If you know anything about World War II, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Women’s Army Corps (WACs), Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service (WAVEs), Women’s Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs), Marine Corps Women’s Reserve, Coast Guard Women’s Reserve (SPARs), Army Nurse Corps and Navy Nurse Corps.
Then there were all the other women who did their part in their own way. I want to tell you about two of them: my mother and my aunt, Angie Grippo Magnine and Marie Chiappetta Grippo.
Most of the men put down their parents’ names, or their wives’ if they were married. Emil wrote “Marie Chiappetta G.F.” Well, Dec. 7, 1941, arrived, and Emil joined the Army. After spending Christmas with his family, he left for Basic Training at Camp Robinson in Arkansas. At some point during training, he had visitors from Chicago. I found out about this many years later when I was shown a series of photos of my mom and aunt at Camp Robinson. My mother had passed away by then, so I spoke with Aunt Marie and learned how this came to be. It seems she missed Emil and found out where he was through letters. She realized that Arkansas was a hop, skip and a jump from Illinois. Now came the hard part: How to get her mother to let her go visit her boyfriend. At an Army base. In another state. I had the good fortune to know Mrs. Chiappetta. She was an Italian mother who was very protective of her daughters. My aunt told me that there were a lot of energetic discussions regarding the trip. She tipped the scale in her favor by telling her mother that Angie would be going along as a chaperone. Mrs. Chiappetta gave her consent, and off they went to Little Rock, the closest town to Camp Robinson. They rented a room from a woman in town, and that’s how they started on their big adventure. The photos show them sweeping stairs, peeling potatoes, donning uniforms, posing next to trucks and cannons, and generally palling around. Besides being there for Emil, they were there for the boys, talking to them and helping them remember their families and homes. After an enjoyable trip, Angie and Marie returned to Chicago. They had done their part, and the boys were sent off to do theirs. Uncle Emil was assigned to the 12th USAAF, taking part in several campaigns in the European Theater of Operations. Angie and Marie went back to writing letters to him, and my mom wrote plenty more to the new friends she made through the USO. So you see, Angie and Marie did their part to bring joy to those in the military. Multiply that by all the women who did the same, and that’s a lot of joy. The war ended, and Emil returned home to Marie. They were married at the historic Holy Family Church. My mom married a Navy man, John Magnine, about a year later. Flash forward 30 years, and I was stationed at Ft. Lewis in Washington state. Mom came to visit me, and, wouldn’t you know it, Aunt Marie, Uncle Emil and my father were also there. Old habits die hard. Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here. They both grew up in the Italian neighborhood surrounding Taylor Street in Chicago. Angie had younger brothers, one of whom was Emil. It seems that young Marie took a liking to Emil, and Emil took a liking to Marie.
I want to give you an example of their fondness for each other. Back in 1941, young men between certain ages were required to register with the Selective Service. One of the lines on the form requested the “name and address of a person who will always know your address.”
Don’t let the sedate job title fool you. As a combat engineer on the front lines of the Korean War, Joseph Fabiani was constantly under fire.
His father, a steel mill worker, died of stomach cancer attributed to mustard gas poisoning suffered while fighting during World War I. Fabiani was 13 years old. A few years later, in 1948, the family moved to Melrose Park, Illinois, to be near his mother’s brother. Fabiani was employed as a machinist at Chicago Rivet Co. when he was drafted in March 1951. “I expected it because the war was going pretty strong, and a lot of kids were getting drafted,” he said. “I was just waiting for my turn.” He and his identical twin, also drafted, reported to the induction center and were told that because their mother was a widow, only one of them needed to serve. It was up to them to decide which one. “So my brother and I flipped a coin, and six weeks later, I was in the Army,” said Fabiani. After indoctrination at Fort Sheridan, Fabiani traveled to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, for eight weeks of basic training, and then continued on with advance training as a combat engineer. “We learned how to play with explosives and stuff like that,” Fabiani said. “It was very interesting down there.” After a 30-day furlough, Fabiani boarded a train to Fort Lewis, Washington. Two weeks later, he boarded the USS General H.B. Freeman and headed into the Pacific, encountering stormy weather. They disembarked in Yokohama, Japan, went through a processing center, boarded a troop transport ship in Sasebo, sailed all night and landed in Pusan, Korea. “Oh, I almost started crying,” he said. “This has to be a nightmare. This can’t be true.” Assigned to Company A, 23rd Infantry, Fabiani served for more than 11 months in Korea. He did everything from building bridges and carrying ammo to the front lines to going on night patrols, guarding a tungsten mine and doing guard duty. A truck brought the soldiers to the ammo dump to pick up supplies. “Then, we would put pack boards on our back,” said Fabiani. “They’d give you four rounds of ammunition or whatever you had to take up there.” The soldiers marched several miles through the mountainous terrain during the night. “When we went up there, they had giant searchlights shooting up into the clouds,” to distract the enemy so they couldn’t see the U.S. soldiers, Fabiani said. “It was scary, I’ll tell you.” They dropped off the ammo and went back down again until the next trip. “You were a human packhorse, a chugga train,” he said. Fabiani fought alongside the French army on Heartbreak Ridge for five weeks. The North Koreans harassed them with mortar fire three times a day. “I mean, anybody tells you that they’re not scared, they’re telling you a lie,” Fabiani said. When the shells started coming in, everyone looked up and took cover in foxholes while the barrage continued. Shrapnel from an exploding shell hit Fabiani’s right kneecap, but he continued fighting until his outfit was relieved. “I was lucky. You’re laying in the hole, and you hear bang … bang … bang, and you’re just laying there to see where they’re going to hit. That’s got to drive you out of your mind,” Fabiani said. “Scared the hell out of you. Everybody hollers for their mother when you get hit.” He felt sorry for the medics. “They’ve got to get out of their holes whenever somebody’s hurt. They’ve got to get over and fix them up,” said Fabiani. “They’re not allowed to carry rifles or anything, either. All they’ve got is their bag.” Night patrols were routine, and Fabiani and his squad stalked miles in the darkness before returning. Occasionally, they spent all night in a scouting position, watching for enemy patrols, and they were debriefed in the morning. “You had to tell them what you’d seen,” Fabiani said. Fabiani’s weapon was a 57 mm recoilless rifle, and his ammo-bearer carried the six rounds of ammo he was issued daily. Fabiani remembered being positioned at the main line of resistance, and his squad leader told him, “Joe, pick your target.” “The thing is, when you shoot this gun off, you have a back blast,” said Fabiani. “So you can’t stay in one area too long because the enemy can see the smoke, and the first thing you know, you get something coming back.” The Korean people were very poor and lived in huts. “They never wanted money. They wanted socks and clothing and food,” Fabiani said. When not out in the field, Fabiani stayed in the barracks, and a local 7-year-old boy shined his shoes and brought him a pail for shaving. “I’d feed him half of my rations, and I’d give him some apples and oranges to take home to his mother,” said Fabiani. “Boy, they were delighted to get that stuff because they didn’t have anything over there.” Despite fighting a war, Fabiani had some pleasant times. The U.S. soldiers got along very well with the French troops and traded them candy and cigarettes for wine. “They used to make their own bread. Oh, it was delicious,” Fabiani said. The French had a red powder, which, when mixed with water, made wine. “Wine!” he said. “We had what they didn’t have, and they had what we didn’t have.” Fabiani spent a few days in Osaka for rest and relaxation. “That was a very beautiful place, and I had the best time of my life,” he said. “Beer was 25 cents a quart! Red Label Nippon.” Fabiani sailed home on the John Pope into San Francisco Bay. “They were throwing flares down at us and confetti and all that, and then when we finally hit the dock, there was a big band over there. ‘Welcome Home’ and all that stuff,” Fabiani said. Corporal Fabiani was discharged from active duty on Dec. 29, 1952, and went into the reserves. He returned home to Melrose Park and to Chicago Rivet Co., where he worked for more than 30 years. Fabiani witnessed much sadness in Korea, according to his niece Sandra Donovan, but he was proud of and grateful for his service. “I think every kid should do at least one year in the service, whether he fights or not. You get them off the streets, and you get better habits and all that stuff,” Fabiani said. Joseph Fabiani passed away on May 4, 2016. The quotes in this article come from an interview conducted and archived by the Melrose Park Library’s Veterans History Project, and are used with the library’s permission. (mpplibrary.org/vhp) Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.One of five children, Joseph Fabiani was born in 1929 in Donora, Pennsylvania, to Nazzarino and Laura Settimi Fabiani, and grew up with aunts and uncles living in the area. His parents emigrated from Ascoli Piceno, Italy. His mother, a homemaker, baked bread, made ravioli and even brewed root beer. “She was the best cook!” Fabiani said.
