Solidarity. Support. Compassion. Commitment. Family.
These things were all seen today at the funeral of retired Montgomery County Firefighter Carlos Alfaro Sr., who recently passed away.
Carlos had been with the department since 1975. I had never formally met him while he was an active firefighter, riding fire trucks. I only knew him as the father of Carlos Alfaro Jr., who was also a firefighter in Montgomery County, and like his father, had also passed away because of cancer. Unfortunately, Alfaro Jr. was only in his early 30s when he died. As I progressed in my career, I would occasionally see Carlos Sr. on the scene of various 911 calls (various fires and serious car accidents), taking pictures or video. He worked tirelessly to record MoCo firefighters in action, and he would use lots of expensive video editing equipment to put together videos of the guys in action. In 2004, while traveling with the USAR team to New Orleans to help during Hurricane Katrina, he collapsed. It was discovered he had an aggressive strain of cancer. He fought it for several years before he finally retired a month ago.
The first time I formally met him was also the last time I would see him alive. Several shifts ago, myself and Lenny were tagged to pick Carlos up from his home in Beltsville and take him to a hospital in Baltimore for a procedure. We got there and found him on home oxygen, fairly weak. He and his wife were still in fairly good spirits as we helped him down the steps, onto our cot and into the ambulance. As we dropped him off in the emergency room, he bid us farewell with a warm smile and a handshake. A couple weeks later, I open up my work email and I found out he had passed. I knew he was sick, and I knew he would eventually die. I just didn't expect it to be so soon.
Since it was believed he contracted cancer from working as a firefighter, his death was considered a Line of Duty Death (LODD). This entitles his surviving family members to more financial aide, and it would mean sending him off with a full fire department funeral (more on that in a sec).
As we came in to work today, we found out that Carlos' funeral would be held today. The ladder truck, engine and ambulance were scheduled to go, which made me happy because as one of the firefighters to last see him alive, I felt somewhat of a bond with him. I also wanted the opportunity to see a full fire department funeral. LODDs are rare (although not rare enough), and I wanted to be there to experience one while I had the chance.
I was on the engine with Fikar, Schaefer and Matt Miles. We got to the church and lined up outside with the rest of the uniformed personnel. Carlos' casket was sitting on top of the new Engine 716 (Carlos spent most of his career at station 16). When it was time for the funeral to start, the honor guard carried his casket off the engine and brought it into the church, with all the uniformed personnel standing at attention, saluting. Many people, both firefighters and non-firefighters, were there to say goodbye to him.
After the funeral, Carlos was brought out of the church the same way he was brought in...carried by the honor guard, firefighters of every rank standing and saluting, and the pipes and drums band honoring him in song. The funeral procession made it's way up University Blvd, led by a cadre of police officers on motorcycles. All types of apparatus followed Engine 716...fire engines, ambulances, a rescue squad, chief's buggys, police cars...everything...all with their emergency lights flashing, but with sirens silent. Intersections were blocked by police cruisers and people all along the streets had no choice but to stop and view this fallen fireman take his final ride.
We finally reached the Gates of Heaven Cemetery on Georgia Ave, and Trucks 712 and 725 made an archway with their ladders at the entrance; it was a powerful sight. After some slight confusion as to where the gravesite was, we finally were told where it was, and the procession made its final stop. Myself, Miles, Wakeley and Lenny helped position the steps that the honor guard would use to bring down Carlos' casket. After that, we lined up on the grass and saluted when ordered. The honor guard brought Carlos to the gravesite, the priest said some final words, and the pipes and drums closed things out with "Amazing Grace." And just like that, it was over.
It was truly powerful and moving; I'm glad I was there to see it, though I hope I never have to see one again.
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