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Thousands gather to mourn fallen Philly fire captain

Philadelphia Fire Capt. Michael Robert Goodwin Sr. was mourned Thursday in the small neighborhood church where he attended Bible school, exchanged marriage vows, and brought his children to be baptized.

The casket of Philadelphia Fire Capt. Michael Goodwin is taken into St. Michael's Church in Kensington on Thursday morning. (MICHAEL BRYANT / Staff Photographer)
The casket of Philadelphia Fire Capt. Michael Goodwin is taken into St. Michael's Church in Kensington on Thursday morning. (MICHAEL BRYANT / Staff Photographer)Read more

Philadelphia Fire Capt. Michael Robert Goodwin Sr. was mourned Thursday in the small neighborhood church where he attended Bible school, exchanged marriage vows, and brought his children to be baptized.

Goodwin, 53, was killed Saturday fighting a fire on Fabric Row in South Philadelphia.

His colleagues said he died living out his personal credo: that those who have earned positions of authority should lead by example and not dispatch others to do the hard work.

Dozens of childhood friends already had filled the curved wooden pews of St. Michael's Lutheran Church in Kensington when Goodwin's mother, Elizabeth, arrived for the service.

At 12:53 p.m., the pallbearers - straight-spined firefighters in dark dress uniforms - carried in his casket, draped in an ivory cloth embroidered with a gold and scarlet cross.

For the next two hours, it lay in the heart of the church that he loved all his life as words of comfort - from the liturgical to the deeply personal - were offered in prayer, speech, and song.

In a solemn baritone, Mayor Nutter offered the Goodwin family condolences "on behalf of all citizens of Philadelphia."

He also thanked Firefighter Andrew Godlewski, who sat in a front pew with his right hand in bandages. Godlewski was burned trying to rescue Goodwin.

Fire Commissioner Lloyd Ayers warmly addressed Goodwin's widow, Kelly, and brother, James, a Philadelphia police officer. "We're going to be here for you," Ayers said. "That's what it's about."

Beneath the soaring arched ceiling, and surrounded by the richly illustrated stained-glass windows of the chapel, the Rev. Marjorie J. Neal recalled a conversation she had with Goodwin nine years ago when she first arrived at the church.

"He asked me, 'How is it that a compassionate, loving God could allow a couple of my comrades to be killed in a fire?' " she said. "God still has not chosen to give me the inside scoop. ... We will just never understand it in this world."

Before the service, neighbors reminisced about Goodwin, saying his good soul was evident early on.

"Mike was an angel," said Ruth Jankowski, the mother of one of Goodwin's schoolmates.

When Jankowski's son William was diagnosed with brain cancer at 11, Goodwin did everything he could to help.

"Billy wouldn't have been able to finish elementary school without Mike," she said. For a year and a half, he pushed her son's wheelchair and took him up in the elevator to classes. They remained friends until the boy died at 13.

In recent years, Goodwin served as church council president and was struggling to keep the church afloat. The congregation, once a healthy 800, has dwindled to about 100. Built in 1871, it was a German-speaking church until after World War II. But as manufacturing jobs left the area, families moved away.

Several years ago, when the church needed to sell the parsonage next door to raise money, Goodwin led the effort and, typically, not just with the finances. He helped repair the damaged floors.

Neal told several stories about Goodwin. One, she said, demonstrated his willingness to sacrifice for the church.

Not long ago, he was outside hanging up the rainbow flag, she said, when fellow firefighters drove by and shouted, "Is there something you haven't told us, Mike?"

Another, she said, showed that he was probably destined to become a firefighter.

At 6, curious about the fire-alarm call boxes on the street, Goodwin pulled the lever. When firefighters rushed to the scene, he ran.

"In those days," Neal said, "there were little old ladies watching." The neighbors squealed on him, and in no time, Goodwin's grandfather was dragging him to the fire station to apologize.

When the laughter died down, Neal paused.

"I'm being bold," she said, prefacing remarks she knew would cause a stir, then proceeded to plead with the mayor and City Council to "do whatever is necessary to provide a contract for our firefighters."

The chapel broke out in loud applause and a solitary, "Amen."

Firefighters have been wrestling with the Nutter administration over a contract since 2009. The most recent arbitration contract award is being appealed by Nutter, who says the city cannot afford it.

When he was asked after the funeral about the pastor's comments, the mayor said, "I have nothing to say about a comment that was so inappropriate at the funeral of our hero, Capt. Michael Goodwin. We love him, we respect him and will badly miss him. God bless his wife and family."

Without disputing the good intention of Neal's sentiments, some firefighters shared Nutter's view about her timing.

Outside the church, with more than 2,000 firefighters, police officers, bagpipers, honor guardsmen, and neighbors, Francis Cheney said, "Honestly, that issue is not important to me right now."

Cheney, who was injured last year in the Kensington warehouse fire that killed his colleagues Daniel Sweeney and Robert Neary, said: "Today is about Mike. To mourn him and remember Bob and Danny."