One of history’s greatest cyclists, Gino Bartali went above and beyond the call of duty during World War II on behalf of Italy’s Jewish citizens.
Gino was born to Torello and Giulia Sizzi Bartali in 1914 in Ponte a Ema, a small Tuscan town just south of Firenze. Torello often collected mud for bricks as a day laborer, and Giulia took in hotel laundry and made lace. The Bartalis were devout Catholics, and young Gino would later marry Adriana Bani in a ceremony officiated by a priest who went on to become the Archbishop of Firenze. Torello felt Gino was too frail for hard labor, but insisted all his children work even at a young age, so Gino helped make lace and rope. He was also fortunate to find work in a bike shop. Back then, when no one could afford a car, the bicycle was a huge part of life in Italy. As revealed in Vittorio De Sica’s 1949 neorealist classic “Ladri di biciclette” (Bicycle Thieves), the loss of a bike could lead to a family’s economic ruin. But tragedy struck the Bartali family when Giulio died in a cycling accident the same month as Gino’s victory. Gino was devastated by the loss and considered giving up competing, but given the global economic malaise, he needed to win races to bring home prize money, so that’s what he did. He dedicated his 1937 Giro to his brother, and when he won, his back-to-back victories made him a legend in Italy, which unfortunately caught the eye of Mussolini. General Francesco Antonelli, the fascist minister of sport, famously proclaimed that an Italian winner of the Tour de France would be a god and “proof of the superiority of the Italian race.” In 1938, Bartali crushed the competition and won his first Tour. The fascists were elated, but Bartali did not dedicate his victory to Il Duce, instead humbly bringing the traditional winner’s bouquet to a church where he prayed. Bartali ended up being blessed by three popes for his support of Catholicism rather than fascism or communism. Because of his snub of Mussolini, he was not lauded or rewarded by the government on his return home. Fausto Coppi also appeared on the Italian racing scene in the late 1930s. He was a junior teammate and eventual rival of Bartali, winning the 1940 Giro for himself rather than helping his team, angering Bartali in the process. Among Italian bike racing fans, the great Coppi/Bartali debate raged. Who was the better rider? Whose wins were more significant? There was also a cultural divide created by the riders’ personal styles and beliefs. Bartali set up Catholic shrines in his hotel rooms and was happily married, while Coppi lived with a mistress. As in many cultural debates in Italy, there was also a regional divide. Born south of Turin, Coppi was the “volatile Ligurian,” while Bartali was the “reliable Tuscan.” Coppi fans, or “tifosi,” were drawn from the industrial north, while the bulk of the “Bartaliani” were from the more conservative, agrarian south. By the time those divides began to emerge, Italy was gearing up for war, and all able-bodied men were called to arms. Both cyclists lost the best years of their careers as nations around the globe were pulled into the abyss of World War II. Fortunately, Bartali, who was conscripted along with Coppi, was found to have a “heart issue,” which is amusing given he was a world champion bike racer whose training regimen included cigarettes and espresso before races and sometimes wine during them. Clearly, someone in the Italian military hierarchy was a racing fan, as Bartali was assigned the job of bicycle messenger. In 1943, Mussolini was deposed by King Vittorio Emanuele III during the Allied invasion of Italy, and an even darker chapter began for Italian Jews. Prior to 1943, laws excluded Jews from most aspects of Italian life, and they would ultimately facilitate future deportations. Under the German occupation that held sway north of Rome after the fall of Mussolini, Italy’s Jewish citizens were now to be hunted. Rising to the threat, Bartali’s old friend, Firenze Archbishop Elia Della Costa, began working with the rabbi of Firenze, Nathan Cassuto, to create an organization to assist Jews and thwart German efforts to round them up. The Assisi Network was founded to help smuggle Jews out of the country, find them places to hide within it or provide them with fake identities to avoid the authorities. The archbishop shared his plan with Bartali, who agreed to carry counterfeit documents and photos in the hollow frame of his bike. The plan was nearly perfect as Bartali knew the roads around Firenze well, and his need to train provided an ideal cover. One of the main centers of the counterfeiting effort was Assisi, whose bishop, Giuseppe Nicolini, was in on the scheme. Nicolini also arranged shelter for Jews in some 26 monasteries and convents, which were traditionally closed to outsiders due to monastic rules. False identity papers were created on a printing press hidden in an Assisi stationary shop, and Bartali’s legendary devotion to the Catholic Church explained away his frequent deliveries to religious orders throughout the area. If you’re wondering how Bartali was able to slip past the numerous checkpoints along his hazardous routes, imagine how American soldiers and police in the 1930s would have reacted to seeing Babe Ruth at a roadblock. They would have been in awe and asked for his autograph, not checked him for hidden documents. Bartali rode thousands of miles on his courier missions to cities such as Genoa, Luca and Rome. One story has Bartali — who was known as the Mountain King for his prowess on the hills — towing Jewish children into Switzerland in a hidden compartment in a wagon attached to his bike. When questioned about the heavy wagon, he was said to have explained that it was part of a training regimen that helped him win the mountain stages of races. The closest Bartali came to being captured was when he was arrested on suspicion of harboring a Jewish family and helping the Resistance. He was taken to Villa Triste (House of Sorrows), where people were imprisoned and tortured. Luckily, one of his old commanding officers was able to convince the security forces that Bartali was innocent. In reality, he and his wife were hiding the family of Giacomo Goldenberg, whom the couple had befriended before the war. Bartali kept all his activities with the underground secret. In 1946, Bartali won his third Giro D’italia in a weakened field of competition that included his rival Coppi, who had spent time in an English POW camp at the end of the war. In 1947, the younger Coppi was back in form and again won the Giro, while the older Bartali, now 33, was seen as past his prime. In 1948, the Tour offered two spots for Italian teams. Coppi insisted on taking the lead, so Bartali formed his own team. Many doubted Bartali could emerge victorious at his age, but he astounded the naysayers, winning three consecutive stages in the mountains — a feat that went unmatched for half a century. Bartali won the Tour 10 years after doing it the first time, the longest hiatus between wins in the history of the race. Bartali died in 2000 at the age of 85, and it was only after his death that the details of his wartime exploits became public. Late in life, Bartali told his son what he had done during the war, urging him and his wife to keep the information under wraps. At one point, Bartali met a relative of Rabbi Cassuto and agreed to explain his work with the Assisi Network, but only under the condition that she not record the discussion. Bartali once said: “You must do good, but you must not talk about it. If you talk about it, you’re taking advantage of others’ misfortunes for your own gain.” By some estimates, “Gino the Pius” saved the lives of 800 of Italy’s Jewish citizens. On July 7, 2013, Yad Vashem recognized Gino Bartali as “Righteous Among the Nations,” an honorific used by the state of Israel to describe Gentiles who risked their lives during the Holocaust to save Jews from extermination by the Nazis. Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.Life has peaks and valleys, happiness and sadness, good and evil. In the course of a storied career, Italian cycling legend Gino Bartali pedaled through countless highs and lows, both physical and emotional, battling more than his fair share of evil along the way.
