Memorial Day
Dedicated to all servicemen and servicewomen…past and present.
Memorial Day, May 26, 2008. Memorial Day, a special day set aside each year to honor the men and women who gave their lives in the service of our Country.
Back in the 1950s, when I was growing up in Philadelphia, Memorial Day, always May 30th back then, started with a parade. I remember standing patiently on the sidewalk waiting for the bands to go by. Dad was there, as were my two brothers. The marchers would hand out little American flags to us kids which we proudly waved. Free chocolate and vanilla ice cream cups with wooden spoons were distributed a little later on, only two cups allotted to each child. The marching bands would make their way to the local park where politicians would give speeches. All in all, it was a solemn, quiet time to reflect on those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for us to be able to live in freedom. But to a lot of us it was a time to honor all of the people who proudly wore the different uniforms of the United States of America.
Later on in the day we’d pretend to be soldiers, shooting guns, killing one another. But that was just pretend. I guess our parents, watching us, always prayed that we’d never have to experience the real thing. Unfortunately, for all of the men and women of the armed forces, the real thing, war, continues to this day.
June 9, 1966. Harry, my older brother, graduates from High School. He is the first among both my Dad’s and Mom’s immediate family to do so. He had hopes of going to college but the money just wasn’t there so instead he enlisted into the Air Force to get an education. Before that summer was up he was at boot camp then onto a year at Nellis AFB in Nevada learning to be a fireman.
Harry was always smarter than me even when we were growing up. He was always interested in chemistry and science so Mom and Dad set up a little laboratory downstairs in the cellar for him. The walls were all thick concrete so they figure he couldn’t burn the place down. There was a big wooden table with rows of bottles containing different chemicals. Some were crystallized or in powder form. Some were liquid. There were several flasks and long stemmed spoons for stirring. A microscope occupied one end of the table while the little transistor radio on the opposite end was tuned to our favorite rock and roll stations. As the soft melodies of Frankie Avalon’s Venus or Connie Francis’ Who’s Sorry Now graced the airwaves a little girl sat mesmerized on a wooden stool as her older brother meticulously measured out potentially dangerous ingredients, stirred them delicately which caused the mixtures to boil over or foam upward into the air. Some stunk horribly. Others weren’t so bad and even though there were a few scary moments that our parents never knew about, Harry never burned the house down.
It was around October, 1967, it was my senior year in high school. I would graduate on June 6, 1968 and turn 18 in August. We didn’t have a telephone so Harry called our next door neighbor and have them fetch Mom to the phone. When she came back to the house her face was ashen and we knew what we had suspected would happen came true. Harry had just gotten orders to ship out to Vietnam. The words usually meant a death sentence for most of the men and women sent over there. Mom was beside herself especially when Harry came home for a furlough before shipping overseas. He told her he had to make plans in the case he didn’t come back.
By this time I was driving and Dad had purchased an old 56 Chevy known as “Buck” to the family. Mom, not knowing car brands or names got confused when Dad told her what type of car he had purchased from a fellow worker. When we questioned Mom on what type of car we were getting she said it was a Buck. My younger brother Ray and I looked at each other confused. What type of car was a Buck? We’d never heard of one. Then we decided Mom probably meant it was a Buick. It wasn’t until Dad came home with the car that we found out it was a Chevy. But we kept the name “Buck” so we could continue to tease Mom about it.
Dad, himself, didn’t drive nor did Mom. We always had to walk to the grocery stores or take a bus or trolley, maybe sometimes a cab. So it was for convenience sake since Harry wasn’t home for me to be able to drive the family around wherever they needed to go. When Harry came home on leave right before shipping out, he discovered that I had been driving without any car insurance. But we didn’t have the money; it was too expensive since I was only sixteen. With hesitation Harry immediately paid for my car insurance plus AAA membership in case the car broke down while I was on the road.
So it was natural that on the day Harry had to leave for overseas, that I drive everyone to the airport. Since the car was so huge there was plenty of room for the whole family to bundle into “Buck”. Harry wore his Air Force uniform and Dad insisted on carrying his duffle bag. The pants to the uniform were baggy not formfitting or tight like the popular style of that era. Hippies and college kids would turn and snicker and make fun of Harry’s uniform. Dad and I wanted to say something, like you should respect him because he’s going to war to keep you free. But Harry told us just to ignore them; he didn’t want any trouble. Mom agreed yet she recalled during the Truman era civilians were told to give up their seats on buses to service men and to respect them and their uniform. Yet Vietnam was a different war unto its own and the times were sadly a changing not completely for the better.
Mom walked to Mass early every morning and said rosaries after rosaries. She said we had to send Harry letters every day and packages at least once every month to keep up his spirits and to remind him we were thinking of him and love him. Mom would dictate to me what to write on the letters, she being too nervous to do so herself, at first. Later, she would even write to Harry on her own. She told me to add something of my own to the letters. How I was doing in high school; the courses I was taking. I was a senior now and driving Buck to school. Ray was in eighth grade and would be graduating the Catholic grade school the same time I would graduate high school. The next year Ray would begin attending public junior high.
