A day of heartbreak and emotion: Rochester pauses to honor an officer and family man

Even before the flag-draped coffin entered the Blue Cross Arena Monday, followed by the mourning family and hundreds of grieving men and women clad in blues and grays, the life of Rochester Police Officer Anthony Mazurkiewicz cycled in photos inside the cavernous facility.

On a large overhead screen more commonly filled with replays of hockey goals and the live shows of pop and country music stars, the life trajectory of Mazurkiewicz unveiled itself in a stream of dozens of photographs.

Yes, there were photos of the cop known to his colleagues and friends as "Maz." But there were more − many more − photos of Mazurkiewicz as husband, as father, as "Papa" to his grandchildren.

There were weddings and kids' hockey games and trick-or-treating. There was Mazurkiewicz as a grinning young boy; as a newly married man to his wife, Lynn; as a proud dad with a daughter in her wedding gown; as a clowning grandfather with adoring grandkids.

There was the young trim man with the dark hair in a flattop and a thin mustache. And there was the older man, with less hair and, as age tends to do, more girth.

Mazurkiewicz was fatally shot on July 21 while working a plainclothes detail on Bauman Street. A 54-year-old Rochester police officer with nearly 30 years on the job, he was hunting for a murder suspect. His partner that night, Officer Sino Seng, was shot in the leg.

Mazurkiewicz was a member of the department's tactical unit, or "tac unit" as it's often called. Almost eight years ago, another member of the unit, Daryl Pierson, was fatally shot while chasing a parole absconder on foot. That was the first fatal shooting of a Rochester officer since 1959.

"I'm getting tired of coming here and doing this," retired Officer Dennis Cole, who'd been a longtime friend and partner of Mazurkiewicz, said at the arena Monday.

Love of family

Cole, along with four other current members of the Rochester police force, spoke of "Maz" in a ceremony lasting more than two hours. While their words often resonated with the many in law enforcement in the crowd - several times prompting standing ovations - much of what they had to say was for the family members, who were seated on the front row only feet from the coffin of their lost loved one.

Mazurkiewicz's love of family was a common thread, especially his recent role as doting grandfather who sometimes had "Papa Tuesdays" on Tuesday mornings with grandchildren.

More:Colleagues and friends remember fallen officer set 'high standard,' even at a summer cookout

"He'd come to work Tuesdays, with a smile and bags under his eyes," said Officer Paul Romano, another tactical unit member. "... He was happy."

Inside the locker of Mazurkiewicz were newspaper clippings of athletic and other achievements of his children, Romano said. On quieter tactical unit shifts lasting hours, Mazurkiewicz proudly regaled his colleagues with all of what the four children were accomplishing.

"For eight hours a night, he'd divvy up between all the kids," Romano said.

Mazurkiewicz could have retired years ago, and he was considering doing so in the next few years, if not sooner, according to colleagues. His wife and children were looking forward to the days when he would have significantly more hours for his pastimes − fishing, bonfires, fireworks so loud they could rattle the neighbors, huge family meals.

"Tony was never happier than when we were all at home, when he was cooking some elaborate dish with my brother, Brad, and the house was full of banter and my little girls' giggles," said his daughter, Brooks Balcer, flanked onstage by her three siblings. "He was not the type to be mushy or gushy with his emotions, but we never ever questioned his love for us, because he showed it in all the things he did for us, every single day."

Her siblings − Bradley Jamison and Brent and Bryce Mazurkiewicz − remembered evenings spent with their father, relaxing in a backyard with an open sky above, as conversations ranged from the mundane to, as Brent said, "what was out there in space." Their father's wit was quick, his laugh hearty and contagious, and his ability to craft nicknames for everyone − monikers that were funny but not mean-spirited − apparently boundless.

Mazurkiewicz relished those special times. Bryce recalled the trips they took to her softball tournaments over a decade, as her father insisted that they avoid chain restaurants that could be found in Rochester. He would research all the eateries available on the route ahead.

The family, the siblings said, will try to recreate those intimate moments, with no promises to reign in their mother's spending at Target. But they know that there will be a hole that cannot be filled.

"I really can't fathom that this is our reality," Bryce said.

The 'new reality'

There is also a new reality for police − an increasingly violent landscape at the same time as political and policy questions about the efficacy of policing and its future. That subtext occasionally flared Monday, as some of the colleagues of Mazurkiewicz challenged those who use social media and other outlets for anti-police rhetoric.

With the fatal shooting of Mazurkiewicz, and the solemnness of Monday's remembrance, the dangers of police work were stark and evident.

But, as some speakers reminded, there are others whose lives are also at risk each day, including the schoolchildren and residents in neighborhoods where the recent upsurge in violence is most prevalent. Last year, Rochester eclipsed its past record for homicides, averaging well over one a week. This year the city is on a similar pace.

The total number of shootings, many which leave people with lifelong physical and emotional scars, are far greater. And those victims, like Anthony Mazurkiewicz, have families and loved ones.

"Three more mothers are grieving since Tony was taken from us," Romano said of the continuing rash of homicides. "... For the people that don't believe in what we do, you are irrelevant to the people that want to be safe from violence."

Rochester is not in isolation. Other cities have also seen significant upticks in bloodshed, in the prevalence of illegal and stolen firearms, in gang activity. But even at a time when violence is increasing in many places, Rochester's pace is greater than most.

More:Community life continues amid violence

Political and policy disagreements will continue, especially in the heated if occasionally empty rhetoric of an election year. The death of Anthony Mazurkiewicz did not stymie those debates, not even from the stage of the Blue Cross Arena Monday.

The dozens of police cars and motorcycles lining the Broad Street bridge, the massive American flags along the highways, and the fly-over of a State Police helicopter served as reminders that the on-duty death of a police officer brings a day when a community pauses − and perhaps even reflects.

Society treats the death of a police officer differently, though the families of the many others lost to violence locally know all too well the same grief. They, too, have cherished memories and an emptiness ahead.

In that regard, there is symmetry. Anthony Mazurkiewicz is now one of the list of lives lost to homicide in the city this year, a number that threatens to break another record and could grow before this story is even published.

On Monday, in an emotional eloquence, Brooks Balcer told of a future absent of her father and "all the future grandchildren who you will unfairly never meet."

Then, speaking words that could have been voiced by the many others who also have suffered as have she and her family members, Balcer said, "What you taught us recently is just one moment can change everything."

Contact Gary Craig at gcraig@gannett.com. Follow him on Twitter at gcraig1. 

This article originally appeared on Rochester Democrat and Chronicle: Rochester officer Anthony Mazurkiewicz honored in day of heartbreak