Paul Brady's flag-draped casket is carried by members of the Malverne
Volunteer Fire Department at his funeral at Our Lady of Lourdes Church on Friday, August 4, 2006. At center-right, behind
the casket, is Paul's widow, Lisa. Behind her, coming down the steps, is Paul's father, Frank, a veteran of the Pacific Campaign
in World War 2. He is escorted by his son, and Paul's older brother, Frank. (Newsday photo)
Today it is one week since my friend Paul Brady was killed in an accident in a firehouse. The accident happend at 10:00 am, and he died in the hospital early that afternoon after receiving
last rights. Paul was buried on Friday in Locust Valley, Long Island, with all of the honors that the Fire Department and
the Town of Malverne and the neighboring communities could manage. The honors were considerable, even if the loss was greater.
Thursday evening, firefighters from all of Long Island and New York
City mounted an honor guard at Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church in Malverne. I could not count the number of firefighters
assembled there in the 95-degree heat and stifling humidity in their dress blues. Maybe there were 800 of them. I found a
seat in the cool of the church with some of Paul's co-workers and an acquaintance I hadn't seen in 12 years or more who considered
Paul as his best friend. Many of the guys counted Paul as his best friend. The family was up front. The patches
on the arms of the firefighters as they filed in, two-by-two (and later four-by-four to speed things up a bit), were from
towns near and far: Lynbrook, Valley Stream, East Rockaway, Baldwin, Mineola, New Hyde Park, Riverhead... They came up the
center aisle, drew themselves up in front of Paul's open casket, rendered a hand-salute on command, and departed down the
side aisles. The Malverne firefighters came up last, many weeping. This took about two hours.
The funeral was the next morning at the same church, in similar heat and
humidity. I saw friends I saw frequently and others I hadn't seen in a while. I saw people I hadn't seen since grade school.
We all shared a sorrowful-and-stunned sort of camaraderie. Old stories came out, mostly involving Paul. But some just about
the Old Days in general. It had the makings of a reunion, if not for the circumstances.
The funeral was conducted by our friend and St. Mary's classmate: Father
Robert Coyle, Commander, US Navy, and the current Chaplain of the Merchant Marine Academy at Kings Point, Long Island. Paul
and Rob were close friends and remained so. Rob told the story of their "Tonight Show" skit for the Christmas Assembly, Senior
Year. Rob was Johnny Carson and Paul, dressed in his father's sport coat stuffed with a pillow, was Ed McMahon. Rob told cringe-inducing
jokes but Paul stole the show with his booming laugh peppered with beer cans he would let fall to the stage at opportune moments.
I remember the show like it was yesterday. Paul stole it and we howled at the time. It was great that Rob brought us back
there, if only for a moment.
Paul's brother Frank gave a eulogy. It was the sorrowful and choked recollections
of an older brother who in some ways grew up in the shadow of his younger brother's wit and humor. Or perhaps it was the light
of it. Frank pointed out that his children and the children of his sisters Barbara and Patty were going to miss Paul, their
favorite uncle. Uncle Chumly. I think looking at the faces of the nephews in particular, all central-casting Irish, was the
most heart-breaking aspect of the whole proceedings. I understand Frank managed to place a button of Paul's favorite band
in his casket: "The Who."
Former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani spoke, and this was a surprise
to me. He talked about Paul being one of the "hidden heroes" of 9/11. When the first Tower was hit, Paul organized the evacuation
of the Chase Manhattan building where he worked. Then he went down to Ground Zero to see if he could help out. Rudy said that
the spirit of Paul's response to enemy action mirrored that of his father, Frank, who served in the Pacific in the war against
Japan. Many of my friends later confessed that they were amazed that they had never heard the story about Paul on 9/11 before.
I had heard it before, second-hand from Paul's best friend. Paul was not a braggart. And not for nothing did we call him SAM:
Secret Agent Man.
Rudy managed to deftly pull off an acknowledgement of Paul's reputation
as a notorious and unrepentant punster. He pointed out that before the service someone had told him that Paul would have had
something to say about the people carrying his coffin being pallbearers. Bullseye.
More later.
