Linda Grisolia

Army survival instructor Ron Centanni

As a Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape instructor, Ron Centanni trained everyone from foot soldiers headed for Vietnam to astronauts headed for space.

The oldest of two sons, Ron Centanni was born in Chicago to Paul and Ida (DeMuro). The family lived on the 3400 block of Flournoy Street in a two-flat owned by Centanni’s paternal grandparents until they moved to Villa Park when Centanni was 4 years old. His father’s family emigrated from Sicily and his mother’s from Bari.

Christmas Eve was celebrated at his maternal grandparents’ home. “It was always a tradition on Christmas Eve. We’d go there for dinner with all the relatives, the aunts, uncles, cousins,” Centanni fondly recalls. “The big feast, that was a highlight.” His mother made a ricotta pie known as calzone for Easter and ravioli and Italian cookies for Christmas. A favorite cookie was cuccidati, a tradition now kept by his sister-in-law. “To this day, my brother and his family and I make ravioli every Christmas,” Centanni says.

Centanni attended Ardmore Grade School and graduated from Willowbrook High School in 1960. As a student at Southern Illinois University, he participated in the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. During the Vietnam era, it was mandatory for all male students to be in the ROTC during their first two years at SIU. Rather than take a chance with the draft, Centanni decided to continue the program all four years and graduate as a commissioned officer. He chose the Air Force for two reasons. He was influenced by an older cousin who had joined, and “I liked airplanes,” says Centanni. “The other big thing was at SIU, they had Air Force ROTC, so that kind of sealed it for me there.”

Centanni graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English education and a commission as a second lieutenant. He continued his studies at SIU, earned a master’s degree in counseling and educational psychology, and in June 1967, received his first active duty assignment at Fairchild Air Force Base in Spokane, Washington. For three years, Centanni was in charge of a group of survival instructors as part of the 3636th Combat Crew Training Group, Air Force Survival School. The program is called Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE), and Centanni completed the course when he first arrived at Fairchild. He also participated in two additional survival courses. The first took place in Alaska, where he learned basic survival skills in minus 20 degree weather. The second course was in Panama, where he learned necessary skills to survive in jungles. “It was very enlightening to see what it would take,” says Centanni. “It made me a little more knowledgeable about what my instructors were teaching.”

Additionally, Centanni spent two weeks at Ft. Benning, Georgia, where he trained to parachute out of an airplane. “I had one close call when my parachute didn’t open at first,” says Centanni, “but they taught us what to do and thankfully I maneuvered out of it and got the parachute open before I landed.”

There were four groups (flights) of instructors, and Centanni was in charge of one flight of 20 to 30 instructors, each one responsible for seven or eight people. Most who came through the program were airmen on their way to Vietnam. “You kind of knew what they were going into, and you probably didn’t want to dwell on it a whole lot,” says Centanni.

The main purpose of SERE was to teach air crew members how to survive if their plane was shot down. The course included five days of field training in the national forest, where they learned wilderness survival skills such as building a shelter, hunting for food and navigating, in addition to parachute landing and prisoner-of-war training. “The biggest thing was how to evade,” says Centanni. When out in the field, some of the instructors dressed as aggressors and the students learned how to elude them. Also important was the code of conduct if they were captured. “We had to teach them what they can say, what they cannot say, what they can do, what they cannot do,” Centanni says.

In two- or three-person teams, the students navigated from Point A to Point B to Point C using only a map and compass. Centanni and his sergeants and instructors monitored them every minute of every day. “We were out in the field pretty much on duty 24/7 for the five days,” he says. “As officer in charge, I had to make sure everything was being done the way it was supposed to be done. I couldn’t have asked for a better first assignment in the Air Force.”

Centanni had the opportunity to help supervise survival training for Apollo astronauts in case their spacecraft went down. As assistant officer in charge, he helped make sure they learned desert survival in southern Washington. “To hear about the guys you trained going up in the spacecraft, that was kind of neat,” Centanni says.

His next assignment was in Turkey, helping the Turkish Air Force with its NATO mission and working closely with their pilots. Working as an officer in charge of command and control and as a detachment commander, Centanni communicated with the U.S. Air Force Headquarters in Europe, took procedural orders from them and relayed that information to the Turkish Air Force. “We were the liaison between NATO and the Turkish Air Force.”

After four years of active duty, Centanni returned home and joined the O’Hare Air Reserves stationed at the airport. Officers were needed to work for the Air Force Academy, and Centanni was interested because of his background in education. He applied and was accepted as a liaison officer, a position he held for his entire 16-year career in the reserves.

Centanni was assigned to 10 high schools in the south suburbs. He periodically visited the schools, spoke to students about the Air Force Academy and gave them information on requirements and how to apply. “Our biggest job was to evaluate the students who got nominated,” he says. “We had to interview them and their families and send reports to the academy about what they were like so that the academy would have an idea of what they were getting into.” Major Centanni retired from the Air Force in 1988 after a 20-year career.

Centanni worked in the education field for 39 years. He started out as a high school English teacher and retired from Marian Catholic High School as a guidance counselor and director of guidance.

A resident of Tinley Park, Centanni has been very involved in his community for more than 40 years. He currently hosts a monthly cable television program called “Discover Tinley.” Centanni is also a member of the Sovereign Military Order of the Knights of Jerusalem, a philanthropic organization.

Reflecting on his Air Force career, Centanni says, “I loved it. You do things, experience things, that very few other people have the chance to do in life. I was very fortunate I liked what I was doing and it was an excellent experience. Just being in the military — I like the camaraderie and the general feeling of everybody in one big family.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Navy Corpsman Sam Scardino

A Navy corpsman during the Vietnam War, Sam Scardino was so severely wounded in a landmine explosion that doctors initially thought he had perished in the blast.

The second of five children, Samuel Scardino was born in Chicago to Samuel and Doris (Marquardt) Scardino. The family lived in the Italian neighborhood of California and Arthington avenues, near his grandparents, Vincenzo and Filomena, who emigrated from Campobello di Mazara, Sicily. With grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins right down the street, the family always gathered at someone’s house. “No matter what you did, on Sunday after church you had to go to dinner,” says Scardino. His mother, though of German descent, cooked Italian food and made everything from scratch.

Scardino attended St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Grade School and Austin High School. It was a bit of a culture shock when the family moved to the Austin area, heavily populated with Swedish people. “It was kind of odd when they saw us growing fig plants and grape vines,” he says.

After falling in with the “wrong crowd,” it was decided the 18-year-old would enter the military, and he enlisted in the Navy in 1964. In addition to learning basic skills at the Naval Training Center in San Diego, Scardino attended school to become a dental technician. He then transferred to Camp Pendleton and trained as a combat corpsman on the Marine base. Scardino logged in new recruits, evaluated them for treatment, took x-rays, cleaned teeth and assisted the doctor with fillings, periodontics and oral surgery. “You learn an awful lot,” he says, “prosthetics and all that kind of stuff.”

Scardino received orders for Vietnam and married his wife, Carol Kanka, before deploying. He flew first class on Continental Airlines to Guam for a 30-day orientation period. “There we partied hearty because we knew we were going to ’Nam,” he says.

He was attached to the 1st Tank Battalion, 1st Marine Division, Mainside in Vietnam and then transferred into the war zone to Marble Mountain, DaNang, as a corpsman and emergency dental tech during the Tet Offensive. “Because I could do hospital and dental,” says Scardino, “I got to go places that most guys didn’t get to go.”

Once a week, Scardino provided care to the Vietnamese people, performing extractions and temporary fillings and administering first aid and injections, and also providing care to monks in their temples. He traveled to the villages in a jeep, with a doctor, accompanied by Marines for protection. Twice a month, he visited a leper colony, always taking precautions against the infectious disease. “You just went in there and did what you had to do,” says Scardino, “especially when it was little kids.”

“When you’re a corpsman, they treat you like gold,” says Scardino. “They keep you protected all the time.” On the battlefield he focused on one thing, helping the fallen soldiers. “Yeah, there was stuff going on, but all you heard was ‘doc.’ You knew somebody was calling for something so you immediately took off,” says Scardino. “You tried to get to him as best as you could and not get shot while you were doing it. You don’t really think about your life; you’re thinking about their life.”

