By Ann Marie Barron
Staten Island Advance
NEW YORK — In April 2002, months after a memorial service had been held for Firefighter John G. Chipura, the family received word that two bone fragments recovered at Ground Zero had been identified as John’s remains.
One was a lower-leg bone, something his brother, Gerard Chipura, of Tottenville, now a retired FDNY captain, said he found deeply meaningful.
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From his Marine Corps service, John Chipura had developed famously large calves from climbing a mountain to his communications post every day, Gerard Chipura recalled. The size of his calves was something of family lore, he said.
“I do believe he sent a message saying, ‘I’m not here with you, but I’m sending you my calf bone just to let you know that it’s truly me,’” Chipura said.
Long before he became one of the 343 firefighters killed on Sept. 11, 2001, John Chipura, who grew up in Tottenville, had already devoted his life to serving others.
Part of John’s story, said his brother, is that he’d been committed to service from a young age.
He’d been an Eagle Scout before enlisting in the Marines right out of high school in 1980. And he was stationed in Beirut, Lebanon, when a truck packed with explosives detonated on the American compound on Oct. 23, 1983, killing 241 U.S. service members.
He was missing for three days.
“He was actually spared,” Chipura said. “He survived, but for three days we had no contact. We did not know whether he was alive or dead.”
The experience in Beirut shaped the rest of John Chipura’s life, his brother said.
“He realized that he had lost all those friends and people he worked with,” Chipura said. “That changed who he was because he wasn’t afraid to tell somebody he loved them. He wasn’t afraid to be compassionate or kind.”
After leaving the Marines, John joined the New York City Police Department and eventually earned his detective shield. Later, despite having nearly 12 years on the job, he started over as an FDNY firefighter.
“He was very much into helping people any way he possibly could,” Chipura said.
Close brothers
With five years between them, the brothers became closer as years passed, Chipura explained.
“When I’m 5 and he’s 10, I’m 10 and he’s 15, there’s a little separation, you know?,” Chipura said. “But when I was 20, he was 25. We became much, much closer ... So, when he passed away 39, we were pretty much the same age. We were always in contact. We did a lot of things together.”
One of Chipura’s final memories of his brother alive is when John stopped into his kitchen with a sandwich in the days before Sept. 11.
“I saw his truck pull up and him come sauntering in the door,” Chipura recalled. “He was like, ‘Hey, bro, I got a sandwich, wanna split it?’ So we had lunch together. We didn’t know what the world was like, what was going to happen a day later or two days later.”
FDNY Ladder 105
When terrorists attacked the World Trade Center days later, John Chipura was assigned to Brooklyn’s Engine 219 and was working with Ladder 105. His brother said the company was last seen entering the South Tower after parking near the Marriott and West Street.
“If they were in the lobby of the South Tower, they were evacuating people as best they could,” Chipura said. All the firefighters assigned to Ladder 105 who responded to the World Trade Center perished that day.
For the Chipura family, however, there has always been some comfort in knowing how their lost brother spent his final moments.
“At least we knew he was helping when he passed,” Chipura said. “That’s all he wanted to do his whole life. Boy Scout, Marine, police officer, fireman, that’s what he was designed for.”
In the immediate wake of the attack, the Chipuras clung to hope that, just as in Lebanon, John would be found. But Chipura’s volunteer efforts on Ground Zero, even his participation in finding the remains of a lost FDNY brother, only cemented his acceptance of the tragic fact.
“There weren’t many recoveries,” he said. “So once you realized the enormity of the disaster and the loss, you have to come to terms that he was probably part of it and gone instantly. The part that it’s hard to think about is that 110-story building collapsed in 11 seconds — and those lives were lost in seconds.”
Grief, Chipura said, is a journey that varies from person to person.
The FDNY offered valuable counseling, he explained, adding that his work with the department’s Ceremonial Unit and Family Assistance Unit has allowed him to help others benefit from his loss experience. A not-for-profit he founded in John’s memory helps Staten Islanders in need.
Counseling, he stressed, is for strong people, not the weak.
“They know how to help you through the process,” he said. “These people are here to help you understand it and put it in perspective and say, ‘I can wake up tomorrow and be a good person and live my life with their memory’ ... bringing you higher to another level of consciousness and saying, ‘this is what life is.’”
Twenty-five years after his brother’s death, Chipura said he still finds strength in the knowledge that John died exactly as he lived.
“I’m sure he was influential in rescuing many people that day with his company,” he said. “In the horribleness of the loss, we know he was doing what he loved to do when he died. That was what he was built for — to help.”
To commemorate the 25th anniversary of the attacks, the Staten Island Advance/SILive.com is presenting a collection of documentaries, personal accounts, staff recollections, archival reports and previously untold stories.
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