In 1925, 11-year-old Gino had the opportunity to attend school in Firenze but needed a bike, so he bought a used one from the shop where he worked and soon developed a passion for cycling. He and his younger brother, Giulio, would ride with other boys from the area through the hills of Toscana. Gino won his first race in 1931 and turned pro in 1935. Given the vital importance of bicycles to Italians, it should come as no surprise that champion racers became national heroes and stars. In 1936, Gino won his first Giro d’Italia, Italy’s premier professional bike race, which that year covered 2,340 miles, ranging from Milano to Bari and back.
Having traveled the world during his six years in the Navy, Gerard Giudice’s only regret is that he didn’t make a career of it.
Giudice graduated from Mount Carmel Grade School in Melrose Park and Immaculate Conception High School in Elmhurst. He attended Triton College for one semester but was unsure about his future. “I was thinking to myself, ‘You know there’s gotta be something more to it than just this,’” Giudice says. “‘I’m gonna join the service.’” Giudice flew to San Diego and boarded a bus for boot camp. “It was amazing because I’d never seen a palm tree before in my life,” he says. After graduating from the 12-week course, Giudice came home on leave. Everybody wanted to see him because he was the only one among his family and friends to serve in the military. “They wanted to see me in my uniform,” Giudice says. “I was the pioneer, the trendsetter.” Next, he flew to Treasure Island in San Francisco to attend “A” School for primary job training relating to his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty). When he joined the Navy, Giudice chose to become a Hull Technician. “They do the pipe fitting, they do the welding, they do the carpentry,” Giudice says. “I love working with my hands, and that’s how I chose that.” One of the first skills he learned was firefighting. “Because when you’re on a ship, you gotta know how to survive,” Giudice says. “Everybody knows how to put out a fire.” After six weeks, Giudice transferred to San Diego for “B” School, technical training for the skills of his trade. He learned boiler work, sanitation, carpentry, metal work, damage control and everything else to keep a ship running out at sea. Giudice completed the 12-week course, received his assignment as a Hull Technician aboard the aircraft carrier USS Independence (CV-62) and deployed to Norfolk, Virginia. His head filled with knowledge learned in classrooms and on make-believe ships, Giudice was ready and eager to work. “I’m walking down this pier and I’m looking at this ship towering over me, and I’m thinking, ‘What did I get myself into?’” Giudice says. “I’m like ‘Holy moly!’ I mean, it was just — it was scary in one regard, and it was breathtaking in the other.” Giudice soon realized performing a task in school was one thing, but doing it aboard a ship was another. “When I got there, I didn’t know anything. Now, it’s real life. Now, you’re in the trenches,” he says. “You’re going to be welding downstairs in the boiler room, 1,200 pounds of steam, and you’re going to be doing it, so I knew nothing.” Giudice worked on daily maintenance and was responsible for keeping the ship in top running condition. “That’s all we did was fix things that broke,” he says. There were five different shops, with Giudice rotating among them every three months. “That way, you got the feel for everything that you needed to do on that ship,” he says. Giudice was stationed on the USS Independence for two-and-a-half years. By the time he completed active duty, he knew that ship like the back of his hand. “You really learn it quickly because it’s survival,” Giudice says. “I say that tongue-in-cheek because there was no war going on, but we had to be able to get around the ship safely.” As the flagship of the Seventh Fleet, the Independence traveled all over the world. It was like a floating city, with 3,000 sailors in addition to the air wing of 2,000 pilots and plane mechanics. “The main thing a ship does that size, it’s an aircraft carrier, flight operations,” Giudice says. “Keeping the peace, letting everybody know, ‘Hey, we’re here. Don’t mess up.’” Only essential personnel were allowed on the flight deck as planes took off and landed, but the action could be seen via closed-circuit television. Most flights went smoothly, but accidents occurred and pilots lost their lives. Giudice remembers one instance when he was working down below, and, out of the blue, he heard an explosion and felt the ship tremble. “All of a sudden, ‘General Quarters’ is sounded — everybody to their battle station because there was a problem,” he says. Tragically, a plane crashed at the fantail of the ship, killing the pilot. The point of impact was caved in. “We repaired that out to sea,” Giudice says. “We had to put new metal on there and weld it up.” Giudice’s dream of seeing the world came true. While in California, he saw the sights in San Diego and San Francisco. While cruising along the East Coast of the United States, he stopped in Boston and Florida, then Cuba and Guantanamo Bay, before heading out to the Mediterranean. European ports included Barcelona, Malaga, Cannes, Monte Carlo, Nice, Sicily, Genoa, Athens and Naples. He also visited Nazareth, Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv. “I’ve been all over,” Giudice says. His father’s family lived in Naples, so when the ship stopped there for a week, Giudice requested leave. “I took off and went to grandma’s house,” Giudice says. “She was over the top to see me.” He brought a friend along with him. “Oh, we ate like kings! Oh my God, the food!” He visited with aunts, uncles and cousins. “Every night, we were at somebody else’s house having something to eat: the wine, the food, the pasta, the cheeses … Oh, my God!” Giudice was discharged as an E4 in December 1980 and went into the active reserves. He and his wife, Nicolina, have two children and two grandchildren. For the past 25 years, Giudice has been employed as a project superintendent for MTI Construction Company. Reflecting on his time in the Navy, Giudice says, “It was the best experience I could ever have had. If I had to do it all over again, I’d do it exactly the same way except for one thing: I would have stayed in.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here. The middle of three children, Gerard Giudice was born in Oak Park and grew up in Melrose Park. His father, Ennio, was born in Naples, Italy, and his mother, Rosa, was born of Italian descent in London, England. Giudice fondly recalls traditional Sunday dinners together. “You didn’t miss pasta day! Sunday at noon, 12:30 the latest, we had spaghetti and meatballs, we had mostaccioli, then we had a big bowl of meatballs, sausage, bracioles … it was great,” Giudice recalls. His mother was a wonderful cook, and friends loved coming over. “My mom’s lasagna and raviolis, those were the two best meals,” he says.
He enlisted in the U.S. Navy in December 1977 under the delayed entry program, “because I wanted to be home for the holiday,” and left on Jan. 12, 1978. Giudice signed up for the “three by six” program: three years of active duty, two years of active reserve and one year of inactive reserve. “I joined the Navy because I wanted to see the world, and I did,” he says.
Fueled by a lifelong passion for education, Ralph L. DeFalco III enjoyed a stellar 25-year career in Naval Intelligence that took him from the Midwest to the Middle East and our nation’s capital.