He quickly assessed the casualties and administered care in order of severity, all the while talking softly to calm them, reassurances like “Take it easy now … I’ll come to you in a moment, guy,” or “Don’t worry, you’re good.” He stabilized and patched them up, and the severely injured were medevaced back to base or to the Saigon hospital. Scardino stayed with his patients until they were safely on board the chopper. “I always prayed that I saved boys that I took care of and I still get all messed when I talk about it. I actually had one boy die in my arms,” he says.

In one incident, three soldiers drowned inside a submerged tank and it was days before their decomposing bodies were brought back to base. Their flesh was coming off in Scardino’s hands as he processed them. “I am so screwed up over that. I had to identify them, and the only way I could identify them was by their teeth. These were the same boys, the day before we were drinking together like a bunch of asinines in the club together, fighting, joking, hand banging … and there they were,” says Scardino. “I’m very mixed up on that.”

On a trip to the leper colony, Scardino was riding in the lead Amtrak (amphibious warfare vehicle) when it hit a landmine. “My immediate reaction was to take care of the boys,” he says. One was killed instantly, and Scardino tried to help as many as he could. All of a sudden, he knew something was wrong and he collapsed. “I didn’t know I was injured at all. When I woke up I was in the death ward; they thought I had died.” He suffered a head injury in the explosion and was in a coma. Scardino explains that his body just shut down. He lay there unable to move or speak, but he could hear voices and see light as soldiers came in and out of the room. Trapped inside his body, he ached to cry out, “I’m alive! I’m here! Please! I’m okay, I’m okay! Please!”

Scardino lay there for anywhere between 24 to 72 hours until someone came in checking for personal effects and exclaimed, “This guy isn’t totally ice cold. He’s still flexible a little bit.” They lay him outside in the sunshine to warm him gradually rather than putting him into a heating unit. “I slowly warmed up, back to reality somewhat, and even after that I was still very confused,” he says. The medics didn’t know what kind of injury Scardino had suffered because he was covered with blood from treating the soldiers. “So they went ahead and they took care of me as best they could,” he says. Instead of being medevaced out, Scardino remained at Marble Mountain for weeks after his accident until he was finally flown to Bethesda Naval Hospital. They needed someone with his skills as a corpsman and dental tech. Under medication, Scardino assisted the doctor. “I did very minimal,” he says.

Scardino was discharged from active duty in 1968 with the rank of Dental Tech 3 and received a Bronze Star and the Purple Heart. He remained at Bethesda for 12 months until returning to Chicago in 1969. At the time of his release, Scardino suffered with “identifying with the real world” and equilibrium problems. “I knew I had to get a job, start working, so I really didn’t have time to focus on me. I was more focused on my family,” he says. Scardino pushed himself to find a job and had a career in the dental supply business. He suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, has suicidal tendencies and the effects of his head injury are ongoing.

“With the two of them, my old-fashioned Italian family and the military … I was able to go ahead and survive in this world,” Scardino says. “I have repercussions, but I don’t dwell on them. If I did, I’d be living on the street. Some boys just never came out of it.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

National Guard Brigadier General John Fascia

Tha crash of American Airlines Flight 191

Ascending to the rank of brigadier general, John Fascia spent the bulk of his illustrious 30-year career in the National Guard keeping the peace during riots and responding to major disasters.

John Fascia was born in Chicago and lived in the Italian neighborhood of Lexington Street and Kedzie Avenue for several years until the family moved near Homan Avenue and Roosevelt Road. His father, Leonard Fascia, immigrated from San Marco la Catola when he was 16 years old, and his mother, Antoinette Riccio, was born in Chicago. He has one sister.

Most of his mother’s large family lived within a few blocks. “You never took the car anywhere,” Fascia says. “Pa would just grab you and you’d be walking down the street.” Both parents loved to cook and had a small garden. “We had vegetarian meals three or four times a week,” he says. “They were real meals in themselves.”

Fascia attended Lawson Grade School and Austin High School, where he joined the ROTC program. Upon graduating in 1955, he was battalion commander of his school’s ROTC. He attended Wright College while he worked various jobs before he was accepted to Officer’s Candidate School. Upon completion, Fascia was commissioned as second lieutenant in the Army National Guard as part of the First Battle Group, 131st Infantry Battalion, 33rd Division, 1/131.

He trained on weekends and during the summer, in addition to specialized training as duties were assigned. When not on active duty, Fascia was employed as the regional director with the Illinois Emergency Management Agency. “As a result, I’ve been involved in things people only see in the movies,” Fascia says. He was involved in response and recovery operations for numerous disasters, including the American Airlines DC10 crash at O’Hare Airport, a major crash at Midway Airport, train derailments, hazardous material spills, civil disturbances, as well as flood, tornado and blizzard operations.

In a career that spanned 30 years, Fascia rose in rank from second lieutenant to brigadier general. He had many active duty assignments, including assisting the police with four major riots in Chicago. First Lt. Fascia was the leader of a reconnaissance platoon during the West Side racial unrest in July 1966. Rioters smashed windows, looted stores and set fire to buildings and cars. National Guard units came down the middle of the street, separating taunting protestors while under sniper attack. “On one side they thought you were for the blacks, and on the other side they thought you were for the whites,” says Fascia. Both groups hated them. “Our only job was to keep the peace so nobody would kill each other, but the hostility was aimed at the troops themselves,” Fascia remembers. “My heart was pounding. You’re thinking, ‘You gotta do your job,’ but you’re scared. I could hear my heart through my uniform, ba boom, ba boom, ba boom!”

Next came the civil rights march through the town of Cicero in 1966. Once again, Fascia’s platoon came down the street, separating protestors as they stood opposite each other, shouting racial slurs. “Our job was to keep the peace,” says Fascia. “It was just to stop them from killing each other.”

Fascia was promoted to captain in 1967 and took command of Headquarters and Headquarters Company of the 1/131 Infantry. Shortly after, the entire army reorganized and formed the 33rd Separate Infantry Brigade to replace the 33rd Division. Upon the assassination of Martin Luther King in April 1968, rioting and racial unrest extended from the West Side to the Loop, and Fascia’s men were mobilized throughout the area. Due to the reorganization at that time, Fascia was without equipment, resulting in a nighttime run from the Madison Street Armory to the North Avenue Armory. “It was very, very tense,” says Fascia. The soldiers loaded their truck with equipment and weapons and took off. “I said, when we leave, we’re not stopping. We’re not gonna go fast, but we’re not stopping for anything.”

Angry protestors argued with and approached the National Guardsmen. They burned buildings and shot at policemen and soldiers. “We were there to protect life and property,” says Fascia. “The adrenalin was really flowing in those days. You are very nervous, and you have to be very careful because you can’t be too bold.”

The next riot took place during the Chicago Democratic Convention in August 1968 where tens of thousands of Vietnam War protestors crowded the streets and battled the police. Rubber balls stuck with razor blades were flung at the police. Plastic bags filled with feces and urine were thrown at the police and soldiers. “It was really, really bad,” says Fascia, “very, very messy.” The Guardsmen used riot control formations to peel rioters off walls and to separate them. Tear gas was used to disperse the crowds.

Reflecting on the riots, Fascia says, “I didn’t like it. I thought it was horrible … you have to understand something. This is the West Side, they were burning their own buildings down; they were killing their own people.”

Fascia was promoted to major in 1974 and lieutenant colonel in 1980. He was security, plans and operations officer for the Troop Command Brigade when he took command of the 108th Medical Battalion. When he arrived, the battalion was the worst one in the brigade. Two years later, it was No. 1 in Illinois. “As the command, it was very diversified,” he says. Soldiers were trained and dispatched on temporary duty to different places to set up medical facilities. “My guys were really good. They were good medics,” says Fascia. One assignment was to Ft. Bliss, Texas, where his men took over the hospital and dispensary. “It wasn’t something I expected to do, but it was very interesting from a different concept, not a combat concept.”

In 1984, Fascia deployed to Kaiserslautern, Germany, and commanded one of the hottest units of the entire U.S. Army, the 44th RAOC, Rear Area Operations Command. With the ongoing Cold War, Fascia was responsible for defending Germany’s rear lines working directly with the German Territorial Army, GTA, and the entire army of Luxembourg.

