Heroes at the dinner table

Having a parent or other family member who is a first responder has its perks – like being able to climb on a fire truck or see inside a squad car.

But it also can mean living with fear, knowing that a loved one may not come home at the end of a shift.

Three people whose parents or siblings were police officers or firefighters share their stories here, proving the adage that “not all heroes wear capes.”

FATHER LARRY RICHARDS: ‘THEY COULD DIE ANY DAY’

For much of his life, Fr. Larry Richards lived with the knowledge that he could become an orphan.

From the time Fr. Richards was about age 6 until he turned 16, his dad, Larry, was a police officer for the city of Pittsburgh, PA. Then, after his parents divorced and his father left the force and moved away, his mother, Sandy, joined the police department.

When his father was on the force and assigned to rotating shifts, Fr. Richards said he would wonder, “Is he working? Is he OK?” A police scanner was always on in the house, and when it crackled, “My mother would sit there and get nervous,” he recalled. “That’s why I say police officers deserve so much support. They could die any day.”

He knew what his father was facing daily because he talked about it at home and because other officers hung out at the Richards house. “Every time you call a police officer, it’s always for something bad,” Fr. Richards said. “Somebody killed somebody, somebody stole something. You never call to say, ‘I’m having a great day today.’”

Father Richards, who is pastor of St. Joseph Parish/ Bread of Life Community in Erie, PA, left for the seminary soon after his mother became a police officer. Although he was away, she continually told him what she was doing, and so the anxiety he once felt for his dad was transferred to her.

After graduating at the top of her class, Fr. Richards’ mother went on to become a beat cop and do undercover work. “She thrived on it. She loved being a cop,” he said. Even when she developed Alzheimer’s disease later in life, he added, “She constantly talked about what she did as a cop.” She died in March at the age of 80.

Father Richards said what he learned most from being the son of police officers was the day-in-and-day-out of people giving their lives in service to others. “Both were in it to help others,” he said. “They weren’t in it for themselves. It was just, ‘This is your calling.’”

Although he never wanted to be a policeman himself, he said he believes watching his parents’ service made it natural for him to become a priest and to serve in a different way. “They always thought I’d be a cop,” he said. “In some ways, I’m a spiritual cop.”

DR. EDWARD NEUPERT: ‘THOUGHT HE WOULD BE FINE’

Legate Edward Neupert knew his younger brother’s job as a police officer was dangerous, but he always thought of him as so capable that he never expected him to die in the line of duty.

“We thought he would be fine,” Neupert said. “He was so determined, and he enjoyed it so much.”

But after two years as a New Orleans police officer, Gregory Neupert was shot and killed in 1980 by one of two suspects he had stopped for suspected illegal drug activity. He was 23.

After dabbling in modeling and acting, Gregory had worked for the Mississippi River Bridge Authority before entering the New Orleans police academy. “He did really well in the academy,” said Edward, a member of Legatus’ Lafayette Chapter in Louisiana. “He was a top shot and got one of the highest grades.”

On visits, Gregory would regale Edward and his wife with stories from his work.

“He lamented the low salary and that he had to do things on the side to pick up money . . . and being low on the totem pole, he had to pull the worst watches,” Edward said. “But he thoroughly enjoyed his job. He loved it. . . . He was just drawn to police work. I guess he liked the excitement, the ability to be in charge and to make things better.”

After his death, the family met people who told them stories about how Gregory had stopped to check on them, given them money, or performed other acts of kindness for them.

Edward regrets that much of the good his brother did was overshadowed by news coverage of the police response to his murder. Four people were shot and killed by police investigating their fellow officer’s death, and as a result seven officers were indicted on federal civil rights charges. Three were convicted.

“It’s horrible stuff,” Edward said, “but it takes away from a 23-year-old man who was in his prime when his life was taken.”

Amid it all, “The thing that kept everything together was our faith,” Edward said. “If it hadn’t been for the Catholic faith that we’ve lived by and been taught all our lives, we wouldn’t have been able to survive it.”

For him and his family, the loss was so devastating that it left no room for vengeance or demonizing. “That’s the way I’ve always felt,” he explained. “What you can do to the other person won’t stop the pain.”

Despite the way in which Gregory died, Edward said he wouldn’t call his brother a “hero.” Rather, he said, “I would say he was a young man who served his community and did what he wanted to do and what he loved. And if you can do that in your life, that’s wonderful. To me, he was a person who was dedicated, worked hard, and did a good job, and unfortunately his life was snuffed out way too soon.”

FATHER THOMAS HUNYOR: ‘COURAGE TO DO THE JOB’

Father Thomas Hunyor grew up running around the local fire station, jumping on the trucks and hanging out with other firefighters and their kids.

It was one of the pluses of having a dad who was a firefighter and later a paramedic, but it also set him up to follow in his father’s footsteps for a time before being ordained a priest of the Diocese of Toledo this year on May 28.

“Whether you’re conscious of it or not, every young man wants to be like his dad to a certain degree,” he said. His father’s work as a first responder provided a way to bond. “When Dad would explain and talk about his runs, in a way it was . . . bringing me into adulthood, teaching me to be a man and doing it in a way that showed care and compassion for others.”

Father Hunyor said he didn’t worry about his dad’s safety even when his father was in perilous situations, such as when a ceiling collapsed on him inside a burning building. Rather, he said, knowing the dangers he faced helped him in his own career as a firefighter. “I saw that Dad can do this and be safe,” he said. “It gave me more courage to do the job myself.”

He needed that courage when he and another firefighter were trapped inside a burning house and had to crawl through flames to get out. “Once we finally made it outside, the other guy and I turned around, brushed ourselves off, made sure we were OK, and, to give you the idea of the mindset of a firefighter, we were ready to go back in,” he said. “This is not to brag or boast, but it shows you the courage that’s necessary to do the job, the training that’s required to be able to make decisions to safely exit a building when things go sideways. It’s a much more difficult career than many people understand – not just physically but also mentally.”

Father Hunyor’s father began his career as a volunteer firefighter in Maumee, OH, and later became a paramedic for Lucas County, working out of the Maumee Fire Station. His younger brother, Joe, also is a paramedic for the county on the same squad as his dad. For several years all three were serving and going out on calls together.

Father Hunyor believes his exposure to emergency situations through his father and his own work has helped him in his ministry by teaching him empathy.

“Not only does each and every person have dignity because he is created in the image and likeness of God, but every person is going through difficulties and challenges,” said Fr. Hunyor. As both priest and first responder, “Many times, when you encounter people, they’re not having their best day.”

Judy Roberts is a contributing writer for Legatus magazine.