As first-generation Americans, his parents grew up in households where their parents learned and mastered English as a second language and were very proud of it. Family holidays were often a blend of cultures. “It was not unusual to have pasta and turkey for the holidays,” DeFalco says. “I think it’s fair to say that we assimilated very, very quickly as a family.” He graduated from St. Catherine’s of Alexandria Grammar School and Brother Rice High School. “My mother and father were adamant about the importance of education,” says DeFalco. “I don’t know how they did it. It was very expensive, but they sent all five of their children to parochial grammar school and high school.” DeFalco earned a bachelor of science degree in journalism from Northern Illinois University in 1975. Ten years later, while employed in marketing, he received a master’s in communications from Governors State University. Influenced by a good friend, DeFalco joined the U.S. Navy Reserve in 1988 through a special program designed to recruit and train Reserve Intelligence Officers. He received a direct commission as an officer and entered the Navy as an Ensign. He reported to Glenview Naval Air Station (NAS) one weekend a month and two weeks a year in the beginning. DeFalco took classes while training as an intelligence officer and learned a variety of skills, including imagery interpretation, intelligence analysis, writing and briefing. His initial six-year service obligation ended while he was still working with the squadron, but DeFalco opted to continue his career in the Navy Reserve. After completing that assignment, he rotated back to a unit supporting the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) from Glenview NAS. This was the beginning of a successful 25-year career as a Naval Intelligence Officer. During that time, DeFalco taught at Ft. Sheridan, the U.S. Naval War College and the National Intelligence University in Washington, D.C. He served in numerous positions in the Naval Intelligence community and completed five tours of duty during more than seven years of active service. DeFalco was recalled to active duty during the first Gulf War, serving at ONI Headquarters in Washington, D.C. Duties included classified special projects in support of Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm. On the first night of the war’s air campaign, the allies planned to knock out Iraqi command and control facilities. Nighttime air attacks targeted Baghdad’s power stations to destroy the electrical grid providing energy for everything from radars to fire control to communications. “It was a challenge because we needed to minimize civilian casualties and still achieve the military objective,” DeFalco says. Staff was watching CNN live as the raids occurred, and suddenly all the lights went out behind the broadcaster. “We realized that we had been hugely successful! That was quite a memorable moment,” he says. “I must say it was the only time in my career I ever heard a group of intelligence professionals cheer.” Promoted to Lieutenant Commander, DeFalco participated in a congressionally mandated study project, the Joint Reserve Intelligence Center program (JRIC) at Ft. Sheridan. The Reserves were in transition because they had proven to be very useful during the first Gulf War, and there was a drive to integrate the Reserve and National Guard more completely as part of the total military force. DeFalco served as the training officer for that first JRIC. “I went on active duty and began the work of preparing other intelligence officers and enlisted personnel from all services to operate in the joint environment,” DeFalco says. “And this is the same time in which we began to have significant success using a classified internet.” He organized analytical training sessions and classes on the use of very sophisticated computer systems. “We had imagery exploitation, geopolitical analysis, order of battle intelligence, military capabilities studies, and then as the world turned, we provided intelligence support for the war on terror,” DeFalco says. Secret and top-secret information analyzed at Ft. Sheridan supported U.S.-led missions throughout the world. “In the case of Ft. Sheridan, we were aligned with the Joint Analysis Center in Europe, and we supported the mission and operations of the U.S. European Command,” DeFalco says. “It was groundbreaking.” On 9/11, DeFalco was teaching at Ft. Sheridan and watched as the second plane crashed into the towers. “That was a watershed moment for reserve forces, especially for reserve intelligence,” he says. They immediately understood that a weekend a month and two weeks a year would no longer be standard operating procedure. “We were now going to be wholly integrated as part of the total force,” DeFalco says. “Over the years, many of us were recalled to active duty and also deployed overseas as reservists.” In 2003, after promotion to the rank of Commander, DeFalco went on active duty at the Pentagon and worked as a staff officer for the Under Secretary of Defense for Manpower and Reserve Affairs for Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve. His next duty assignment was also at the Pentagon, where he worked on the Staff of the Director of Naval Intelligence. “My role there was to support total force integration and planning for Navy Intelligence,” DeFalco says. When his military orders ended, he was recruited by an Admiral to join the staff of the Navy’s Civilian Intelligence Program, working out of an office in the Pentagon. “That’s when my active-duty career opened up a civilian career for me,” DeFalco says. “I was on the staff of the Director of Naval Intelligence for the next 18 years.” Until this time, DeFalco had been working in marketing. Though working full-time as an employee of the Navy, he was still a reserve officer. DeFalco was recalled to active duty in Afghanistan in 2007. Based in Kabul, DeFalco worked as part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) for Afghanistan, a NATO mission. It was the first time DeFalco had been in a joint war-fighting command overseas serving alongside foreign military personnel. Information came in from a variety of sources, and it needed to be integrated into daily intelligence products. The work DeFalco had done for years using concepts that had been proven, refined and used during peacetime were now being tested in real wartime. “It was a challenging, demanding and exciting opportunity because, on a day-to-day basis, the intelligence analysts at the Joint Intelligence Center of the ISAF were directly supporting combat troops on the ground 24/7,” DeFalco says. “Our mission was to use our intelligence capabilities to inform combat commanders conducting operations against the Taliban,” DeFalco says. “It’s remarkable how successful we really were in integrating the reserve component with the active force and in making ourselves truly operational support.” Today, there are more than 20 JRICs around the country. “It all started with that experiment back at Ft. Sheridan,” says DeFalco. DeFalco retired from the U.S. Navy Reserves as Captain in 2013. His last assignment was as Deputy Director of Intelligence at the National Joint Operations and Intelligence Center in the Pentagon. “This is the place where all the information comes in to inform both the President and the Chairman of [the] Joint Chiefs of Staff,” DeFalco says. “It was a challenging and very, very interesting experience to be at that level and to see the decision-making that was done at that time.” DeFalco was among the first group of Navy Reserve professionals to qualify as an Information Dominance Warfare Officer and to earn the right to wear that Navy warfare breast insignia. He retired from his civil career on the Navy Intelligence staff in March 2021. DeFalco and his wife, Marcia Glesener DeFalco, live in Florida. These days, he is writing for Law & Liberty, a website sponsored by the Liberty Foundation, and working on a book for which he hopes to find a publisher. The working title is “Menace: China’s Threat to World Peace,” and the book builds on his studies and published papers over the past three decades. Education — as well as writing, speaking and teaching — were constant themes throughout DeFalco’s life and career. With the help of the Navy, he earned a diploma from the Naval War College and a master’s degree in strategic intelligence from the National Intelligence University. Later, as a civilian, he earned a doctorate of liberal studies at Georgetown University. “My education was the impetus behind my career, my success in the military and as a senior intelligence professional,” he says. “My family was the inspiration for that.” He sums up his Navy career by saying, “It was the most rewarding and fulfilling experience of a lifetime. It was demanding, fast-paced, very challenging, and I am grateful for having had that opportunity.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.The eldest of five children, Ralph L. DeFalco III was born in Connecticut to Mary Ann Mueller and Ralph L. DeFalco Jr. The family moved to Chicago when DeFalco was an infant, returned to the East Coast and eventually settled in Oak Lawn, Illinois. DeFalco’s paternal grandparents emigrated from the Abruzzi and Napoli regions in Italy, and his maternal grandparents were born in Germany.
Promoted to Lieutenant, DeFalco was the Air Intelligence Officer for Glenview NAS-based VP-60, a P-3 squadron. The large four-engine aircrafts were used for long-range maritime patrol and especially for anti-submarine warfare. At the time, Soviet submarines operating in the Atlantic Ocean and the northern Pacific Ocean posed a significant military threat to the United States. “My work with the squadron was to help crews understand the nature of that threat and the types of activity that they might likely see in their operational patrol areas,” DeFalco says.