Duties included stopping Russian Special Forces from infiltrating, tracking all U.S. troops as they arrived in Germany and informing the generals as to their locations, and protecting the war reserve equipment as well as the equipment for two divisions. “Whatever areas that the GTA were with, my guys were with them,” Fascia says. “They considered them as part of their headquarters even though they were American soldiers.”

Fascia currently serves as president of Phoenix International, Ltd., which makes an all-purpose absorbent for safe clean-up of spills. He participates in numerous professional and civic activities, including Employers Support of the Guard and Reserve.

Summing up his National Guard career, he says, “I learned a lot and met a lot of wonderful people. I’ve seen a lot of terrible destruction, which gets you mad when the reporters come in and blame the troops for what some of the people are doing. Overall, it was a very exciting time.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Army Specialist 4th Class Sam Fantino

An Army radio telephone operator during the Vietnam War, Sam Fantino emerged from one of the war’s bloodiest battles with a battered bugle that has become a part of military history.

The only child of Peter and Sophie Fantino, Sam Fantino was born in Chicago in 1942 and lived in an apartment building in Cabrini Green. His father’s family occupied seven of the apartments. “I was free to run up and down. I could eat any place that I felt like,” Fantino says. “It was all open doors, a wonderful way to grow up.”

He attended St. Phillip Benizi and St. Genevieve grade schools and then Roosevelt Military Academy in Aledo, Illinois. After attending Western Illinois University for one year, Fantino took a job with Motorola until he was drafted in March 1964.

Fantino completed basic training at Fort Knox, Ken., and advanced infantry training at Fort Gordon, Ga. Transferring to Fort Benning, Ga., Fantino was assigned 1st Cavalry Division (Air Mobile), which was originally named the 11th Air Assault.

Training for Air Mobile was extremely rigorous. Along with his 70-lb. backpack and M16 rifle, Fantino carried a 20-lb. pack as a radio telephone operator. Training included how to quickly load and unload helicopters, escape and evade the enemy, and fly into hot landing zones (LZs) under constant enemy fire.

In the summer of 1965, Fantino was deployed to Vietnam on the USS Maurice Rose. “I was scared like everybody else,” Fantino says. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. But when they get done training you, especially under Rick, you feel invincible, you feel like you can go through walls.”

Fantino is referring to Lt. Cyril Richard “Rick” Rescorla, one of the towering figures of the Vietnam War. Described by Lt. Col. Hal Moore as “the best platoon leader I ever saw,” Rescorla was born and raised in England and served in the British military before joining the U.S. Army.

The ship bearing Rescorla’s platoon landed in DaNang and trucks took the soldiers to the town of An Khe, where they built a base for their division using machetes to clear the area. The weather was hot and humid, with temperatures regularly topping 100 degrees, and the area was teeming with snakes and insects. “One thing you learned right away is that everything in the jungle wants to kill you,” Fantino says, “not only people.”

The enemy was always close because there were no secure areas. Fantino’s platoon patrolled the jungle and set up night ambushes in locations where there had been some traffic. They lay hiding in the tall grass, waiting for the enemy. “Once you’re in position, all is quiet, no talking, no moving … you can feel bugs, snakes crawling over you and you can’t move!” Fantino says.

As the radio telephone operator for the platoon, Fantino was always at Rescorla’s side, communicating vital battle information to the company commander.

Fantino pals around “in country” with Dominic Rotunda.

Air Mobile’s job was to go where there was activity, or to reinforce troops in trouble. On the night of Nov. 14, 1965, Fantino’s unit — Company B, 2nd Battalion, 1st Cavalry — arrived at LZ X-Ray to support the 1st and 7th Battalion in the Ia Drang Valley. The Battle of Ia Drang was the first major engagement of the Vietnam War and one of its bloodiest. During four days of grueling combat from Nov. 14 to 17, the battalion was decimated.

C Company had been completely overrun by North Vietnamese soldiers when B Company came in to take back X-Ray and hold it. As the battle raged, “Broken Arrow” was called, signaling that the soldiers were being completely overrun and annihilated. Every fixed-wing aircraft and helicopter in Vietnam was called in to bomb the enemy positions. Fantino recalls standing next to Rescorla in elephant grass watching canisters of Napalm seeming to come right at them. “It’s almost like slow motion, you would swear it’s gonna hit you,” he says. “There’s no place you can go. It went over Rick and me and landed behind us.”

During the final assault, a machine gun opened up and fired between Rescorla and Fantino. “Don’t ask me how or why,” Fantino says, “God must have the answer. Rick jumped one way, I jumped the other way and it fired between us!” The enemy was about 10 feet away and Rescorla, out of grenades, yelled to Fantino. “I threw a grenade to Rick, threw a fresh magazine in my M16 and started firing, trying to keep our heads down.” Rescorla pulled the pin, threw the grenade and knocked out the machine gun nest. They were so close that brain matter from the explosion splattered Rescorla’s helmet and shrapnel pierced Fantino’s arms.

Nicknamed “Hard Core” for his bravery during battle, Rescorla was revered by his men for his calm, humor and compassion under fire.

“There was a break in the battle before the next assault and the guys were in their foxholes but Rick was out surveying the battlefield because he liked to look at things from the enemy’s perspective,” Fantino recalls. “There he was walking along like a Sunday stroll singing Cornish songs! Everybody is looking at him and thinking, ‘What am I so worried about,’ and suddenly you overcome your fears.

“Rick had the ability to help you reach deep down inside yourself and find a strength you didn’t even know was there,” Fantino continues. “That’s the sort of thing that sticks with you for the rest of your life.”

Three days in, Company B pulled out of X-Ray, returned to Camp Holloway and the soldiers were cleaning their weapons when Rescorla yelled to Fantino, “Get the men together, we gotta go right back.” The rest of their battalion that had relieved them had walked out of LZ X-Ray and into LZ Albany and were caught in a massive ambush, suffering 80 percent casualties.

And so Company Bravo piled onto the helicopters and flew back in. Fighting was so intense that many Hueys didn’t get in. Fantino’s copilot was shot and the pilot banked to get out of the area. Rescorla gave the order to jump the 10 to 12 feet to the ground and the soldiers fought their way out and regrouped in a safe perimeter. Fantino called in for artillery and air support and prepared for their next ambush.

“You have to remember, your whole life is three to four men to your right, three to four men to your left. You really don’t know anything else.” Fantino says. “You know that as long as the men to your right are alive, you won’t get hit there and as long as the guys to your left are alive, you won’t get hit there, and they know the same about you. Your whole world is six to eight guys.”

After the final assault, bodies lay everywhere, both American and North Vietnamese. Fantino and Rescorla were searching the area when they noticed a bugle on the body of a North Vietnamese soldier and they took it. It was later discovered that the bugle originally belonged to the French Army and was taken by the North Vietnamese Army during the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, a major devastating engagement that led to the withdrawal of the French from Vietnam.

The bugle remained in the possession of Fantino and then Rescorla throughout the war and afterward. In 1992, General Harold Moore and Joe Galloway, the only journalist on the ground during the fighting, wrote “We Were Soldiers Once and Young,” chronicling the horrific battle. That book and resulting movie brought the soldiers together for a reunion that has continued annually. Rescorla brought the bugle and it has been present at every reunion since. “The bugle became the highlight of the reunion,” Fantino explains. “It rests in a place of honor in the history museum at Fort Benning.”

Fantino was discharged in March 1966 as Specialist 4th Class and returned to Chicago. Among the 13 medals that Fantino earned were the Combat Infantry Badge, Purple Heart, Bronze Star with a V for Valor, and the Presidential Unit Citation, a rare recognition that’s given to all those who fought in a particularly perilous battle. He married his wife, Lorrie, in 1969 and they have two children and four grandchildren. Fantino is a retired insurance salesman and he also served in the Cook County Sheriff’s Department for 17 years as assistant superintendent of the Holiday Court.

Fantino struggled for decades with the trauma he endured during the war when he returned to the States.

“When we came back, they treated us horribly. They spit on us, they wouldn’t hire us, they called us baby killers. I started to block things out and what replaced it was this feeling that I had somehow let everybody down,” he explains. “After the book came out in 1992, Rick gave me a signed copy and reminded me of what I had accomplished. He helped me realize that I had done my job, and that really did change my life.”

