You’re listening to a storyteller.
At 82 years old, Dave has spent a lifetime serving others. Six years in the U.S. Navy’s submarine service. Twenty-two years as a Manchester police sergeant. Twelve more years as a dispatcher. Nearly six decades volunteering with Scouting.
Along the way, he taught scuba diving, mentored young people, raised a family, and became one of those people who seems to know everybody—and has a story about almost all of them.
His own story started in Somerville at 18 years of age. He graduated with a focus on electronics from Don Bosco Technical High School during the Vietnam era. His draft notice was three.
Out of 365, I would be the third one called. Dave remembers being told, “You’re an 18-year-old kid. You don’t have a college education. You do have a skill. You’re either going to get drafted or you’re going to join the military. But nobody’s going to hire you.”
And Dave recalls that nobody thought about college in those days. You graduated high school and either got a job or joined the military.
So, like most of his friends, he planned to join the Marines. But when he arrived at the recruiting office, the Marine recruiter happened to be out to lunch.
But an older, gruff Navy chief petty officer wasn’t. And he called Dave over.
“He looked at me and said, ‘Red, why would anybody want to join someplace where they’re going to scream at you, make you eat snakes and bugs, and crawl through the mud?'”
Dave answered simply, “That’s what we do.”
Then the chief petty officer asked, “Have you ever thought about the submarine service?”
Dave’s response…”What’s a submarine?”
A few months later, he was in boot camp.
What followed was years of technical training, submarine duty, and Cold War service as a missile technician. The work was demanding, and the standards were relentless. In any given training class, there could be more than 100 students at the start only to have 17 graduate.
But when asked if he’d do it all over again, Dave doesn’t hesitate.
“In a heartbeat.”
Not because of the missiles.
Not because of the submarines.
Because of the people.
“The friendships,” he said. “Those guys were more than brothers.”
Even today, if he sees someone wearing a submarine hat, he’ll stop them and ask what boat they served on.
“I never met anybody in the military who I wouldn’t give anything I had if they needed it,” he said.
That loyalty became a theme throughout his life.
After leaving the Navy, Dave landed a job in electronics but quickly realized it wasn’t for him. A suggestion from his father-in-law led him to the Manchester Police Department, where he found his next calling.
Helping people.
And he means that literally.
There were the routine calls, the midnight shifts, and the neighborhood patrols. There were also the moments that stay with you.
Like one summer afternoon, Dave didn’t just watching a youth baseball game while on duty. He was umpiring it. In full police uniform.
“That was the job,” he said matter-of-factly.
But if you ask Dave where his biggest impact may have been, he won’t mention the Navy or the police department.
He’ll talk about kids.
For nearly sixty years, Scouting has been part of his life. He joined as a boy, inspired by a Scoutmaster named Tom Hatfield who became what Dave calls a “surrogate father.” Growing up around alcoholism, he found stability, mentorship, and guidance through Scouting.
Years later, he spent decades paying that gift forward.
He led troops in Hawaii, Virginia, Massachusetts, and everywhere in between. He taught scuba diving. He took young people on adventures they never imagined possible.
At the end of the day, the stories aren’t really about accomplishments though.
They’re about people.
The partner who became like a brother.
The Scoutmaster who listened.
The Navy buddies he still thinks about decades later.
Every story circles back to the same idea: life is built through relationships.
As America celebrates 250 years, it’s easy to focus on historic figures and major events. But communities like Manchester-by-the-Sea are shaped just as much by people like Dave Metrano—neighbors who quietly spend a lifetime serving others without expecting recognition.
Ask him what he learned from all those years, and the answer isn’t complicated.
Show up.
Do your job.
Take care of people.
For Dave, that’s never gone out of style. And it likely never will.