Suffering 75 percent hearing loss as a member and then leader of a mortar squad in the push toward Berlin, Alex Fosco took part in three major battles on the way to victory over the Nazis.
Fosco enjoyed spending time with his extended family, especially his maternal grandmother, Angelina Vespa. “She spoke Italian to me, but we were encouraged not to speak it outside of the home because they wanted us to be American,” he says. Fosco was also fortunate to have a close relationship with his uncles Bill and John Vespa, who owned an accordion repair shop. Visits fostered his interest in learning how things work and figuring out how to fix them. “I loved to spend time there after school watching them work,” he says. The family celebrated the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. “I remember my mother soaking baccalà in the bathtub,” Fosco says. “She was an excellent cook.” Jane Adams Hull House offered various activities for the children of immigrants living in the area. “My sisters and I spent a lot of time there,” Fosco says. He took an interest in the theater group, working behind the scenes as well as on stage. “I was a pirate in ‘The Pirates of Penzance,’” he says. Fosco graduated from Dante Grade School and went on to Crane Tech High School. When he was 16 years old, he left school to find a job. “I needed to help my family,” Fosco says. He worked at Cinch Manufacturing as a receiving clerk on the loading dock until he was drafted, like most of the young men in his neighborhood. “Our country needed us,” says Fosco. In January 1944, he reported to Fort Sheridan for processing into the United States Army and then shipped to Camp Breckenridge, Kentucky, for Basic Training. His parents were not happy about their only son being drafted. “My mom was sad, but they understood that I needed to help,” Fosco says. He received additional training in heavy mortar operation. “I volunteered for this specialty because I felt it was important,” says Fosco. On Christmas Eve 1944, Fosco fought the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. Under a heavy barrage of gunfire, he continued loading mortars, but after a volley of shots, the gun misfired, a potentially dangerous situation for the gun crew. Meanwhile, his squad leader was hit by enemy fire and suffered severe injuries to his arms. In the confusion of battle, Fosco initially thought the mortar had blown up. Recovering his bearings and still under heavy fire, the quick-thinking Fosco first attended to the immediate threat. “I picked up the mortar and defused it,” Fosco says. “I did exactly what I was supposed to do to keep it from exploding.” Then Fosco turned his attention to his squad leader, grabbing a first aid kit and rushing to his side. “I patched him up the best I could before they took him for help,” Fosco says. In the following weeks, Fosco’s unit continued advancing, battle after battle. Casualties were high. He was promoted from private to staff sergeant during his time in combat and acted as squad and section leader. “I supervised 10 men operating two 81 MM heavy mortars,” Fosco says. As a forward observer, he searched the area for the enemy and directed members of his team. When General Patton jumped into the icy river in Luxembourg and swam across as an inspiration to his troops, Fosco witnessed it from a distance. “Patton really was a kind of crazy guy,” Fosco says, “but I respected him.” After the war in Europe ended, Fosco remained in Germany as part of the Occupation Army. Patrolling through the countryside and towns, he stopped people he encountered and asked for their papers as part of the process of identifying if they were civilians or possible enemies. “I still remember asking them in German, ‘Zeig mir deine papiere,’” Fosco says. Though 1945 was a long time ago, Fosco vividly recalls the local children watching the soldiers eat. “They looked hungry,” he says. “I couldn’t eat. I gave my food to the kids.” Fosco returned to the United States in July 1945 with orders to train at Fort Lewis, Washington, for the invasion of Japan. While he was home in Chicago, he married his sweetheart, Caroline Marchegianni, on Aug. 5, 1945, the day before the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Fosco’s orders were then changed, and he transferred to Austin, Texas, to finish out his military service. He was discharged in April 1946 with the rank of technical sergeant. Fosco received the European Theater Ribbon with three Bronze Battle Stars as well as a Good Conduct Medal. Recently, he was awarded the rank of Chevalier in the Order of the French Legion of Honor. Upon discharge, Fosco returned to his job at Cinch Manufacturing, which eventually became TRW. He retired as manager of sales service after a 49-year career. Fosco has two children, six grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. Fosco suffers from 75 percent permanent hearing loss as a result of firing mortars. The teen from a poor family learned how to survive while battling the Germans in harsh winter conditions. “I went there as a boy and grew up fast,” Fosco says. ”What I remember most is that we made it home.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.The oldest of five children and only son, Alex Fosco was born on Sept. 19, 1925, in Chicago to Alex and Mary Vespa Fosco. The family lived in the Italian neighborhood at Taylor and Halsted streets. Fosco’s father was born in France, but his family was originally from Pizzone, Italy.
Fosco was assigned to the 75th Division, 290th Infantry Regiment, 1st Battalion, Company D. He was deployed to England in November 1944 and fought in the European Theater, advancing through the countryside with his unit and pushing the Germans back through Belgium and France toward Germany. He started out as a second gunner in the 81 MM Mortar Platoon. “My job was to drop the shells into the mortar,” Fosco says.
A navigator on a KC-135 Stratotanker for the Air Force, Peter Belmonte’s job was to usher aircraft toward what he called “controlled collisions” with planes that required refueling.
Belmonte’s paternal grandmother lived with them, and he saw relatives from both sides of the family weekly. “Sunday was the day of choice,” Belmonte recalls. “Somebody was dropping by somewhere.” His mother made spaghetti with a sauce that cooked all day, in addition to other specialties. “When I was a kid, my mother’s lasagna was my favorite,” he adds. Belmonte graduated from Greenwood Grade School, Jack Benny Junior High School and Waukegan East High School, the latter in 1979. He enlisted in the U.S. Air Force during his senior year under a program that allowed him to graduate and then go on active duty. Always a history buff, Belmonte became interested in military history after researching a Civil War sword he found in his grandmother’s closet. That interest, along with his fondness for playing Army as a child, inspired Belmonte to enlist. After completing survival training at Fairchild AFB, Washington, and KC-135 training at Castle AFB, California, Belmonte was assigned to the 380th Air Refueling Squadron at Plattsburgh AFB, New York. The KC-135 Stratotanker refuels military planes while both are in the air. As navigator, Belmonte’s duty was to sync up his tanker with the receiving aircraft. “I had to make sure the airplane was at the correct place at the correct altitude at the correct time to meet up with the plane we were going to get fuel to,” Belmonte says. “Basically, every time you do air refueling, it is literally a controlled midair collision.” The planes touch while the fuel is pumped, which changes the center of gravity as well as weights and balances. “It’s a complicated process,” Belmonte says. “Everybody’s got to pay attention.” Weather conditions and the skill of the pilots make it challenging, and there are times when two planes collide and crash. “You have to be really diligent,” he says. Preparation began the day before a