Fantino cherishes his copy of “We Were Soldiers Once and Young,” in which Rescorla wrote, “Remember the night defense against the NVA battalion at X-Ray? The final sweep where you crawled up with the grenade and saved my life? These, and many other proud memories, I associate with one of the finest soldiers I have known.”

Joseph Galloway also wrote, “A genuine American hero who stood tall on the 2 worst battlefields of Vietnam,” and Gen. Moore wrote, “With love and respect to a fellow veteran of the hell of LZ X-Ray.”

Rescorla went on to become the director of security for Morgan Stanley at the World Trade Center. Anticipating the attack on the Twin Towers, he implemented evacuation procedures that saved hundreds of lives on Sept. 11, 2001, and died while leading evacuees from the South Tower.

When Rescorla’s wife rallied support for a monument to be built at Ft. Benning in Rescorla’s memory, Fantino pitched in, and when the base of the monument need replacing, he spearheaded the fundraising effort.

Fantino at the base of Lt. Rescorla’s monument.

Reflecting on Ia Drang, Fantino says, “It was the worst and the best. I was challenged and I did my job. It was the worst and yet I formed a bond with brothers, and that made it the best.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

U.S. Army Colonel Daniel Baggio (Retired)

Baggio receives a Legion of Merit Award at his retirement party.

As a media specialist for 12 of his 33 years in the Army, Daniel Baggio regularly put himself in harm’s way to spotlight the positive impact the American military has around the world.

The oldest of two sons, Daniel L. Baggio was born in Rockford, Illinois, to Giordano and Beverly (Kemper) Baggio. The family lived in the city’s South Side Italian neighborhood surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Baggio’s paternal grandparents immigrated from Sarcedo. “Every Sunday, we went to my nonna’s house, and I will say it to this day: She was the best cook that ever lived.” His grandfather made wine, and the kids mixed it with 7UP. “My nonno always used to call it cherry pop,” Baggio recalls. He attended Cherry Valley Grade School, Marsh Middle School and Guilford High School.

“We’ve had a great tradition in our family of serving our country,” Baggio says. His grandfather Benvenuto fought in the Italo-Turkish War with the Italian Cavalry 1st Regiment Nizza. Both his uncle Armando and his father served in the Korean War, and a cousin fought in Vietnam. So when the ROTC Drill Team performed at a school assembly, spinning their rifles, Baggio was interested. “I thought, ‘That’s cool,’” he says. “‘I want to do that.’” He joined the JROTC program at Guilford and participated for three years until he transferred to Rockford Lutheran High School because Guilford had dropped its sports program. He graduated in 1977 and attended the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater.

Baggio enrolled in the Simultaneous Membership Program, which allows a person to enlist in the National Guard and participate in ROTC while attending college. Upon hearing this, his father said, “You know, your grandfather would be proud to have an officer in the family.” Baggio graduated with a degree in physical education and a commission as Lieutenant. He went into the regular Army, attending Infantry Officer School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, after which he was stationed with the Old Guard in Washington, D.C. Baggio took part in ceremonies such as parades, cordons at the Pentagon and White House, and funerals during which he marched in with the casket and presented the flag to the family.

Baggio’s military career spanned 33 years, including 30 years of active duty and 11 years spent overseas in command and staff positions. He completed three tours of duty in Korea with the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry, beginning in late 1987, with two in the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). He served as Personnel Officer, Deputy Operations Officer and Commander of Charlie Company. Baggio was first stationed at Camp Howze, a small base on the main attack route between North and South Korea, six miles from the border. “We were kind of danger-close where we were,” Baggio says. Duties rotated between manning various guard posts and patrolling the area. Maneuvers, including quick-reaction training, were part of the rotation cycle. “It was some of the most intense, best training in the Army,” he says. Missions alternated between employing Army Ranger tactics while patrolling the DMZ and conducting realistic training.

“The DMZ is an eerie place,” Baggio says. “The north side, they’re playing all this music, propaganda and stuff in Korean, and it’s the weirdest thing.” In 1994, Baggio was stationed at Camp Casey with the 1st Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment (Air Assault) as Operations Officer (S3).

During the Kosovo Campaign with the NATO force, Baggio traveled through war-torn Kosovo, Albania, Macedonia and the Balkans. “Basically, a humanitarian mission helping out the refugees in that theater of operations,” he says.

Back at Ft. Hood, Baggio was considering transitioning out of the military when 9/11 happened. “That really changed my life a lot; I ended up staying in the Army another 12 years,” he says. Along with being an Infantry Officer, Baggio’s secondary MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) was media relations. “There were some wonderful things that our soldiers did, and the ability to tell that story was important to me,” he says. Baggio deployed to Iraq with the Third Armored Corps and became the Multinational Corps Public Affairs Officer. “We did a lot of media in the battlefields, trying to get people to tell our soldiers’ stories,” Baggio says. “That’s when I became a good friend of Geraldo Rivera. I spent a lot of time with him actually on the battlefield.”

Many reporters never left their hotel rooms, going up on the roof only after explosions to tell their stories. They didn’t see and report all the positive work the soldiers were doing for the Iraqi people, like rebuilding roads and schools and helping the children. “What used to irritate me, you’d see on the media where they’d say, ‘Well, these soldiers beat down a door, and all these innocent Iraqis are in terror.’ All they’re telling is the one side of the story,” he says.

Geraldo was different. He told Baggio, “I can’t wait! Can we get out there?” The pair went on foot patrols and drove in Strykers (wheeled armored vehicles) in Mosul. They were shot at, but the armor prevented the RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) from piercing the vehicle. Safe inside, they just felt the vehicle shake. “Pretty exciting stuff, actually,” Baggio says. “These insurgents didn’t want to see progress, didn’t want to see the Americans succeed. They wanted unrest over there.”

In Saba Al Bor, they spent the night atop the police station with snipers. As dawn broke, Iraqi forces shot mortars, and dirt from the retaining wall hit Baggio and Rivera. Geraldo exclaimed, “Hey, what the hell?” as mortar fire came in hard and fast. “I almost literally tackled him,” Baggio recalls. “These things were coming in twos and threes.”

Baggio was at the Press Information Center in Baghdad when rockets hit. He ran around, calling out names and checking that everyone was in the bunker. “Once everybody was accounted for, I went down there and joined them,” Baggio says. “That was one of those moments where my training kicked in, and I did what I had to do,” he says. “It’s later on you sit down and reflect, ‘Oh my God, you were actually shot at.”

Other overseas assignments included Japan, Turkey and Belgium. In Japan, Baggio was with Joint Force Headquarters, U.S. Forces Japan, working in the Combat Exercises Division. Baggio was next stationed in Turkey, again in charge of the Combat Exercises Division. In Belgium, Baggio was stationed at SHAPE (Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe), the military arm of NATO. “It was totally a joint and multinational environment,” he says.

Returning to the States in 2006, Baggio served as the Chief of Public Affairs for the U.S. Army. Posts included the Pentagon, the Military District of Washington and U.S. Army Forces Command in Ft. McPherson, Georgia. He retired from Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, as Colonel in 2013.

He and his wife, Jina, have three sons. Baggio is now the Executive Director of Military Instruction for Chicago Public Schools. As the chief administrator and instructional leader, he is responsible for resourcing and leading 45 JROTC programs in high schools across Chicago.

Having been stationed around the world, Baggio says, “I wish people would appreciate what a great country [America] is. We have the best-trained military in the world because we can execute our missions in the most arduous situations.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Army NCO CJ Martello

As NCO on an artillery base camp in the central highlands of Vietnam, CJ Martello was responsible for keeping his squad on task and safe in the face of frequent enemy attacks.

Costante James “CJ” Martello was born in Chicago’s Roseland Community Hospital. He was one of 12 children born to Angelina and August Martello, four of whom passed away before Martello’s birth.

His parents were from the Veneto region of Italy and immigrated to Chicago to be near relatives and paesani. Martello grew up in the tightly knit Italian community of Roseland, where his father made salami in the basement and a neighbor made wine to be shared by all. Every Sunday, the family gathered together for his mother’s home cooked meals. Polenta was a favorite and a traditional meal from Northern Italy. “It was the poor man’s food,” says Martello.

