Mourners pay tribute to teen daredevil and share stories of friend

March 12, 2001

Two images of Bryan Zuckor met mourners at a memorial service for the teen-ager yesterday afternoon.

In one, a crisp class photo from last summer, Bryan offered an exuberant smile, the kind that endeared him to friends, his teachers, his pastor. A purple T-shirt hung loosely around his slender neck, thick with a large Adam's apple.

The other photograph, cropped and enlarged from a group snapshot, was taken about a month ago on a snowboarding trip to Big Bear. It was blurred and washed out; Bryan's face was difficult to recognize. The teen-ager, self-confident and relaxed, was squinting in the sunlight, his square jaw holding a subtle grin.

In so short a time, Bryan Christopher Macagba Zuckor was becoming a man.

No one will ever know that man, not his mother, his little brother and sister, or anyone else who knew and loved him.

That grim reality fell heavy yesterday on the Rev. Robert Mentze, who led a memorial service at Lakeside Community Presbyterian Church. The service was the second in two days to memorialize two teen-agers killed a week ago at Santana High School in Santee. It was the worst school shooting since April 1999, when two Colorado teen-agers killed 12 of their classmates before committing suicide at Columbine High School.

Charles "Andy" Williams, 15, is accused of killing Bryan and Randy Gordon, a senior, and wounding 11 students, a security guard and a student teacher.

At yesterday's memorial service, Mentze urged mourners to reach for their faith in God to ease their grief.

"In this world, there will always be pain, suffering and, yes, even death. . . . In this world, the innocent are not exempt," Mentze said.

The pastor reflected on the violence that took Bryan, the nature of heaven and the importance of forgiveness during a time of excruciating pain.

"We need to learn to be forgiving people," he said.

Bryan's mother, Michelle, 11-year-old sister, Rebecca, 10-year-old brother, Jeremy, and other relatives sat silently in the front row. They did not speak during the one-hour service and left immediately after.

The service was mostly about remembering Bryan, whom Mentze described as an affable, happy young man who graced those who knew him with an infectious smile and gentle manner. He would have been 15 April 3.

One after another, Mentze handed a microphone to children and adults in a gathering that crowded the pews and spilled outside.

"He was like one of my boys," said Mike Iglesias, Bryan's basketball coach for a Santee youth league. "Bryan was the kid who couldn't stop. He was the one who ran into fences and poles and got back up."

The words brought the only moment of collective laughter during the service, and they pointed to a boyish ebullience that many said they knew well.

Bryan told his friends he wanted to become a stuntman, and he could perform tricks on his silver BMX bike that awed his peers. He often would ride his bike into curbs, throwing his body over the handlebars and rolling on his shoulder onto the grass.

One girl said she did not know Bryan well, but she will always remember him entertaining classmates with stunts on campus at lunch.

"He would fall and get up and say, 'Hmmm,' " shaking off the tumble with a goofy ease.

Bryan's beloved bike, silver with gold pegs on the wheel axles and the words, "Cyclone Pacific" on the frame, leaned on its kickstand near the photos at the front of the church.

A silver bicycle helmet, scraped in countless falls, hung from the left handlebar. Dried mud caked the bike's tires and pedals.

Many people at the service also spoke of Bryan as a gentle boy who surrounded himself with the family pets, watched medical programs on the Discovery Channel and talked of being a doctor or veterinarian.

"A stuntman or a doctor," said Karen Degischer, principal at Santana, "what a beauty of youth that one could think you could be one or the other."