mission with a meeting of the four-man crew: pilot, co-pilot, navigator and boom operator. They had to know where they were going and how much fuel they needed. Belmonte looked at the mission requirements and used a “whiz wheel” — a small manual computer like a circular slide rule — to calculate course, distance, timing and other details. He drew a chart indicating the course they were to fly and briefed the entire crew. The next morning, they grabbed their life-support equipment, caught a crew bus to their plane, got the weather briefing for the entire route of the flight and performed their pre-flight check. All of this took about two hours. If the weather cooperated, they received clearance and took off for the refueling rendezvous. “I was the one responsible for overseeing timing,” Belmonte says. “Your main concern was to get the fuel to the aircraft so that aircraft could either recover safely or continue on their mission, drop bombs or whatever they’re going to do. There are airplanes all over the place and not a lot of talking.” During his 20-year military career, Belmonte served as navigator, senior navigator and master navigator on the KC-135. He was also a staff officer and instructor. He taught newly commissioned lieutenants to become KC-135 navigators and served as a combat navigator flight instructor. “I was a highly experienced instructor, and I went to school to learn how to train other highly experienced navigators to become instructors,” Belmonte says. “It’s like another rung in the experience ladder.” Belmonte deployed overseas many times on temporary duty lasting four weeks, six weeks or sometimes longer. Tanker task forces are based in various places around the world to handle the refueling of whatever military aircraft needs it. In addition to Alaska, Hawaii and Guam, these assignments took him to Asia, Europe and the Middle East. He spent time in England, Germany, Italy, Greece, Spain, the Azores and Okinawa. “Those were the days (in the ’80s and ’90s) when Europe was very highly occupied by the United States,” Belmonte says. “It was kind of fun to go with your crew to Europe, but I didn’t like to leave my family for six weeks.” On Nov. 1, 1990, Belmonte deployed to Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Shield, flying more than 40 missions through Jan. 15, 1991. He also flew 39 combat support missions in Operation Desert Storm from Jan. 17 through the cease-fire on Feb. 28. He was based at King Khalid International Airport, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, with the 1703rd Air Refueling Wing. Desert Shield involved regular stretches of flying and time off. Desert Storm was more intense, with no typical schedule. “You’d have your mission planning, pre-flight take off, do your mission, land, post-flight, try to get maybe a bite to eat, some coffee, try to get some sleep and start over again,” Belmonte says. “You slept when you could, and you ate when you could.” Under normal circumstances, there is constant communication during the refueling process, with air traffic controllers and with the aircraft receiving the fuel both during refueling and after the planes separate. In a combat situation, there is no talking. “We know where we are supposed to go, and after we took off from the tower, we didn’t talk to anybody,” Belmonte says. He recalls his first combat support mission flown. It was on Jan. 17, 1991, and his tanker was rendezvousing to refuel two F-4 Gs, which had dropped ordnance on an anti-aircraft site. “I watched them come off the target, off our wing. Nobody said anything. They came up, got their gas, left and we went back. Nobody said a word,” Belmonte says. “It went very smoothly. In the background of all that, you see everything burning, smoke and flames. It was going well — for us at least.” The King Khalid air base was under SCUD [missile] attack almost nightly from the start of the war, and at times Belmonte took off and landed amid missile fire. “We’d watch our Patriot batteries engage, launch and blast the SCUDs out of the sky,” he says. “I saw it a couple of times while I was flying in, which was a very dicey thing.” Once, just as Belmonte’s tanker was ready to take off, they got word that SCUDs were inbound. The man in the aircraft control tower said, “You’re pretty much cleared to do as you want, but I’m leaving!” The tower controller sought shelter, and Belmonte’s plane took off. Belmonte kept a journal of his Desert Storm combat support missions, in which he named the types of planes refueled, recorded details of the rendezvous and tallied the total hours it took. “We just flew and flew and flew with no accidents,” he says, “thanking the Lord for us and nobody else getting hurt and things like that.” An entry from Mission 24, Feb. 8, 1991, involving 12 A-10s and an EC-130, reads: “We were refueling the A-10s at low altitude and they kept coming at us. We were having a hard time squeezing in the EC-130, who was waiting patiently orbiting over Kuwait. I suspect the A-10s were getting gas and then going to kill [Iraqi] tanks. I don’t recall how many different flights came up. The EC-130 finally was able to come and get his gas. So, at least 13 satisfied customers, not including the ground troops who eventually benefitted from the diminished tank count.” The A-10 provided close air support for friendly ground troops, attacked armored vehicles and tanks, and provided quick-action support against enemy ground forces. The EC-130 was an electronics warfare platform supporting ground troops. Belmonte retired from the Air Force in 2003 as a major and was awarded the Air Medal for the combat support missions he flew. He has worked for the Department of Defense as a flight manager distributing flight packages to aircrew around the world and is now employed with a federal government agency that supplies aeronautical information to pilots. He and his wife, Pamela Mai, have six children. Belmonte has a master’s degree in history and has taught as a college adjunct instructor in addition to his full-time job. He has researched and written several military history books, mostly about Italian Americans in World War I. Reflecting on his career, Belmonte says, “Overall, it was very enjoyable for me. It was just very interesting and satisfying in unusual ways.” About being an instructor, he says, “I had to know a little bit more than the student so I had to stay a step ahead and learn. Each time, I learned more about the airplane and about the mission, about navigating.” Regarding his time flying combat support missions during Desert Storm, Belmonte says, “It’s pleasurable to help our forces do what they have to do safely, so that was a satisfying thing.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.The middle of three children, Peter Belmonte was born in Waukegan, Illinois, to Louis and Eva Spizzirri Belmonte. His mother emigrated from Marano Marchesato in Calabria, and his father’s ancestors were from that same region.
He completed basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas; learned to be a pay clerk at Sheppard AFB, Texas; and was stationed at Grissom AFB, Indiana, as a military pay clerk. “It was a good, clean office job,” Belmonte says. While on duty, he spoke with aircrew members from KC-135 Stratotankers and thought, “Gee, this looks more interesting than being a pay clerk. I’d like to fly.” He decided to become a navigator. Belmonte took college classes while off duty, applied for and was granted an ROTC scholarship at Purdue University and was released early from active duty to pursue his degree. He graduated with a bachelor of science in mathematics and a commission as second lieutenant in the Air Force. Belmonte then returned to active duty and attended navigator school at Mather AFB, California.
A communications specialist for the Army, Michael Pesola served in Germany during the Vietnam War as part of the team that kept the Soviet Union at bay.
