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Firefighter Killed in Harlem Blaze Praised as a ‘Hero of the Highest Order’ Firefighter Killed in Harlem Blaze Praised as a ‘Hero of the Highest Order’
(about 4 hours later)
American flags waved overhead and a phalanx of firefighters lined both sides of Fifth Avenue on Tuesday morning as an engine carrying the coffin of one of their own, Lt. Michael R. Davidson, approached St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Midtown Manhattan, escorted by two ladder trucks, one bearing the nickname of his engine company, the Harlem Hilton. The bagpipes had stopped, the drums gone quiet. The funeral was about to begin. A fire engine rolled to a stop in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue on Tuesday morning, and the surrounding blocks went still.
Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan stood atop the stairs in front of the cathedral on Tuesday as the trucks approached followed by a drum corps and the engine truck draped in bunting. The engine truck stopped in front of the church, the drums stopped and several minutes of silence followed, before Cardinal Dolan led a procession carrying the coffin into the church for the funeral Mass. Atop the fire engine was a coffin, mounted high and shrouded in the flag of the New York Fire Department. No one among the thousands of firefighters, city leaders, family members, friends and strangers paying respects seemed to move. In the middle of Midtown Manhattan, the snap of a flag in the breeze could be heard down the block.
Cardinal Dolan, in his homily, said that as Jesus Christ sacrificed his life to save believers from spiritual flames, Lieutenant Davidson gave his to save people from earthly ones. The firefighter, he said, was “a man whose name radiates goodness, valor and virtue as sparkling as the badge he wears.” It stayed this way for minutes, as if to give the body in the coffin, Lt. Michael R. Davidson, a 37-year-old nozzle man in Harlem whose last breaths were filled with black smoke, a final, quiet moment all his own, facing up toward the clear sky above his city.
Mayor Bill de Blasio, in a eulogy, praised Lieutenant Davidson as a “hero of the highest order,” who showed exceptional strength, compassion for others and fearless leadership at work, at home and in his community. Then a command was shouted, and scores of white-gloved hands flew to hat brims in salute. The coffin was lowered to the avenue and carried by pallbearers up the steps to the cathedral, the silent party greeted by Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan — city and church together for a send-off that, as Lieutenant Davidson’s brother, Eric, observed in his eulogy, would make a passer-by stop and say, “Wow, this guy must be important.”
In poignant remarks directed to Lieutenant Davidson’s children, Mr. de Blasio told them their dad’s spirit would remain with them and sustain them in difficult times. He added, “And that would still be the understatement of the century.”
“He will never leave you,” Mr. de Blasio said. The funeral began even as mourners continued to flow into the massive cathedral, filling every pew and standing in rows in the rear and sides. Cardinal Dolan, in his homily, compared the fallen firefighter to Jesus Christ: “Both we love. Both we thank. One we miss, very much.”
Lieutenant Davidson, a 15-year veteran, was overcome by smoke on Thursday night as his unit retreated from the intensifying flames of a fire in a basement in Harlem. He was pronounced dead a short time later. “Jesus came to save us from everlasting flames,” he added, “Michael to rescue us from earthly ones.”
Following his death, he was promoted to lieutenant, the 1,150th firefighter in the 153-year history of the department to die in the line of duty. On Thursday night, Lieutenant Davidson’s company, Engine 69, known as “The Harlem Hilton,” responded to a call of smoke and flames coming from a basement on St. Nicholas Avenue. The call had come from a film crew working on the upcoming movie “Motherless Brooklyn,” directed by Edward Norton.
Daniel A. Nigro, the fire commissioner, said Lieutenant Davidson demonstrated an “unwavering dedication to duty” in his work as the nozzle man, a coveted role among firefighters. Just two years after joining the department, he distinguished himself early when he charged into a three-alarm fire that had engulfed several stories of a building and was spreading. Despite serious burns on his hands, he did not retreat, Commissioner Nigro said, and it was one of the four times that Lieutenant Davidson was cited for bravery. Lieutenant Davidson, as the nozzle man, was among the first to enter the building and descend to the basement. Thick smoke made seeing anything impossible, and before long the firefighters’ air tanks were signaling they were low. Firefighters followed the hose with their hands to find their way outside, but Lieutenant Davidson lost his grip, got turned around in the smoke and collapsed. He was taken to Harlem Hospital Center, where he was pronounced dead early Friday morning. He was posthumously promoted to lieutenant.
