Leo’s a bad driver, but a master maneuverer

If you are going to Fenway Park, always arrange for “Leo the Decks” to arrange your transportation.

Leo was born a Ukrainian but moved to Boston while a very young man and learned that city’s ways completely and totally. He lived in three-deckers (still does), hence the nickname. He was famous for selling his family’s three-decker in Jamaica Plain for $18,000, just before the real estate boom hit in earnest. That home, next to a city park, is now worth at least $400,000.

Leo is the worst camper and canoeist in the universe and has brought several companions (including me) close to death on numerous occasions. But on city streets, he is a master, even if he is the worst driver who ever lived.

Remember “The Rockford Files”? I always thought that Leo was the model for Angel, who met Jim Rockford in prison and made his life holy hell for the rest of their lives.

Angel would always sell Jim down the river for money or love, or to avoid a beating. That’s Leo. He was investigated by a grand jury or two, but nothing was ever proved.

It must have been 20 years ago when we met Leo for a Fenway trip, back when tickets were about $20. He was “working” for an anti-poverty agency on Tremont Street at the time and we met him at his office. Leo said to leave our car where it was and called a cab.

When we got to Kenmore Square, he took out what looked like an order pad, scribbled a few words and handed a sheet to the cabdriver. There are no more lethal people on the planet (except Maine clam diggers) than city cabdrivers. We thought it was a Leo scam. I thought our lives had ended. But the cabdriver said, “Thank you very much,” and we got out and walked to the park.

It must have been 10 years ago when Leo, Mary (the fabulous Ukrainian woman who has lived with Leo for 29 years), Blue Eyes and I rolled into a gas station located a long foul ball from Fenway. Not only did the gas station owner give us a $20 parking space for nothing, he gave Leo a check for $1,000. Honest to God. We didn’t ask why.

Last week, I had tickets for Fenway ($60 each, if you can believe it) so I had to call Leo for transportation. I met him at his Roslindale house and he said, “We have to swap cars with my mother.” I didn’t ask. Leo’s mother is another Ukrainian and another legend.

After her Russian husband was machine-gunned to death, she brought Leo across Nazi lines to safety and freedom in the early 1940s. I had no idea why we had to bring Leo’s mother’s car until I approached her housing complex in Roslindale.

She had handicapped plates.

We jumped into the Buick LeSabre and drove to Kenmore Square. We drove up Brookline Avenue, about 15 minutes before game time. Just imagine the crowds. Leo drove slowly, looking for handicapped spaces. He spotted one on Landsdowne Street, about 20 feet from Fenway Park. There were a few obstacles: First of all, the traffic going the other way, then the 30,000 (or so) pedestrians walking to the game, then there was the Boston cop watching Leo, every step of the way.

Leo didn’t care.

Did I mention that Leo is also the worst driver who ever lived? As soon as he swerved into traffic and the pedestrians, I took my coat and put it over my head. I heard the cop say, “What the hell are you doing?” Leo said, “Handicapped spot,” and the cop asked, “Where?” Leo mumbled something and we lurched toward the curb, pushing pedestrians – men, women and children – out of the way.

I took my jacket from my very embarrassed head, expecting to watch Leo be beaten to death by the angry baseball mob. This I wanted to see. But the crowd simply parted and let us drive to the space, situated immediately under the famous left-field wall. We were no more than 45 feet from the park entrance.

I knew that it was wrong to use the handicapped space, but I knew that I didn’t want to pay the going rate of $30 for a parking space. Plus, the game was about to start. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

It was a great game and the Sox got four runs in the eighth inning to beat the Tampa Bay Devil Rays 6-4. Both Manny Ramirez and Nomar Garciaparra hit home runs, worth the price of admission plus the four-hour (one way) drive from Camden.

Surprisingly, the Buick LeSabre was still there when we got out. Leo was so pleased with himself that he bought dinner at Redbone’s barbecue spot in Somerville. Over chicken and ribs, we argued about the ethics of using a handicapped space by three (sort of) able-bodied people.

I lost.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.