Thousands bid farewell to the 'go-to guy' of Ladder 25
Firefighter remembered for his sincerity, charm
After the roar of the preacher's sermon, after firefighters handed his mother a medal and one of his sons his black helmet, after a fire bell clanged in his honor, eight of Warren J. Payne's crewmembers carried his casket outside the church in Dorchester where thousands of men in dark suits and white gloves stood beneath a bright sun in a stone-faced salute.
When the bagpipers finally released their skirl, few of the men had dry eyes.
They stood at attention for the 53-year-old father of two teenagers who was remembered for his bear hugs and for his mix of sincerity and levity. But more than anything, mourners recalled his warmth and careful attention to people in distress.
"He was a go-to guy at the house," said Captain Patrick Nichols, who worked with Payne for the past 11 months on Ladder 25. "You would call him and he was there right away. The only time he would say no was if he had plans with his sons. . . . He was a bull with fire, but a gentle, caring man."
Payne, a 19-year department veteran, died last week when a grease fire at a Chinese restaurant in West Roxbury exploded with unexpected ferocity, also killing fellow firefighter Paul J. Cahill, 55, and injuring 12 other firefighters.
Firefighters, relatives, and dignitaries yesterday filled United House of Prayer for All People on Seaver Street, where Payne's smile beamed in a framed picture beside the pulpit.
His mother, Florence, sat in a wheelchair, in tears throughout the service. His sons, Johnathan, 16, and Jeremy, 14, sat nearby, their faces heavy with grief.
In all, an estimated 10,000 people came to mourn the loss of Payne, about the same number that attended Thursday's funeral for Cahill, said Steve MacDonald, a spokesman for the Boston Fire Department.
Payne and Cahill are the city's first firefighters to die in the line of duty since 1994.
After the service began with prayers and hymns, Fire Chief Kevin MacCurtain addressed Governor Deval Patrick, Senator John F. Kerry, Mayor Thomas M. Menino, and hundreds of others gathered in the pews.
"Warren Payne was a great man and a great firefighter," MacCurtain said. "Warren was a hero to us."
He described how Payne and Cahill charged into what they believed was a small kitchen fire. "They thought it was a piece of cake," MacCurtain said.
"In seconds, the entire operation changed. All the firefighters in there were suddenly trapped. . . . This is a horrifying reminder of the dangers firefighters face."
Payne, who was divorced and living in Newton, was born in Dorchester and graduated from Brighton High School. He grew up near a fire station, once nearly falling out a window while watching a parade of firefighters. "He may have always been inclined to be a firefighter," said the Rev. Gregory Groover in a eulogy.
But Payne did not take the conventional path to a career in the Fire Department. After a year and a half studying at Bunker Hill Community College, he worked odd jobs in landscaping and security before becoming a certified emergency medical technician. He did not become a firefighter until 1988, and then spent his entire career at the Centre Street station.
"He was our ambassador," Nichols said. "He used to sit in front of the firehouse and speak to . . . the public who would come and visit. . . . He was always handing out helmets to the kids."
Nichols remembered Payne's charm, describing how he once ran into him looking in a mirror at the station. "He looked at me and looked back at the mirror and said, 'How can you not love this face?' "
He was known for walking around with ash-covered hands. "At times, one of his close friends would say to Warren, 'Warren, how about some lotion?' " Groover said. "And Warren would lift his hands and respond, "These hands save lives.' "
Fire Commissioner Roderick J. Fraser Jr. described Payne's strong bond with his mother. On the night of Aug. 29, Fraser said, she heard about the fire on television and knew even before fire officials arrived that something had happened to her son.
"She just knew in her heart, the mother's love for her son," he said. "She told us about his sons and how much he loved them."
The funeral drew firefighters from around the country and Canada. The badges seemed to come from every municipality in the state - Abington, Cohasset, Hanson, Kingston, Lynn, Stoughton, and many more.
In his 35 years as a firefighter, Whitman's fire chief, Tim Travers, said he has not missed a funeral for a firefighter in the state who died in the line of duty.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said. "No matter where you're from, we're all members of the same family."
Retired Chief Jon Alberghini of Kingston, wearing his dress blues, like nearly all the other firefighters, said: "We don't forget. We always come."
As the pallbearers lifted Payne's casket atop Engine 30, which shares the station with Ladder 25, politicians, relatives, and thousands of firefighters in uniform stood in silence.
A State Police helicopter flew low over the church in his honor.
And then the Boston Fire Gaelic Brigade sounded a dirge, and Ladder 25, which was covered in flowers and black bunting, rumbled to a start, moving slowly down Seaver Street.
Engine 30 followed, and rows and rows of firefighters saluted as the trucks passed them on their way to Forest Hills Cemetery.
David Abel can be reached at dabel@globe.com. 