He attended St. Anthony Grade School and was a member of the last graduating class before a new church was dedicated in 1961. One of many Catholic churches in the neighborhood at that time, St. Anthony’s is now the only Catholic Church in Roseland. Martello studied at Sacred Heart Seminary for a year and a half before transferring to St. Willibrord Catholic High School. The former seminary is now known as our beloved Casa Italia.

Martello was a college student when he was drafted into the Army in July 1966. He reported to the induction center fully expecting to go home because he had severely broken his arm as a child and none of his brothers had served. “I had to call my mom and she was crying,” says Martello. He was the “golden child” of the family and his mother was completely distressed. “It was a big shock,” says Martello.

He completed basic training at Fort Knox, Ky., and advanced training at Fort Bragg, N.C., and was assigned to the 1st Battalion, 92nd Artillery. Just before shipping off to Vietnam in January 1967, Martello went home on leave to visit with his family and girlfriend.

He returned to Fort Bragg and, wanting to talk with his girlfriend one last time, went walking in the snowy weather in search of a telephone when he was hit by a jeep. Martello flew over the hood, cracked the windshield with his head and rolled onto the icy watery curb. The soldiers in the jeep picked him up and drove him to the hospital where he spent the night. He suffered leg, wrist and head injuries, but fortunately no broken bones. In the meantime, his outfit could not find him and thought he had gone AWOL because they were deploying to Vietnam the next day. “They were just about to call my mom,” says Martello. “She would have gone crazy!”

Martello shipped out on the USNS Gordon for the 28-day voyage. “Nobody knew what was going on,” he says, “but we were all in the same boat.” Because his head, leg and wrist were wrapped in bandages, Martello did not have any job duty on the ship. One of his buddies who worked in Human Resources bought boxes of candy bars for $1 from the ship’s store and gave them to Martello, who sold the bars for $2 each and split the money with him. “It was like Sgt. Bilko,” Martello chuckles.

He was stationed in Pleiku in the central highlands with two other artillery outfits. “We called it Artillery Hell,” says Martello. The base camp provided support to the Howitzer cannons out in the field and supplied ammo and provisions to troops near the front line.

Twenty soldiers shared a tent and though the camp was surrounded by barbed wire and bunkers were built for guard duty, there were no sandbags, no fortification. “We were led to believe we were safe,” he says.

Three months later, during a night attack, rockets flew in and hit the ground, blowing shrapnel into the tents. Martello remembers thinking, “What the hell’s happening?” Many soldiers were injured, including the company clerk, and Martello advanced from motor pool clerk to replace him. After the first attack, the tents were fortified with sandbags stacked 4 feet high and “hooches” (huts made of wood on a cement platform) were built for added protection. The camp was under night attack three more times, including during the major Viet Cong Tet Offensive.

Martello was promoted to NCO in charge of a squad of men. “You gotta make sure they’re in the bunker, safe,” he says. Under attack, the soldiers ran from the tents to the tactical operations center and bunkers, hiding in trenches along the way. “You could hear the rockets flying and hit the ground and stones flying and hitting the tin roofs of the hooches,” says Martello. “You gotta find shelter.”

During one attack, a soldier was unlocking his duffle bag for an ammo clip when Martello grabbed him and said, “Get outta here, get to a bunker.” As he pushed the soldier toward safety, Martello ripped his finger open on a nail. He was offered the opportunity to receive a purple heart but he refused. “It’s not like I got a limb shot off or something like that,” says Martello. “Other guys deserved it more than I did.”

One day, the captain called him into the office and asked, “Martello, do you write to your mother? Sit down and write a letter to your mother. Now!” His parents had gone to the Red Cross on his 21st birthday because they had not heard from him. The captain played a recording of his mother crying and speaking in Italian, “Jimmy I don’t know what’s going on with you, whether you’re dead or alive! Write me! Write me!” Martello still has the recording, the only one of his mother’s voice.

Specialist E5 Martello served in Vietnam for 13 months and returned to California to complete his military service. He returned home to Chicago and was employed as assistant manager at Sauer’s Restaurant and then had a career in graphic arts. Martello writes the column “Petals from Roseland” for Fra Noi and lives in the Pullman area of Chicago where, he is the copy editor for The Pullman Flyer. His son, James, is a commander in the U.S. Navy stationed in Naples, Italy, and his daughter, Jamie, lives in Chicago’s Edison Park neighborhood and teaches at Evanston Township High School.

“Everyone who served in Vietnam and those that serve in the military during combat times have to come to a point where they make a determination. Each one makes his or her decision of how they are going to make it through their battle assignment,” says Martello. “Unfortunately for some, they become obsessed with the fear of death. For others, though, they wisely turn their fate over to God or whatever higher power they recognize to protect them and see them through their perilous assignment and return them safely to their loved ones. This, I believe, has always been the soldier’s secret of coping — turning over their well-being to a higher power so that each moment isn’t overwhelming and they can take solace and comfort as they wend their way through the wiles of war.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Army Major General James M. “Mike” Milano (Ret.)

Ascending to the rank of major general, Mike Milano spent the latter part of a stellar 33-year career in the Army overseeing the training and deployment of hundreds of thousands of U.S. soldiers and allied police.

The oldest of four children, James M. “Mike” Milano was born in Detroit to Bartholomew J. Milano and Patricia Ann Donlon. By the time Milano graduated from Holy Cross High School in Delran, New Jersey, the family had moved 10 times, coast to coast. His father was born and raised in Chicago, and his family emigrated from a town near Milan, Italy.

Milano received an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis and, after several visits, told his father, “I can’t do this. It’s too much regimentation; it’s really not up my alley.” He next applied for and received a four-year Army ROTC scholarship and graduated from Lafayette College in Easton, Pennsylvania, with a degree in chemical engineering and the rank of second lieutenant. Milano planned to be an officer in the Chemical Corps during his four years in the Army and then pursue a career as an engineer.

His first assignment was to Fort Hood, Texas, as platoon leader in the Tank Battalion. Milano liked it so much he transferred from the Chemical Corps to the Armor Branch and spent his career in tank, armor and cavalry units. “I ended up spending 33 years in the Army, doing the same thing, living a pretty regimented life that originally I told my father years ago I couldn’t do,” he says.

The first 21 years, Milano commanded at levels from platoon through Brigade Combat Team in tactical combat units, rose in rank from second lieutenant to full colonel and served at multiple locations in the United States, Korea and Germany. Also during this period, he earned a master’s degree in administration and another in strategic operations. Milano was serving with the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in Fulda, West Germany, patrolling the interGerman border, when the Berlin Wall came down in November 1989. “That was quite a momentous event,” he recalls.

Milano’s career progressed to the strategic level with service in the Pentagon from 2002-04. The first year, he served as director of strategy in the Strategic Plans and Policy Department of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, responsible for helping to write the National Military Strategy and other documents. The second year, he was executive assistant to Joint Chiefs of Staff Vice Chairman Gen. Peter Pace, a fellow Italian American. Milano’s duties included helping to manage all aspects of Gen. Pace’s vast responsibilities, primarily providing the best military advice to the president and secretary of defense. “It was a great job,” says Milano.

Promoted to brigadier general (one star) in 2004, Milano deployed to Kuwait, where he was responsible for Reception, Staging, Onward Movement and Integration, or RSOI. Tens of thousands of combat troops from the U.S. and Allied countries were received into the Iraqi theater, matched up with necessary equipment and trained in accordance to what they needed to know from a security standpoint. After that, they moved forward into Iraq from Kuwait and integrated into the theater. Once the soldiers completed their tour of duty, they returned to Kuwait, turned in their equipment and prepared for redeployment to their home station. Milano oversaw it all, from troops entering and returning from Iraq to the equipment that was rotated among the units. Tight control with Army Forces Central Command was vital. “It was a very challenging job,” he says. “You could just imagine the magnitude of it and the scope of responsibilities.”

After one year in Kuwait, Milano returned to the Pentagon as director of training for the Department of the Army, responsible for executing a $14 billion training budget. He next headed to Fort Carson, Colorado, as both the senior division commander and deputy commanding general of the 4th Infantry Division. Milano prepared not just the 4th Infantry at Ft. Carson but also every other unit that was deploying to Iraq from that base. “I had to certify that anybody going to Iraq from Ft. Carson was trained and ready,” says Milano.