We took a lot of photos and sent them to Harry. He noticed that I had been lightening my hair from my original dark brown to a strawberry blonde. Dad always warned me my hair would fall out from dyeing my hair so much. My clothes reflected the psychedelic times with the wild array of colors and prints. Because I loved to draw Mom came up with an idea. She remembered during World War II the soldiers use to have pin up photos of Betty Gable with her long shapely legs.
So Mom urged me to draw some cartoons of sexy women in different costumes and outfits that matched the seasons and holidays that we were celebrating. Some of the ideas I got from comic books like Betty and Veronica. Others I came up on my own because my dream was to become a fashion designer. One pin up was a red head for Halloween in a skimpy black witches outfit riding on a broomstick with bats and ghost flying around. Thanksgiving’s girl had dark hair with pumpkins and turkey all around (I forget what she wore, though I know it was something provocative). I had the Christmas pin up coming out of a chimney, wearing a short red Santa outfit with a bag full of presents for all the guys. Though they wore different outfits and I changed the color and length of their hair they all shared one thing; long, shapely legs ending in high heels. Harry use to share my pin ups with the guys in his firefighting unit who liked my pictures. They began to look forward to my next creation and Mom would constantly push me to at least get one out to Harry every month, which I gladly did.
We tried to put on a happy face to Harry but the tension because he was in a dangerous and life threatening territory always haunted us. The whole family was anxious to do anything they could to help the guys overseas so when Harry asked if I could write to airmen who didn’t receive letters I gladly did.
Christmas Day, 1967; it was Harry’s first Christmas away from home. Even though he was in the Air Force for the previous Christmas, he had been fortunate enough to get a leave to come home. But this holiday found him in a foreign land filled with danger and away from his family and his homeland; the realization hit him hard.
Before Harry had left for Vietnam he instructed Mom to make sure and get a phone line put in which we did. Harry was always good about sending money home every month so we were able to afford more. That Christmas day he was able to get one of his buddies who operated the ham radio to give us a call. The operator patiently explained to Mom that you had to wait for the other party to say “Over” before you started talking and when she was done saying something to say, “Over”. But Mom was nervous and got all confused. She would say something but forget to add “Over”. Then Harry would say, “Over” and Mom wouldn’t say anything. The operator kept trying to help out which confused Mom even more. Frustrated she handed the phone for me to talk to Harry. But he really wanted to talk with Mom so I gave the phone back to her. Eventually, we had to hang up. Harry had to do guard duty. Later he confided in us that while the song, “I’ll be home for Christmas”, played in the background, he cried knowing that he wouldn’t be home for that Christmas and not sure if he’d be back for any future ones.
Thursday, June 6, 1968, I graduated from high school. Four days later, on Monday, June 10th, I started working for Bell of Pennsylvania, affectionately known as “Ma Bell”. After two weeks of training I was able to begin answering calls as a long distance operator complete with the long cords and heavy headset. It meant working weekends and holidays but I didn’t mind because it brought in money to the family. A few months into working and I was able to take out a $2,000 loan, traded in poor “Buck”, after it died completely on the dealership lot and purchased a brand new 1968, AMC Renault, sans a radio but having automatic transmission. That year Harry made it thankfully safely out of Vietnam.
Unfortunately, there were a lot of his buddies that didn’t make it out. Many grew lax and were killed days sometimes even hours before they were to go home. So Harry was very cautious up to the very end buoyed by our prayers and letters and gifts and love he finally made it back home to us.
For the rest of his four year enlistment Harry was stationed in Abilene, Texas. He rode home all the way from Texas on his “Big Red” Harley Davidson motorcycle. Along the way he stopped off to visit his former buddies and their families until finally arriving back to Delaware County where he still resides today.
That’s my tribute to my Hero, My Older Brother, Harry, who always protected me from bullies when we were young. Even though he was never wounded during his tour of duty in Vietnam it still took a little of his soul with what he saw and had to do. So for Memorial Day let us not only remember those who have passed away but also those who live everyday with the memories of hell behind their eyes.
I believe that we should always keep in our prayers the men and women fighting overseas today plus their families. I know how hard it is with our everyday lives to forget those that are still fighting to keep us free. So during this upcoming holiday weekend, please take time out of your holiday activities to remember those who have passed away, those who survived and the ones that are still keeping us safe today.
To all of our Brave Men and Women of the Armed Forces, we
Thank and Salute You!
God Bless You All!
And be safe.
Harry’s Enlistment Timeline: (Roughly)
Harry enlisted in June, 1966
September, 1966 to September, 1967
