Families, Friends Say Farewell to 4 Firemen Killed in Plane Crash

In a heartfelt ceremony that began with anguished memories and ended with the haunting wail of a lone bagpipe, four young Corona firefighters were laid to rest Wednesday, a week after they died in a fiery plane crash.

More than 2,000 grieving family members, friends and firefighters from across Southern California packed the Crossroads Christian Church in Corona for the services for Michael Chantry of San Clemente, John Jefferies III of Santa Ana, Daniel Alleman of Perris and Donald Butts of Irvine.

Many of their fellow firefighters sobbed as a tape was played of Chantry’s 2-year-old daughter, Cortni, singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” her ABCs, and the Barney theme song, then in a lilting voice, “I miss you Daddo. . . . I love you.”

But there were moments of laughter, too, as wives and best friends recalled their fondest memories of Chantry, known as the “golden boy,” Jefferies the “fun hog,” Alleman, the self-styled cowboy and Butts, a creative skinflint. Close friends, they were buried a week after their plane slammed into a fog-shrouded slope in the Chino Hills as they tried to head north to Lake Tahoe for snowboarding.

Deeply personal tributes to all four were delivered by their wives, siblings, best friends and colleagues.

“I never thought the time would come, my love, when I’d have to tell my love for you to the whole world, as you lay in front of me,” Alleman’s widow, Jackie, said, weeping. She told the story of “one of the most awesome days of my life,” when her cowboy-loving Dan, with a huge grin under his bushy mustache, proposed to her at Texas Lil’s saloon in Temecula after singing a karaoke song.

Tim Ramirez, best man at the Allemans’ wedding last August, cried too as he read the essay he wrote in second grade about his lifelong best friend: “The bravest person I know is my friend Danny. When he says he’ll do something, then I know I can do it too.”

Staring down at the 27-year-old’s flag-draped casket, Ramirez said: “I always said, ‘Dan, if you go before me, I’ll go right after you.’ ”

Jefferies, 25, was carrying a love letter from his wife in his pocket when the small plane went down, said his close friend Eddie Lee, a Santa Ana firefighter.

Whenever someone asked Jefferies, a third-generation firefighter, what he did for a living, “he would puff up with pride like a peacock and say, ‘I am a firefighter paramedic for the city of Corona,’ ” recalled his pastor, the Rev. Eric Meneese of Santa Ana.

Dave Kearly said of his best friend Butts: “We traveled many years and many miles together . . . in your boat on the ocean, kayaking, camping, and . . . the sides of roads and freeways looking for some piece of trash. . . . You could take anything and make it bigger and better.”

Butts, 28, knew he wanted to be a firefighter by age 3, found the woman he loved by age 16 and owned his first home by age 23, said his sister Kathy Wagner. And he would pick up trash off the San Diego Freeway as parts for a new invention he could tinker with on long nights at the firehouse, his friends said.

“Donald Butts was the perfect son to Floyd and Sharon. The son parents talk about . . . thoughtful, caring, responsible and practical,” eulogized his brother-in-law, Kurt Wagner. “And some say he was frugal and generous at the same time,” a son who would give his parents such gifts as a promise to mow the lawn.

Again and again, the love and community the four firefighters shared was expressed.

“These men were local heroes, the ones who make up the fabric of a community, who protected our lives and property,” said Corona Fire Chief Mike Warren, his voice cracking as he spoke. “A deep sadness tears at our hearts. . . . People outside looking in don’t always understand why firefighters are so close. We are men and women who work, eat, live, play and yes, even die together. . . . There is a bond of love there, a bond uninterrupted even by death.”

Outside, under brilliant blue skies, with snow-covered mountains like those they died trying to reach sparkling on the horizon, the men received a full color guard farewell.

A procession of fire and rescue equipment a quarter-mile long stretched down the street in front of the church and an arch formed by two aerial firefighting ladders extended skyward.

As hundreds of firefighters and police snapped a salute, the flags on each man’s casket were removed, folded and formally, gently placed in the hands of their widows.

Each woman was also given a white dove, which they released after watching their husbands’ caskets be loaded into limousines.

“It was beautiful,” Lorrie Chantry said afterward of the service for her 36-year-old husband. “It felt like it was exactly what Mike would have wanted.”

Jefferies went to the funeral last year of three Los Angeles firefighters killed in the line of duty. He called his best friend, Eddie Lee, and told him: “Eddie, when I go, I want to go just like that. The bagpipe player sent chills up my spine.”

Wednesday, bagpiper John Keys of the Los Angeles Fire Department was there, his pipes wailing across the packed, mute crowd.