The 4th Infantry Division deployed to Iraq in November 2007, and Milano spent 20 months there during which he was promoted to major general (two star). He partnered with those in Bagdad to use the resources the U.S. was providing. “We were committed to not only helping to combat the insurgency, and training the Iraqi police and military to fight the insurgency that was going on there, but also helping them develop the essential services they needed to serve their people.” says Milano. He was responsible for aiding the Iraqi Minister of Interior in training 600,000 Iraqi police by developing a strategy and building training centers. “It was probably the toughest job I had in my entire career,” Milano says.

The Army base was well-protected, but there was a significant rocket mortar threat all the time. “As you lay down for a few hours sleep in the little tin can that we slept in, you always wonder if something comes in, is it going to land on my little space here or not,” says Milano. Off base, two members of his personal security detail were wounded by an improvised exploding device, one mortally, the other blinded for life.

In Mosul, during a tactical movement, the vehicle traveling in front of him, carrying his three-star boss, was hit directly by a car bomb. Luckily, there were no fatalities. Everybody staggered out, some with concussions. “My first thought was, what can I do to help? It’s a hard feeling to describe,” Milano says. “In a way you’re grateful, and on the other hand, it’s wow, man, that was close!”

Milano returned to the states and assumed command of Fort Knox, Kentucky, which included the Army’s Armor and Cavalry Center. He then moved to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, and assumed command of the Army’s largest basic combat training installation, where the mission was to instruct newly enlisted soldiers.

In 2012, Milano retired from the Army and now serves as a senior director for distribution with Target Corporation in DeKalb. He and his wife, Kim, a registered pediatric dietician and doctoral candidate, have two sons, Nick and Tony. He also has a son, Jim. During his 33-year career, Milano moved 21 times and often spent time away from his wife and sons. “Any spouse in the U.S. Army, or any other service, is as much a part of an officer’s success as that officer is,” says Milano. “My wife sacrificed significantly on my behalf to help me be successful, and it’s a debt that I can never repay, quite honestly.

“The greatest privilege anyone can ever have is leading soldiers, and I got to do that for 33 years. I never took it for granted. I realize it was an honor and a privilege that not many people get, and I have nothing but great things to say about my career,” Milano says. “Was it tough? Absolutely! Did I have to sacrifice? Absolutely! Did my family have to sacrifice? Yes! But I’m proud of what I was fortunate enough to be able to do.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Army Lieutenant Colonel Enrico Clausi (Ret.)

In the course of an exemplary 22-year career in the Army, Enrico Clausi has advanced from Second Lieutenant to Lieutenant Colonel while tackling everything from training soldiers and officers to mobilizing troops and equipment.

Enrico A. Clausi was born in Chicago and grew up in the Italian neighborhood of Homan and Chicago avenues. “Even the garbage cans were painted red, white and green,” says Clausi. His father, Enrico, emigrated from Cosenza, Calabria, as a young boy. His mother, Antoinette Messi, was born in Chicago. He has one older sister.

Clausi grew up surrounded with music. His father was a professional opera singer and when he retired, sang at Italian festivals throughout Chicago. Clausi’s father taught him about traditions in Italy, and “he also talked to me about some of the distinguished people who were Italian heroes,” Clausi says.

He graduated from St. Mark Grade School and went on to De LaSalle High School, graduating in 1966. Clausi studied at Loyola University, where he also participated in the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in political science and a commission of second lieutenant.

At the age of 8, Clausi knew he wanted to be in the Army, his interest piqued by watching programs on WGN-TV and by meeting soldiers. The Memorial Day Parade especially influenced him. “Looking at all the people who served, and being part of something that is greater than I am but contributing, I think was really what made me decide that’s where I wanted to go,” Clausi says.

During his 22-year career in the U.S. Army, Clausi advanced from Second Lieutenant in Infantry to Lieutenant Colonel in Transportation, serving stateside posts as well as overseas.

He began with infantry officer training at Fort Benning, Georgia, followed by Civil Affairs Officer training at Fort Gordon, Georgia. Clausi explains the Army is more than just entering combat. The Civil Affairs program deals with helping rebuild areas destroyed by combat. “It gave me a really good understanding of the overall picture of what the impact of what our fighting does to the civilian side because Civil Affairs was helping those civilians,” he says.

Second Lt. Clausi reported to his first duty at Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia, where he was assigned as the Executive Officer of the Headquarters Company for the Army Garrison, a position normally held by a senior first lieutenant. This was his first experience with soldiers, many of whom had fought in Vietnam and were having adjustment problems. He learned to deal with these soldiers as well as the logistical and training requirements to maintain a company, valuable experience in his next assignment.

Now a First Lieutenant, Clausi deployed to Korea for 13 months as Company Commander in Headquarters Company with 240 American soldiers and 147 Korean troops assigned to him. As a young Company Commander he learned that along with being able to do your military mission, it is also important to take care of your soldiers. Many were only 18 years old, away from home, dealing with the isolation. Others, just back from Vietnam where they fought for their lives, had trouble adjusting to daily garrison duties. Many experienced emotional and/or drug issues and the goal was turn them into productive soldiers, in turn helping them to go on to a better life. “We were just trying to get them to fit back into the American Army, which was in bad shape after ’Nam because of a lot of different things,” Clausi says. “We were basically rebuilding an Army. They can teach you all they want in your pre-commissioning days. They tell you what the perfect Army is and then you step out there and see this is the real Army now.”

First Lt. Clausi returned to the United States assigned to Fort Ord, California, as Battalions Operations Officer. He later became the Commander of Headquarters Company and was promoted to Captain. Gen. Hal Moore, the post commander, held special sessions of officer development. “What we learned from him about leading and leading into combat missions was a tremendous experience because we had those types of giants back then to mentor us,” says Clausi.

The Army was moving from the draft to an all-volunteer force, and they had to make it work. “In a mission, as I was taught, fix it and make it happen,” Clausi says. “This is when the Army began transitioning to a really positive force, a place where you wanted to spend a career, and it also became more family-oriented.”

Capt. Clausi completed an advanced course in Transportation at Fort Eustis, Virginia, learning to move troops and equipment by road, rail and air, which prepared him for a three-year tour in Germany in 1976. He was stationed in Bamberg, part of the 1st Armored Division, as Director of Logistics. In 1976 the Cold War was ongoing, and Germany was divided into East and West. “We were always training, but the goal was not to have to fight,” says Clausi.

His unit was responsible for supplies, uniforms and equipment for the soldiers as well as the Post Exchange and the Commissary. “The big thing was to make sure we were able to execute our war plan for Europe,” he says. Clausi daily visited his areas and visited with his soldiers as well. “That’s what it was all about, getting out to see if things were working, and if they weren’t working,” he says, “you had to fix them.”

Clausi met his wife, Mary, on the base where she taught at the Department of Defense schools. They married at the Post Chapel and traveled all over Europe when they had the opportunity.

Back in the States, he was stationed at Redstone Arsenal in Alabama as the Mobilization Readiness Officer for Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama, working with the Army National Guard and the Army National Reserve. “The mission was to make sure they were prepared to mobilize and go to their active duty stations to train up and be able to deploy.” With an all-volunteer Army, more forces were needed, and the Guard and Reserves were put into all the contingency plans. “So that’s when the Army realized we have to train these people,” says Clausi.

Traveling on weekends to the various home stations, arsenals or reserve stations, Clausi made sure the troops were receiving every type of training. He, along with specialist teams, deployed with the soldiers for their annual two-week training at Camp Shelby in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where they did all the training they could not do at their home stations. “We were mainly making sure that troops were prepared and ready for active duty at any time,” says Clausi. He was promoted to the rank of Major while at Redstone.

Maj. Clausi deployed to Germany for his second three-year tour. He was stationed in Northern Germany and trained with the British, Dutch, Danes, Belgians and Germans. As Division Transportation Officer, Maj. Clausi implemented and directed the movement of the heavy armor units, including the new M1 Abrams tanks, to Grafenwoehr and Hohenfels in the south of Germany as there was no gunnery range in the north. Rail cars were requested and convoy clearances were obtained to move all the equipment and troops. Once the units were all together, they trained for 30 days, then loaded up and reversed the entire process to head back north. “That was real world because in war time we would have had to do that,” Clausi says.