The family moved to Berwyn when Pesola was 10 years old. He graduated from Komensky Grade School and worked part time at Jewel Foods while attending Morton East High School. Upon graduating in 1965, Pesola worked full time while attending college classes. He was drafted into the United States Army in 1967, two months after becoming engaged. The Vietnam War was all over the news. “They’re showing bad stuff, body bags. It was horrible. You’re watching in your living room,” Pesola says. “I was kind of scared.” A good friend was drafted at the same time, and they attended basic training together in Missouri. “That was kind of nice,” Pesola says. “I had somebody to go with.” On the bus to Fort Leonard Wood, the soldiers were told, “You’re in a different world now. You’re in our world.” He learned Morse code during a 10-week course. After he graduated, he received orders to transfer to New Jersey. At Fort Dix, he got paperwork to fly to Germany, board a train to Frankfurt and call Battery Headquarters from the station. He traveled alone, with no other soldiers. “Then, the fun started because a lot of the Germans did not speak English, and I didn’t speak German,” Pesola says. “When I got to the train station, I’m looking around, and I thought, ‘Oh my God.’ I was petrified.” An American Army wife noticed Pesola having trouble with the phone and helped him convert his money to German currency and make the call. He was taken to Karlsruhe Base in Pforzheim. Pesola was assigned to Battery A, First Battalion, 67th Artillery USA Europe, and was stationed in an old Army barracks in the Black Forest. “There was nothing to walk to; you’re in the woods,” Pesola says. “That was really desolate and isolated.” One hundred and fifty soldiers lived and worked at various stations within the barracks. Pesola reported daily to the Communications room, which was filled with radios, phones and switchboards. “The funny part about this whole story, when I got there, they said there is no Morse code here. You just pick up the phone and you talk,” he chuckles. “I go ‘What? After all that training?’” Nike missiles were kept in underground silos a few miles from the barracks. “Communism was big, so that was really the reason I was there — to guard (Europe),” Pesola says. “Keeping an eye on the Russians was our main thing, not Vietnam.” The missile site was protected by double fences, with armed guards manning the guard towers 24/7. If a problem arose at any time of day or night, the guards called Communications. “We had the radios and they had a bunch of missiles, and our job was to make sure the communication was always working,” Pesola says. He constantly cleaned, repaired, calibrated and tested the equipment. “So if we needed it, it was there,” he says. Communication problems occurred a few times, requiring Pesola to go to the missile site. “We had to track down the wire that wasn’t getting any power to the phone, splice that and put in new wiring,” he says. After seven months in the Black Forest, Pesola transferred to Darmstadt, Germany. He was stationed at Kelley Barracks, close to town. Once again, he was within a few miles of a missile site, and his principal responsibility was keeping the lines of communication open to the guards protecting the site. One memorable incident occurred at around 2 in the morning. Tower guards spotted someone lurking and sirens blared, so Pesola and the other soldiers rushed over, rifles drawn. They circled the area, and the interloper was caught without incident. Adrenalin pumping, Pesola did not feel fear at the time. “It seemed like we knew there was only one (guy) involved,” he says. Occasionally, the soldiers went into town and were told to avoid certain areas. “Because of WWII, the older Germans were sometimes mean to us,” Pesola says. “I could remember walking by some old guys, and they spit at us.” On Christmas Day 1968, Pesola and a few buddies went into town. They spotted a gasthaus, a combination restaurant and tavern, walked in and sat at the long bar. They were the only customers, the owner didn’t speak English and the soldiers didn’t speak German. Pesola noticed children peeking from a doorway, and the owner gestured for the soldiers to follow him to the back where he lived. There, they spent Christmas Day watching a circus on TV with the family. “That was like, ‘You’re kidding me?’” Pesola says. While he wasn’t able to spend Christmas on Taylor Street eating ravioli with his family, he will never forget the kindness of that German family. “They saw that we were alone,” he says. Pesola returned to Fort Dix and was discharged on April 22, 1969, as Specialist 4th Class. He returned home to Berwyn and his job at Jewel Foods and married his childhood sweetheart, Barbara Reihel, in June. Pesola owned and operated Michael’s Café and Deli in Oak Brook for 15 years. Since selling the business, he has worked part time in food services at a local high school. A recent widow, he lives close to his three children and six grandchildren, participating in their activities as much as possible. Thinking back on his time in the military, Pesola says that being away from home was difficult at first, and training was rigorous. “They were pretty tough on you. They get in your face and so forth, and it was all for a reason — to keep you alive,” he says. He enjoyed his time in Germany and always remembers that Christmas Day with the German family. “We never said a word to each other,” he says. “We just sat and watched.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.The older of two sons, Michael Pesola was born in Chicago to Frank and Rose (Mancini) Pesola. His maternal grandparents emigrated from Calabria and his paternal grandparents from Bari. Pesola lived in the Taylor Street “Little Italy” enclave, close to his grandparents and extended family, who were right across the alley in a three-flat. He has vivid memories of the wonderful taste of his grandmother’s ravioli and of pressing grapes for his grandfather’s wine. “It was a unique neighborhood,” Pesola says. “People in the summer, sitting on their porches; fire hydrants shooting water out, playing in the cold water. All you would hear was chatter, chatter from all the Italian people.”
Pesola completed the eight-week program and transferred to Fort Huachuca in Arizona. He was assigned to Communications and trained to be a radio operator. He heard it was not a good thing to be a radio operator in Vietnam because the radio had a long antenna and was carried on your back, making you a target. “That made you even more scared, you know,” Pesola says.
The 182nd Support Group celebrates Family Day before deployment to Kuwait.
Matty grew up in the Marquette Park neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago. His grandparents lived about four blocks away; aunts, uncles and cousins all lived within a mile and a half of each other; and they all enjoyed close relationships. “Family and traditions were very important,” Matty says. “It’s that tribal mentality, that family mentality that everybody pitches in and helps one another.” He remembers making ravioli with his maternal great-grandmother, little nonni. “Being in the kitchen with little nonni, my grandmother and my mom is still very ingrained in my memory,” he says. Matty fondly recalls his paternal great-grandmother. “I remember her smoking over the pot of sauce and always thinking that there might be a little ash in there,” he chuckles. Matty graduated from Queen of the Universe Grade School and Brother Rice High School and planned on becoming the first in his family to attend college. A highly decorated athlete, he received scholarship opportunities but realized the only way he could attend college without adding a lot of debt was with the help of Uncle Sam. Matty was enrolled in Food Services and Dietetics and, after scoring extremely high on his tests, completed technical school in Alabama before advancing to medical training while stationed in Alabama and Mississippi. “I knew when I got out of college I wanted to get into some aspect of medicine or health care,” he says. Matty explains that his mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when he was in fourth grade, and he spent a lot of time in the presence of medical professionals at Loyola Hospital. His mother’s illness greatly influenced his life. “It just always was innate with me, given the care and compassion those physicians and nurses gave my mother and father,” Matty says. “So that was something that, growing up, I viewed as an opportunity to have as a career, not just a job.” After completing advanced training, Matty attended Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois, graduating with a bachelor’s degree in health administration. He went on to earn a master’s in university finance. While attending college classes, Matty trained with the Air National Guard for two weekends a month at the Peoria Air National Guard Base. He often stayed an entire week, Friday to Friday, allowing him to take part in additional medical training and work at the base. In 2000, Matty was called up to active duty and deployed to the Aviano air base in Italy as a senior airman. “We were helping out with training and preparation, specifically for dietetic and mortuary,” Matty says. “At the time, dietetic and mortuary were charged with preparing the body if somebody had died, getting them ready to be sent over to Dover Air Force Base.” Matty trained other airmen in addition to Army personnel stationed at the base. After a few weeks in Italy, Matty returned to the States and prepared for deployment to Kuwait, specifically for medical evacuation. Staff Sergeant Matty was stationed at Ali Al Salem air base in Kuwait during the summer of 2001. Attached to the 182nd Support Group, he trained airmen for mission readiness. He was also instrumental in implementing new preventive and safety measures for the group. The 182nd provided support to the American and British pilots stationed on the base. Any time the pilots were in the air for training maneuvers or reconnaissance missions over Kuwait, C130 cargo planes were on the tarmac ready to go. “Really, we just had to make sure when the pilots were doing their missions that, God forbid anything happened, we would be able to load the C130 and go evacuate anybody who needed evacuation from a medical perspective,” Matty says. When on liberty, he had the opportunity to visit the urban centers in Kuwait, see the Gulf, and experience the culture and what daily life would be like as a Kuwaiti. Matty and his fellow airmen tried to blend in. He chuckles as he says, “I came from the South Side of Chicago. I’m not going to blend in.” The locals often took their pictures. “They loved us,” he says. “We were informed many times that they were just in awe of Americans. That was a very warm reception we received in 2001.” Matty returned to the States in August 2001, just before the world-changing events of 9/11. Matty was discharged from the Air National Guard in 2002 as a staff sergeant. He was offered the opportunity to become an officer in the Air Force but declined because he was focused on pursuing the goal of becoming a professional in the American health care system. The Air National Guard gave Matty the chance to study and do medical research while taking courses in the Air Force and in college. Throughout it all, his mother’s illness was always on his mind. “All the things I would look into, I always had the thought that, ‘I’m not a neurologist, but I can still help somebody,’” he says. Today, Matty is president of a health care foundation in Chicago. “Over the last five years, I’ve been doing that and doing consulting and advocacy work for nonprofits in health care,” he says. Matty works with elected officials to inform them about health care options for their constituents and with health care foundations to help them enhance services for people who need palliative and hospice care as well as children who need pediatric care. “It’s always been that vein of service and helping others,” Matty says. Matty is married to Kate Braser Matty, and they have four children. His parents live four blocks away, just like his grandparents did when he was growing up. Family and traditions are still very important to him. “I think that the time in the Air Force along with my schooling at Brother Rice provided the framework for really building a career and making sure that you always remember it’s not always about you,” Matty says. “We have a great country, and we have so much to be thankful for. My training helped me see the world in a different light and taught me that we need to make sure we stay humble and grateful for what we have as Americans.” Reprinted with permission from Fra Noi. (Copyright 2021) To learn more, click here.The oldest of two sons, Joseph Matty was born in Chicago to Ray Matty Sr. and Ann Marie Clark Matty. His paternal great-grandparents emigrated from Palermo, Sicily, and his maternal great-grandparents came from the regions of Calabria and Naples.
