Jose M. Perez

44, Lakewood

In 16 years, Jose M. Perez went on about 100,000 calls for the Los Angeles Fire Department. Even Fire Capt. Ruben Torres, Perez’s best friend, considers that a massive number.

“We went to all different types of calls — medical calls, barricaded suspects, police shootings,” Torres said. “There were multiple times where we were pulling people out of structures and shortly after, the house would f lash over — when everything in the house reaches ignition temperature. It’s almost like everything spontaneously combusts.”

The 44- year- old Perez — known to his friends, family and fellow firefighters as Joser ( pronounced “Hoser”), Joe or Dr. Phil — was an even- keeled man who worked much of his career out of a South Los Angeles fire station only three streets over from where he was born.

The Lakewood resident was also a prankster who once swapped out a co- worker’s tile glue with pancake batter. He was the kind of guy who paid for an elderly stranger’s medications and helped refurbish a fire engine to send to the Dominican Republic after it was painted Dodger blue.

“We went on a call, and he realized the family had a bunch of kids sleeping on the f loor,” Torres said. “When he saw that, he went down the street and purchased some bunk beds for the family.”

Perez took in his two nephews when their father was lost to gang violence and raised them. He and his wife, Heidi, went on to have three children of their own.

On July 11, the apparently healthy firefighter tested positive for the novel coronavirus. On July 16, he was hospitalized. Three days later, he was in the ICU.

“He didn’t think he was going to have to stay. But he checked in on a Thursday morning and that Friday, he was telling me I needed to make out a will” for him, Heidi Perez said.

“So I had to hurry up and get it to him the next day, on our wedding anniversary.”

On July 25, Jose Perez became the first Los Angeles firefighter to die of COVID- 19.

“One day he was like, ‘ Hey, I’m fine,’ and 14 days later, we’re doing a procession to Rose Hills [ Cemetery]. It was almost like a dream,” Torres said. “It happened so quick.

“It’s very hard for me to believe that happened. There’s days where I still can’t ... I still can’t believe that he passed away.

“To live a life where you’re constantly giving and never asking for anything in return.... You can’t replace a person like that.”

— Michael Ordona