Back in the States, Maj. Clausi was assigned to Fort Hood, Texas, as Division Transportation Officer for the 2nd Armored Division. He spent much time “moving into the field,” which means going to areas to maneuver with tanks and trucks and to ranges for gunnery units. He deployed to the National Training Center in the desert at Ft. Irwin, California, in order to put full units on the ground. “You can’t take 10,000 vehicles and soldiers and put them on the ground in central Texas,” Clausi says.

Training included actual fighting against an enemy. A unit called Opposing Force (OpForce) dressed and acted as Soviet soldiers. The whole battlefield was wired to keep track of the fighting. “It was real world, and it came in handy,” Clausi says. “The biggest thing was maneuvering in a desert environment.” Every unit headed to Desert Storm trained there and became qualified before they deployed.

Promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, Clausi was assigned to the 13th Corps Support Command, where his primary task was deploying individual units to Saudi Arabia, once again implementing and directing the movement of troops and equipment. C130 and C-5 planes and ships were loaded; ships were even borrowed from the Russians. Once the units deployed, Lt. Col. Clausi went to Desert Storm as the Chief of Staff for Transportation, 2nd Corps Support Command. Preparations were made for the actual attack, with an estimate of 10 days to take the objective; instead it took only 10 hours, saving countless lives. Clausi explains that because of commanders like Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf, it was a textbook operation. “These were all young officers in Vietnam where they saw mistakes that were made,” he says. “They made sure that we did not make the same mistakes.”

The impact of this early success brought several thousand prisoners of war who had to be moved. Camps were established, impromptu airfields were set up, and C130 planes picked up and delivered prisoners to trucks that would take them to camps. Any trucks that went forward came back with prisoners, and the Army logistical helicopters carried prisoners back as well.

He then redeployed back to Fort Hood as the Assistant Chief of Staff of Material, his last duty position before retiring after 22 years of active duty.

Clausi settled in Tennessee and spent the next 20 years teaching Army Junior ROTC, retiring as Assistant Director of Army Instruction for Memphis City Schools. Still involved with the program, he works with students to get Army scholarships. He is most proud to be an Admissions Officer for the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in the Memphis area, helping young people get to West Point. “These are the things, making these young people know that they do have a future regardless.”

Clausi and his wife have one daughter and three grandsons. He was a member of the Wolf River Pipes and Drums and now the Phoenix Pipe Band as well as a member of the Sovereign Military Order of the Knights Templar of Jerusalem.

“Duty! Honor! Country!” three words Clausi uses to sum up his military career. “It’s been my privilege to serve, and I don’t think anything else would have given me so much satisfaction,” he says.

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Grisolia

Army squad leader Jack Ross

Enlisting in the Army at the height of the Vietnam War, Jack Ross was at constant risk throughout his tour of duty as a point man tasked with scouting out enemy positions.

The oldest of three boys, John “Jack” Rosucci was born in Chicago and lived in his maternal grandparents’ building near LaPorte and Armitage avenues until the family moved to River Grove when he was 5 years old. Ross’ father, John, and mother, Rita Nitti, were born in Chicago, and their parents emigrated from Bari and Sicily.

Jack Ross

Ross’ parents shortened their name from Rosucci when he was in third grade at St. Cyprian Grade School. Ross explains that in the 1950s, many Italians were changing their names because of the “witch hunt.” His dad’s uncle, Gaetano Rosucci, a successful business owner, had changed his name to Guy Ross.

The large close-knit family gathered with Ross’s maternal grandparents on Christmas Eve and his dad’s family on Christmas Day. As a child, he never liked eating baccalà, eel, clams and other fish that were staples on Christmas Eve. “When I came home from Vietnam, I ate everything, loved everything, drank wine with my grandfather, it was wonderful, just wonderful to be back in that tradition,” Ross says.

After graduating from St Cyprian’s and Holy Cross High School, Ross attended classes at Northeastern University. The draft lottery was going strong, and it was a very tumultuous time, with the school divided between those for and against the Vietnam War. “I grew up with John Wayne and all that American patriotism, and always I think deep down really wanted to experience war, which I think now you’d have to be crazy, but that’s the way we grew up when you were born in 1949,” says Ross.

John Ross

He volunteered for the Army in February 1969. “It was scary,” Ross says, “but something I had to do.” After taking his physical, he flew to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for basic training and advanced infantry training where he also attended leadership school to become a squad leader. Upon completion, Ross received orders for Vietnam and arrived there in July during the rainy season.

After two weeks of orientation, Ross was assigned to the 25th Infantry Division and was stationed near Tay Ninh. He was the assistant squad leader and soon began “walking point.” The point man walked ahead of the troops and worked closely with former Viet Cong soldiers known as Kit Carson Scouts. Ross advanced from point man for his platoon to point man for the battalion for company size operations.

He went on hundreds of missions, sometimes several in a day. “They’d fly us in and we’d cover a certain area, then pick us up and fly us to another area and we’d walk,” Ross says. When on “search and destroy” missions, Ross marched through the jungle looking for the enemy. When found, location information was communicated to the commanding officer and the gunships came in for an air strike. On “ambush patrol,” the soldiers found a secure place to hide during daylight and wait for night. They took turns sleeping and Ross remembers during the rainy season waking up with leeches all over his body, burning them off with cigarettes.

On one mission, Ross and his platoon were walking through the jungle for an hour or two when they suddenly heard “Thunk! Thunk!” … mortars! “I will tell you the scariest thing out in the field is to get mortared,” says Ross. “We heard them drop not too far away.” The soldiers backed up into the tree line, out of sight and ran through the woods as fast as they could. “You’re waiting, waiting for the hit, and your imagination tells you it’s gonna land right on you,” says Ross.

One night, the base camp was mortared and the hooch next to Ross’ was hit. Shrapnel rained down on 20 soldiers as they slept and Ross ran to help. “That was the hardest thing I ever did in my life to carry these guys out when they were still mortaring around,” says Ross. Many were wounded and killed that night. Ross tried to carry out one buddy who had taken a direct hit. His whole chest was blown open. “Well, first of all you want to run away,” he says. “Courage isn’t not being scared; it’s being able to act when you’re scared out of your mind.”

Some of the worst battles were on Nui Ba Den, the Black Virgin Mountain. There was a base at the top and the mountain was filled with caves where the Viet Cong hid, so it was always a hot zone. One time, Ross and his point squad of four men had just completed a sweep of the mountain and were safely near the bottom when gunfire broke out above them. They needed to go back up and carry the wounded to safety. “(The Viet Cong) were picking us off,” says Ross. He and his squad brought everybody down, took cover behind rocks and decided to wait until dark. One soldier, new to Vietnam, came out between the rocks and got shot in the stomach. “We worked until the helicopter came. We were all trying to keep him alive … mouth to mouth, pumping on his chest,” Ross says. “He didn’t make it.”

Ross was made point squad leader for the company shortly before heading to Cambodia. He remembers being awakened during the night and told, “Saddle up, boom, boom, boom!” He was dropped into a hot landing zone and the fighting was intense. On the eighth day, Ross walked into an ambush, and when a grenade went off, a piece of shrapnel hit him in his abdomen. His femoral artery was damaged, luckily not cut, or he would have died. A shot of morphine was administered, and within 10 minutes he was strapped onto a stretcher and medevaced to the base hospital in Tay Ninh for surgery. Ross was moved to hospitals in Saigon and Japan before returning home to Great Lakes Naval Hospital. He wore a colostomy bag for six weeks and lost his right kidney.

He remained at Great Lakes until his discharge in November 1970 with the rank of Specialist 4. He returned to Chicago, opening Manor Press in River Grove, which he still owns and operates. He and his wife, Maureen, have a blended family of four children and six grandchildren. He served as president and was on the Board of Directors at Oak Leyden Developmental Services for 11 years. Concurrently he served on the Board of Trustees at his alma mater, Holy Cross, which became Guerin Prep.

Ross was hit by shrapnel three times and witnessed unspeakable horrors as a point man. He suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and regularly meets with his doctor at the Veteran’s Administration. His doctor applauds him for handling everything so well. “I’m just lucky I had that support network of a family,” says Ross. “It’s the most important thing.”