After making the decision to join a branch of the armed services, Matty enlisted in the Air National Guard of the United States Air Force in December 1996. He graduated from Brother Rice in May 1997 and headed to Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio for basic training that June.
A combat engineer during the Korean War, Dan Teoro helped bring much-needed holiday cheer after the armistice by taking part in the construction of a Nativity scene near the Demilitarized Zone.
Dan Teoro was born in Chicago, grew up on South Ashland Avenue, joined the Boy Scouts, and attended Harper High. Employed as an auto mechanic, he was married for only two months when he was drafted into the Army in October 1952. He completed his training at Ft. Leonard Wood, Mo., and set out to Ft. Lewis, Wash., where he boarded a troop ship headed for Yokohama Bay, Japan. He was processed at Camp Drake in preparation for combat and the next evening after dinner, all the soldiers were lined up. Names were called off, with Teoro and another recent recruit being the last two called. The sergeant said, “Get your gear and return at 8 a.m., you’re going to Korea.” The soldiers boarded a train to Yokohama Bay where they lined up in a warehouse. “I was number 501 and my buddy was 502,” Teoro recalls. “I’ll never forget that.” The soldiers marched out to the waiting ship. By that time, it was 2 a.m. Teoro was on the gangplank when a naval officer put his hands out and said, “You two soldiers step back. The ship is completely filled.” They were told to go back to the warehouse, find the train and return to Camp Drake. The gangplank was pulled up and a band played while Teoro and his buddy watched the ship leave. Suddenly, it became very quiet and dark, with just the two soldiers standing there. They disagreed on the route back, but Teoro, with his Boy Scout training, led the way, pointing and saying, “There’s the building we want. Follow me.” They found the warehouse with their numbers, 501 and 502, still marked on the floor. They passed through the opposite doors, where the train waited. Teoro and his buddy were standbys, and helped process the new arrivals until a week later, when they boarded a ship to Pusan, Korea. A train took him north, stopping along the way to drop off troops. A M*A*S*H* unit was set up at one stop and the doctors needed help. Helicopters were bringing the casualties in and wounded and injured soldiers were lying all around on stretchers. This was the first time Teoro witnessed the ravages of war. The day was cloudy and dreary as he picked up the stretchers and helped load them into a train car with a large Red Cross on the top. “There were guys bleeding and moaning,” he says. “It was something to see.” Teoro was a combat engineer with the Second Infantry Division in the Chorwon-Kunmwha sector. Combat engineers were responsible for getting American troops and materials wherever they were needed while thwarting enemy movement whenever possible. Sgt. Teoro and his company built and maintained roads through rice paddies and mountains. They also built and repaired bridges and installed barbed wire and field fortifications. The engineers persevered through extreme weather conditions, frozen ground and enemy mortar, artillery and sniper fire. Under fire, the engineers dropped their tools, grabbed their rifles and helped push the enemy back. There were many close calls during artillery attacks because, as Teoro says, “You never knew where it would fall. It was scary.” An artillery round exploded near Teoro and he recalls seeing a burst of color as he dropped to the ground for cover. When the attack stopped, Teoro stood up, his face black with smoke, shaken but not hurt. Teoro says, “The good Lord protected me wherever I was.” The first week he was in Korea, Teoro had orders to build a helicopter pad and his men drove their equipment out and started working. An officer spotted them, drove out with a patrol, and yelled, “What are you doing here? Get your stuff and get out of here! We lost this territory yesterday!” By this time, the enemy spotted them and started firing. “We got out of there real quick,” Teoro says. Teoro helped build two roads through the mountains. So much dynamite was used to blast through the mountain that one road was called “Demolition Drive.” This road brought supplies to the main battle position. The second road, “Suicide Drive,” had many curves and was close to the edge of the mountain. Drivers had to be careful not to drive off the edge. This road brought ammo and supplies to the front line while the wounded were brought down on it. “Everyday, the engineers would dynamite and bulldoze to widen the road so tanks, artillery guns and large trucks could use it,” he says. The Korean Armistice Agreement was signed on July 27, 1953, and it became official the next day, which happened to be Teoro’s birthday. To celebrate both occasions, the company cook surprised him with a birthday cake. “I’ll never forget that moment,” Teoro says. Afterward, Teoro stayed on in the Chorwon-Kunmwha sector and took part in construction of the Demilitarized Zone. During Operation Pull Back, everything possible was salvaged from the area. Then the engineers began “winterizing” the area, building Quonset huts and laying floors. The soldiers enjoyed a delicious turkey dinner on Thanksgiving and, lingering over coffee, reminisced about Christmas back home. The idea was floated to build a Nativity scene in front of the company camp and the commanding officers said, “That would be a great idea!” The next day, the excited soldiers gathered all the necessary materials and construction began. Everyone helped, working together and using their talents. When the Nativity was completed, soldiers took pictures to send home. On Christmas Eve, Teoro’s company gathered in front of the Nativity scene and sang “Silent Night.” “I’ll never forget … brave men with tears in their eyes.” Teoro recalls. “I found out later that this was the only Nativity scene built in Korea. Every Christmas Eve, I think back to my Christmas in Korea 1953.” Teoro left Korea in March 1954 and was stationed in Ft. Benning, Ga., until he was discharged in October 1954. He returned home to Chicago, attended barber college on the GI Bill, and still has his shop on the South Side of Chicago. Widowed with three children, Teoro has been heavily involved as a leader of the Boy Scouts for more than 50 years. He returned to Korea twice at the invitation of the Korea-based SMEE Church, once in June 2012 and again in 2013, when he was presented with another birthday cake on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the truce. Reflecting on his time as a combat engineer during the Korean Conflict, Teoro says, “I was proud to serve our country and I thank God for bringing me back.” Editor’s Note: Dan passed away in February 2018. This article was published in the December 2017 issue of Fra Noi and is being republished here in his memory.
Surprised, Teoro asked the sergeant, “Sir, I just got here yesterday, are you sure it’s me? Everybody that I was with is still here.” The sergeant asked, “Is your name Dan Teoro?” “Yes,” Teoro replied. The sergeant said, “You’re going to the Second Infantry Division to Korea, that’s all I know.”
