SHAUN SUTNER
Courtesy Telegram & Gazette
COLORADO SPRINGS, Colo. -- A single bell tolled six times, once each for Worcester firefighters Paul A. Brotherton, Jeremiah M. Lucey, Timothy P. Jackson, Joseph T. McGuirk and fire lieutenants Thomas E. Spencer and James F. Lyons III.
In the first rows of seats amid a crowd of more than 3,000, their widows, children, and parents wept.
Their brother firefighters, at least 150 of them, then stood in unison wherever they were, their dress uniforms making a dark blue pattern among the wide sweep of onlookers.
The six men who lost their lives on Dec. 3, 1999, when a massive fire consumed the Worcester Cold Storage and Warehouse Co., were given a hero's tribute yesterday, along with 53 other U.S. and Canadian firefighters who died in the line of duty.
The ceremony here at the International Association of Fire Fighters' Fallen Firefighter Memorial was the largest by far in the 14 years the observance has been held.
Though the creed of the firefighters here is that every firefighter's death is as important as the next, the entire observance was intensely colored by the Worcester fire.
Beyond the huge Worcester presence -- more than 300 firefighters and family members traveled here for the event -- speakers were moved to single out the city's tragedy as emblematic of the peril and sacrifice embedded in the job.
“Of course the worst incident was the six men who died in a vacant warehouse in Worcester, Massachusetts,” said Carrye B. Brown, the U.S. Fire Administrator, the country's top fire official. “The losses in 1999 underscore what we already know, that firefighting is a dangerous profession.”
Ms. Brown went on to add that three Washington, D.C., firefighters were also among the many others who died on the job last year. Indeed, the air was heavy with the losses of several recent multi-fatality fires, including the one in tiny Keokuk, Iowa, 19 days after the Worcester fire, when three firefighters perished.
Thirteen of the 59 firefighters whose names were inscribed on the memorial's black granite wall of honor were from other Massachusetts communities: Boston, Cambridge, Lexington, Springfield, Chicopee, Revere, Braintree, North Reading and Everett.
The general president of the IAFF, Harold A. Schaitberger, spoke directly to family members of the deceased firefighters in part of his keynote address.
“You must view the wall of names behind me not only as a wall of honor but as a wall of support for you and all those who visit the memorial,” he said. “Take comfort in knowing that the brothers and sisters who were added to the memorial this year and the hundreds before them were engaged in the most honorable of professions.”
The observance started precisely at 1:30 p.m. under a deep blue sky and a dazzling sun, with a roaring flyover by two F-16 Falcon jets from the U.S. Air National Guard.
Minutes earlier, a parade of two-dozen firetrucks from all over Colorado had arrived, accompanied by a squadron of motorcyclists led by a group of sunburned Worcester firefighters and police officers who rode their bikes here from Worcester.
Suddenly, the rousing keen of bagpipes reverberated throughout the city's sprawling Memorial Park, the location of the memorial and its central bronze monument, titled “Somewhere-Everyday” -- which depicts a heroic firefighter descending a ladder, clutching a child in his arms.
A 200-strong honor guard and pipe and drum brigade, composed of firefighters from across North America, marched in. The golds and blues and reds and whites of their various flags billowed above them while the drums beat a rhythmic, martial pattern.
In the hours and days before the ceremony, the shoulder-high wall -- reminiscent of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. -- became the focus for grieving and remembering.
Family members, often fighting tears, approached the wall to make rubbings of the names of the men they lost.
About an hour before the start of the observance, James F. Lyons Jr. and Joan Lyons, the parents of Lt. Lyons, lingered for some time before the panel on which the six names are etched.
“We're not here for closure, it's too early for closure,” Mr. Lyons said.
The ceremony here, he said, “is not only for us, it's for the citizens of Worcester.
“It's bigger than us,” he said. “Worcester grieved as we did, and so did the nation.”
Also before the proceedings began, Worcester and Massachusetts fire officials mingled with family members and friends.
Denis Leary, the Worcester-bred actor and comedian and first cousin of Firefighter Lucey, consoled Mr. Lucey's young son, Jeremiah Jr., and conversed with a group of friends including Fire Chief Dennis L. Budd.
Mr. Leary, too, said it may be too early for people close to the tragedy to have any sort of resolution to their feelings. That may be some time off, he said.
“This is sort of the beginning of the anniversary of the event,” he said.
Chief Budd said of the memorial: “It's humbling.
“It's something that each individual is going to be dealing with in his own way,” he said. “It's a good thing.”
The Massachusetts fire marshal, Stephen Coan, was making his first visit to the national fire memorial.
“It's fitting. It shows the courage and the brotherhood of the fire service and allows people to join together in times of joy and sorrow,” he said.
In the 85-degree heat, the hundreds of firefighters in dark dress uniforms and the fire brigade members in weighty kilts soldiered on, giving little indication that they were suffering.
It helped that young fire Explorers from the Colorado Springs Fire Department handed out cold water to anyone who needed it.
“I don't care how hot it gets, I'll stand here,” said Michael Lamarche, a firefighter from Worcester. Like all of his colleagues, he had a black stripe affixed over his fire department badge.
The observance lasted about an hour and a half. Other speakers who addressed the standing-room-only crowd included Colorado Springs' mayor, the Washington, D.C., fire chaplain and two firefighter-poets who displayed the more tender side of a tough profession. Country music singer Brian Cox sang his “Heroes Never Die.”
The emotional peak came near the end, when an honor guard detachment formed groups of six to present flags to surviving family members.
A hush hovered over the crowd as the guard members stood at silent attention.
Relatives and firefighters sobbed quietly as each firefighter's name was called. A bell rang for each. Then the honor guards fanned out into the crowd to present the flags, folded into their wooden, glass-topped cases, to family members.
In a graceful, and, organizers hoped, uplifting finale, the Explorers released dozens and dozens of white balloons into the Western sky and they drifted high up toward the Rocky Mountain range that watches over the memorial.
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