Displayed in a special place in his home is a framed display holding his medals. They include two Purple Hearts, two Bronze Star Medals and an Air Medal. “You don’t feel that you deserve them,” he says, “but you’re very proud of them. The only real heroes are the ones that died.”

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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Linda Iovino

Bataan Death March survivor Neil Iovino

Badly wounded in the early days of the war in the Pacific, Neil Iovino nevertheless survived the Bataan Death March and 44 months in jungle prison camps.

The youngest of eight children, Neil Philip Iovino was born on the West Side of Chicago on Jan. 3, 1918. His parents, Domenico and Richetta Serpico Iovino, came to Chicago from Scisciano, near Naples.

A graduate of Notre Dame Grammar School on Flournoy Street, he attended only one year of high school, but my dad was street smart. When people asked him where he went to school, he would say Notre Dame and they often thought he went to Notre Dame University.

His early life was marked by tragedy. His family lost their home during the Depression, and both of his parents died of strokes while he was a teen. Living with one or another of his two married sisters, he worked at whatever jobs he could find, including delivering telegraphs, shelling pecans, helping his brother-in-law sell produce and cutting out rain capes from sheets of processed rubber.

When he was 21, he saw a Marine recruitment poster touting “Education, Adventure, Travel” and enlisted on Dec. 7, 1939.

After boot camp at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, he volunteered for duty in Shanghai, China, and became a member of the Fourth Marines, who protected the 25,000 Americans living in the American sector. His duties in Shanghai included chauffeuring and interpreting Italian when needed.

He was stationed in Shanghai from May 1, 1940, to Nov. 28, 1941, when President Roosevelt ordered the Marines to evacuate all Americans living there to the United States. The Fourth Marines were then sent to defend the Subic Bay Naval Base adjacent to the city of Olongapo in the Philippines.

After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, Subic Bay was under constant aerial bombardment, and my dad was the first to be wounded. Struck in the abdomen by several pieces of shrapnel, he was in critical condition when he was brought to the Riverside Cabaret, which had been converted into a hospital, where an emergency appendectomy saved his life.

While he was recuperating, the Japanese Army attacked the Philippines, overwhelming the American forces and forcing their surrender on April 9, 1941. What followed was the infamous Bataan Death March, during which 66,000 Filipinos and 10,000 Americans were forced to slog more than 60 miles through dense jungle and stifling heat by Japanese captors who killed any prisoner who lagged behind or paused to help a fallen comrade. Six days later, at least 2,500 Filipinos and 500 Americans were dead, and the remainder were subjected to inhuman conditions and inconceivable brutality until the end of the war.

My dad’s buddies helped him the first 10 miles of the march, but because of his injuries he was sent with other seriously wounded prisoners to Bilibid Prison Camp in Manila. Only by the grace of God was he spared being killed on the march. A surgeon and fellow prisoner operated on him in the Bilibid Prison Camp, where he stayed for over a year.

Despite his weakened state, his work detail included heavy lifting, airfield construction and road repair. Throughout his ordeal, my dad was a morale builder, holding onto the belief that they would be rescued. He believed God would let him see his family again and enjoy another pasta meal.

My dad was then sent to the Cabanatuan prison camp, where he endured two more operations. Even the doctors marveled that he pulled through. Because of his injuries, the Japanese spared him harsher work details and conditions.

However, the lack of food and its contaminated quality caused beriberi, dysentery and palagra. The mosquitoes carried malaria, and the heat could be extreme. Only the sickest prisoners remained in Cabanatuan prison camp but were still expected to do work details.

Imprisonment at Cabanatuan ended up being a lucky break. In the dead of night, the Sixth Rangers of the U.S. Army, led by Col. Henry Mucci, and with the help of Filipino guerillas, made a surprise attack on the camp, killing the Japanese guards. After nearly four years in captivity, my dad and the other POWs returned to the United States as free men in 1945, where they were wined, dined and treated to ticker tape parades.

Among the medals he earned were the Silver Star, Bronze Star and Purple Heart Medal. A photo of him in the prison camp appeared in a story published in the February 1945 issue of LIFE magazine.

After a brief stay in three hospitals, my dad and other Marines were contacted by RKO Studios to promote the movie “Back to Bataan,” starring John Wayne and Anthony Quinn. The film features actual Bataan Death March survivors at the beginning and end. The last survivor shown at the end of the movie is my dad, marching to the song “California, Here I Come.”

RKO Studios engaged my dad and other Marine veterans featured in the movie as representatives. They went from town to town where the movie was being shown, also appearing at nearby defense plants to appeal for increased production of desperately needed war materiel.

At the conclusion of the RKO promotional tour, my dad made a large number of appearances on behalf of the war effort throughout Chicagoland, mainly to stimulate the sale of war bonds. During one of those appearances, he suffered a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized, but his sisters checked him out of the hospital and cared for him at home.

He was honorably discharged as a gunnery sergeant from the Marines in 1946. Luckily for my dad, his sister Carmella had a best friend who lived across the street from the grade school that he attended. He and Laura Baldoni were introduced, they dated, and my dad proposed.

Because of his nervous breakdown, Laura needed my dad’s doctor’s permission to marry him in May 1949. Despite her family’s misgivings, Laura’s love, belief and faith in him resulted in 50 years of marriage, five children, four grandchildren, and one great-grandson that he was able to meet on Skype.

My parents lived for a while with his sister and her husband in Lake Bluff. He learned the printing trade under the G.I. Bill then went to work for the Waukegan News Sun, earning enough money to buy a small home in Knollwood.

They moved to Highland Park in 1954 and joined Immaculate Conception Parish. My dad worked the night shifts at the Chicago Tribune and then the Chicago Sun-Times. He also worked at the Highland Park Post Office and as a chauffeur for a corporate executive.

As children, we really didn’t understand what our father endured. When our father wore swimming trunks, we thought he had six belly buttons but learned those extra indentations were scars from shrapnel. His Marine Corps belt was used to discipline us. When we misbehaved, he would ask us, “The war made me crazy, what’s your excuse?”

There was always a lot of yelling in our house, and we just accepted it. We didn’t know how much was from being Italian and how much was a result of the prison camp experience. He could call us every name under the sun and then talk to us as if nothing had happened.

There was a lot of laughter, too, and our dad had a hearty, contagious laugh. He was very talkative and had to have the last word. He loved to walk and bicycle, and he was a good baseball player. At one Lake Forest Day carnival, he won so many prizes by knocking over dolls with baseballs, he was asked to stop playing.

There was always food in our house, particularly fresh fruits and vegetables. The biggest sin would be to have a party and run out of food so we always had more than enough when we had guests over.

He was a life-long member of several veteran organizations, including the American Legion Highland Park Post 145, Veterans of Foreign Wars Highland Park Post 4737, Disabled American Veterans, American Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor, American Ex-Prisoners of War, Military Order of the Cooties, and Military Order of the Purple Heart. He volunteered at the VA and sold poppies in Highland Park. He gave talks about his war experience at schools and veteran memorials.

In 1967, he and Laura travelled to the Philippines to take part in a 25th anniversary reunion of the Bataan Death March. During that trip, they also visited Japan.

In 1995, he was invited to Taiwan to receive the Medal of Honor of the Vocational Assistance Commission for Retired Servicemen, Republic of China, “in recognition of his outstanding contribution as a veteran of World War II, in upholding international justice, safeguarding freedom and peace, promoting veterans’ welfare and strengthening mutual relations and cooperation between our two countries.”

 

Iovino meets fellow POW John McCain.

His wife suffered from dementia for several years and in February 2000, he lost her to pancreatic cancer. When he lost his only son two years later, the family initially thought it was from a heart attack but the autopsy revealed that he had committed suicide. It was heartbreaking to see a person who believed in never giving up endure the loss of a loved one who died at his own hands.

For years on Tuesday mornings, my dad served coffee and pastries in his kitchen to friends from the local veteran groups of which he was a member. They were a blessing to him after the deaths of his wife and son.

After a brief stint in assisted living, he spent the last years of his life comfortably in his own home. He died at the age of 90 in 2008, after a tumble down six stairs in his home in Highland Park. At the time, he was wearing a white T-shirt similar to the one he had on in the movie “Back to Bataan.”

He taught his children: We are put in this world to help each other.

Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2020) To learn more, click here.

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