who was Mexican. With her, he moved back to Dorchester. He got a job with the Boston Fire Department in 1978, and the couple married the next year.

In 1990, he began serving at the Huntington Street firehouse, the busiest in the city, and on Ladder 26, the most active of the ladder units. But when he went home after a shift, he left work behind.

"My dad didn't really talk about it to the kids," Susan said. "When we would ask my father how things went at work, he would say, 'Oh, it was fine,' even though he worked at the busiest firehouse in Boston."

Francis X. Sullivan, a Boston Fire Department dispatcher, grew up a block away from Lieutenant Kelley in Dorchester and the two attended St. Ambrose for elementary school. A lot of things didn't change much over the years, Sullivan said. His friend was always happy-go-lucky, and you didn't have to see him to know he was there. You just had to hear his voice.

"Can you say kind and grating in the same sentence? Because it was," Sullivan said. "It was grating and kind, but it commanded. It had a certain presence to it."

Just as some firefighters say they learned by watching Lieutenant Kelley and following his example, "I could learn by listening to him," Sullivan said, adding that "many, many, many people are the better for having learned from him."

Lieutenant Kelley and his family moved to Quincy about 22 years ago, and the five of them remained close, even as the daughters grew to adulthood. Susan can walk home for dinner; Christine is a short drive away; Maureen lives at home.

"If my dad could have had his way, all three of us would still be living at home," Susan said.

Alluding to her father's fondness for teasing, she added that "he used to joke with us sometimes that we didn't have to actually elope with our boyfriends, if we had them, but he would provide the ladder. And he also used to joke that he and my mom were going to retire to Florida. But if you knew my dad, you'd know he never, ever could be separated from us."

So eager was Lieutenant Kelley to have his daughters back in the nest that when he barbecued or made supper at home, he made a little extra - just in case.

"We would come here for Sunday dinner and random nights," Susan said. "My dad would call us or send us a text message saying, 'I made such and such for dinner. Come on over.' "

In addition to his wife and daughters, Lieutenant Kelley leaves three sisters, Patricia Trezenka of Quincy, Peggy Paulli of Millis, and Kathleen Nazzaro of Braintree.

A funeral Mass will be said at 10 a.m. today in St. Ann Church in Wollaston. Burial will be in Cedar Grove Cemetery in Boston.

Eric Moskowitz of the Globe staff contributed to this obituary.