Kindness and Valor of Lt.Meyran Recalled - NYTimes

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January 30, 2005

Kindness And Valor of Fireman Are Recalled

By NICHOLAS CONFESSORE  

MALVERNE, N.Y. , Jan. 29 - Every firefighter's funeral is the same. Every firefighter's funeral is different.

Once more did the ranks of starched blue stretch stiffly into the distance. Again, a lone bagpiper, plaid cape thrown over his shoulder, serenaded the deceased with "Amazing Grace" as an honor guard bore the coffin up the steps of a suburban church. And for the third time in three days, a firefighter's family mourned a loss they had known might one day arrive but always hoped never would.  

The men and women of the New York Fire Department practiced a cruel routine on Saturday, each pivot and salute crisp as they paid tribute to Lt. Curtis W. Meyran, 46, who died last Sunday battling a three-alarm fire in the Bronx. But as at the funerals held earlier for Firefighters John G. Bellew and Richard T. Sclafani, time-honored ritual set the stage for a ceremony that celebrated what made one man irreplaceable and unique.

As an officer of the ceremonial unit called "ten-hut," quiet descended outside Our Lady of Lourdes Church, broken only by the sonorous toll of the church bell. Lieutenant Meyran's son, Dennis, 16, clutched his father's white officer's cap, preceding his mother, Jeanette, and his sisters, Angela, 10, and Danine, 6, into the church. Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg and Fire Commissioner Nicholas Scoppetta, both attending their third funeral in a row, greeted each other with weary handshakes.

The mayor and the commissioner each delivered a eulogy to Lieutenant Meyran during the short and moving ceremony that followed, as did his battalion chief, Phil Gaetani, and Harold Schaitberger, president of the International Association of Fire Fighters. The lieutenant's family remained in their pews, surrounded by firefighters from Ladder 27, the company he led into action last weekend.

Praising Lieutenant Meyran's "unbreakable devotion to his city," Mayor Bloomberg told the nearly 500 friends, family members and fellow firefighters who packed the church's pews and basement - the core of a crowd of 10,000 mourners who overflowed into the streets outside - of how Ms. Meyran helped her husband study for the lieutenant's exam by dictating the textbooks into tapes he could listen to while driving. When Lieutenant Meyran brought home a blank copy of the test for her to take, the mayor said, she scored higher than he had.

"He didn't forget his responsibilities to those under his command," Mr. Bloomberg said, recounting how, even as flames licked at his feet on the fourth floor of the rapidly burning building, Lieutenant Meyran helped a young probationary fireman remove his gear so he could jump to safety.  

"The six flags at City Hall are at half-mast," Mayor Bloomberg added. "And flags have been lowered all across the five boroughs. Most people will see the flags and not know who it is they've been lowered for. But they will know that somebody who made a difference is gone."

The most personal tribute came from the eulogist who knew Lieutenant Meyran best, Battalion Chief Gaetani. He placed a package of tissues on the pulpit before him, saying he would need them. Pausing repeatedly to wipe his eyes and catch his breath, the chief recalled his friend's everyday kindnesses, like stopping to help a stranger with car trouble, and moments of extraordinary heroism, like the time Lieutenant Meyran plunged alone into a smoky basement, without a hand line, to rescue a young girl trapped below the floors burning above.

"An old firefighter once said to me, you'll never get wealthy on this job, but you'll never starve, either," Chief Gaetani said. "He was right about the monetary part. But for those of you who knew Curt Meyran, you were wealthy beyond measure."

Like the mayor and the fire commissioner, many of the mourners had attended more than one funeral this past week. Capt. Thomas Peterman, who knew Lieutenant Meyran when they both attended Manhattan College and served with him in Battalion 26, drove the 70 miles from his home in Putnam County each of the last three days to attend the wakes and funerals of his fellow firefighters.

"We're all from the same stock," Captain Peterman said. "You're in one firefighter's house, it's like you're in your own house. And you say, 'It could have been me.' You come here to show your respects. You'd hope they'd do the same for you."