“It was clear from the very beginning of his career that he was special,” Commissioner Nigro said. “Mike commanded every situation and led his fellow firefighters into battle. He wasn’t their captain. He wasn’t their lieutenant. But he was without question a leader.” The cause of the fire remains under investigation. Hours before the funeral, contractors began tearing down the Harlem building, at 773 St. Nicholas Avenue, which the city deemed too unstable to stand. The demolition will also allow investigators to begin work in earnest.
Directly across from the cathedral, Calvin Hunt, 56, of Harlem, stood behind a barricade holding a placard bearing Lieutenant Davidson’s photograph. Beside him, Mr. Hunt’s 10-year-old son, Cameron, held a sign with a Fire Department insignia and a message reading “God bless the bravest.” Lieutenant Davidson left lasting impressions on the streets of Harlem and outside the firehouse, where flowers were stacked hours before the funeral a few miles south. His father, a former firefighter, had also worked at that firehouse.
“I’m from Harlem and Lieutenant Davidson was part of Harlem,” said Mr. Hunt, a retired chef who used to frequent the former St. Nick’s Jazz Pub, where the fire broke out. A man and a young girl walked past on Monday. The girl, named Shyla, noticed the flowers. “Those are for the fireman who died,” she said.
Mr. Hunt said he encountered the firefighter in July at a summer block party that the engine company held at their firehouse as a regular part of their neighborhood outreach. “He stood out,” Mr. Hunt said of Lieutenant. Davidson. “It was his personality, his character. He was full of fun.” Her father, Chris Perry, 33, nodded and said, “He’s the one who fixed your bike.”
He died fighting a basement fire in the landmark building in the Sugar Hill section of Harlem. He was among the first to respond to calls from a film crew working in the building of smoke and flames coming from the cellar. A reporter stopped them and asked to hear the story. Mr. Perry told it — a flat tire last summer, a quick patch in the firehouse — and said, “He was a good guy.”
Lieutenant Davidson and others encountered heavy flames and smoke as they approached the source of the fire, and were forced to retreat when sirens on their oxygen tanks indicated their air supplies were low. But Lieutenant Davidson apparently became separated from the “hard line” his colleagues used to find their way to safety, and he collapsed on the floor above the fire. He was found with his mask off, as if he had removed it after running out of oxygen, and he was taken to Harlem Hospital Center, where he was pronounced dead early Friday morning. Calvin Hunt, 56, of Harlem, attended the funeral and stood outside. “I’m from Harlem and Lieutenant Davidson was part of Harlem,” said Mr. Hunt, a retired chef who used to frequent the former St. Nick’s Jazz Pub, where the fire broke out. “He stood out,” Mr. Hunt said. “It was his personality, his character. He was full of fun.”
Two other firefighters were injured with burns in the fire and three civilians were treated for smoke inhalation. The setting of the funeral was far grander than the scene outside the firehouse, but the sentiment was the same. Mayor Bill de Blasio called the lieutenant “a hero of the highest order.” In his eulogy, the mayor directly addressed the fallen firefighter’s four young children and invoked his own father, with whom he had a deeply troubled relationship, but whose military service he would always admire.
Hours before the funeral, contractors began tearing down the Harlem building, at 773 St. Nicholas Avenue, which the city deemed too unstable to stand. The demolition will also allow investigators to look for the origin of the fire inside the basement and cellar. “I had a dad who wore a uniform and wore it with pride as well,” Mr. de Blasio said. “Your father will be there with you. You’ll know who he was, what he did and what an imprint he left on this earth. That will sustain you.”
The basement had been the home of the longstanding jazz club, until it was closed after a police raid in 2011. The crew of an Edward Norton film, “Motherless Brooklyn,” was filming in the former club when crew members smelled smoke and prompted the evacuation of the set and the apartments above. Daniel A. Nigro, the fire commissioner, drew knowing laughs from the uniformed men and women when he said, “every firefighter wants the nozzle,” and to feel the satisfaction of “facing a fire, pushing it back.” He called Lieutenant Davidson a “natural-born nozzle man” and recalled the lieutenant’s injuries from a fire early in his career. “Mike pulled forward, crawling and inching, room to room,” he said in a eulogy. “He would not stop.”
Lieutenant Davidson left behind a wife and four young children, and came from a family of firefighters; his father and brother are also members of the department. “Mike commanded every situation and led his fellow firefighters into battle,” Commissioner Nigro said. “He wasn’t their captain. He wasn’t their lieutenant. But he was, without question, a leader.”
The funeral ended as it began, a stately feat of precision and turnout that froze a stretch of the city’s spine for hours. The coffin was carried back to the fire engine, and up and down the avenue, firefighters in dress blues kept vigil until the rig drove slowly away.