War Stories

Paul Basile

August 20, 2020

Army cameraman Gino Bartucci

Born in Italy and trained by the Army as a cameraman, Gino Bartucci toured the American during the Vietnam War photographing atomic bombs, filming bombers flying overhead and helping create documentaries.

Gino Bartucci was born in Malvitani di Rende, a small village in Calabria. Of the nine children born to Vincenzo and Maria Carmella (Pisello) Bartucci, six survived infancy. The family farm provided almost everything they needed. “We didn’t have to buy anything but salt, sugar … that’s about it,” Bartucci says. He attended a one-room school with about a dozen students.

In 1955, Bartucci’s father immigrated to Chicago, bringing one son and his only daughter. The three lived with Bartucci’s uncle while they earned enough money to bring over the rest of the family. In December 1958, Bartucci arrived in America at the age of 11 with his mother and brother. He remembers the train to Chicago. “It was cold and we were afraid, not knowing where we were going, even though we were excited about seeing my sister, my brother and my father,” Bartucci says.

They lived on Polk and Pulaski, and Bartucci attended Presentation Catholic School. He worked an early morning paper route to earn money. When Bartucci was 12, the family bought a house in Norridge. He completed grammar school at St. Monica’s and attended Ridgewood High School, which had a large Italian population. Passionate about his Italian heritage from an early age, Bartucci persuaded his French teacher, who also spoke Italian, to teach the language to interested students. He gathered about 20 students into a voluntary study group, and, in so doing, improved his English as well as his Italian.

After graduating from Ridgewood in 1964, he worked part time at a grocery store. The youngest of his siblings, Bartucci wanted to be more independent, so he spoke with an Army recruiter about his interest in filmmaking. He joined in 1965. “I felt like I had to be my own person and experience life,” he says.

Bartucci completed basic training at Fort Knox, Kentucky, and transferred to Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, which was surrounded by a large Italian-American population. He was learning filmmaking at the Army’s School of Photography when an Italian professor who had taken him under his wing advised, “You have potential; don’t fool around.” Bartucci graduated in the top five of his class and was stationed in Long Island City, New York.

The Army had purchased Paramount Studio, and though the government gave orders regarding filmmaking, most of the employees were civilians. Movie production became a joint effort between military and civilian personnel. Bartucci lived in a three-story barrack across from the studio, once again in an Italian neighborhood. Despite graduating at the top of his class, he found himself in the studio basement, cleaning and maintaining cameras while dreaming about making movies. An Italian captain befriended him, and Bartucci confided, “I want to get out of here.” The officer returned the next day and told Bartucci about an opening at the atomic bomb testing site outside of Las Vegas. “Another Italian helping an Italian,” Bartucci says.

Bartucci trained in motion picture filming, not still photography, but he took classes in the latter “because I needed to get out of that basement,” he says. Bartucci served as an official photographer for the atomic bomb tests.

Before filming, Bartucci entered a portable containment area, undressed and donned protective gear. “Like going to the moon,” he says. Then he went into the hills and took photos of live, undetonated bombs just a few feet away from him. Seeing the cylinder for the first time, he thought, “It’s going to explode, I’m dead. Oh my God, how did I get myself into this?”

Bartucci took the photos, after which the commanding officer removed the film and handed the camera back to him. “Since it’s theirs, I just left everything, undressed, cleaned up, took a shower and then went on my way,” Bartucci says. “I don’t know what becomes of it.”

He was stationed there for three months before returning to Paramount Studio. After that, Bartucci traveled to Army bases for various jobs. He filmed military planes and tanks in action, allowing government officials in Washington to see them at work before signing a purchase contract. “In other words, we had to be their eyes,” he says.

Bartucci filmed as airplanes came through the clouds and whisked along the treetops as if they were going to drop bombs. Other times he filmed planes simulating an invasion. He also filmed a tank on a landing strip made to look like a beach in Normandy. “They just tell you that’s what you have to do,” Bartucci says. “They don’t tell you the purpose or who wants it.”

At Fort Benning, Georgia, a helicopter dropped Bartucci onto a hilltop with a tripod and camera gear to film incoming planes. Adrenalin pulsed through his body as he set up the tripod. “What if they don’t come back and pick me up?” he thought. He loaded the film, taking care not to expose it. Bartucci checked the camera several times, making sure everything was good. Suddenly he heard the roar of the planes. “Oh, what am I gonna do? I better get ready,” he thought. As he placed the camera on the tripod, it sunk into the muddy ground. “My heart was unbelievable,” he says. Bartucci quickly hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and filmed for about 15 minutes. He later learned he was given a standing ovation at the movie’s screening. “Everybody commented that they had never seen a pan as smooth as that,” he was told. “I think God was looking out for me.”

Bartucci also helped create military training films and documentaries. Among the actors he worked with were Eva Gabor and Johnny Crawford, an Army sergeant and Bartucci’s roommate. He filmed the promotional documentary “A Nation Builds Under Fire” with John Wayne.

He had some close calls during aerial photography. Filming from inside a helicopter that was bouncing its way through the air, his seat belt came undone, and he tilted toward the door. “They had to pull me in,” Bartucci says. “That was scary.” During an incident inside a small plane, Bartucci had just moved for a better view when the door flew open. “I said, ‘My God, it’s a good thing I just changed my seat!’” he says.

Specialist 5 Bartucci was discharged in 1968 and returned to Chicago. With his lifelong passion for the Italian community and culture, Bartucci built Piazza Italia on the 3400 block of North Harlem Avenue in 1979. The building now houses Pasta Fresh and BarTucci. Across the street are two gift shops: La Bomboniera (Italy’s Gifts) and La Galleria D’Arte Giuseppe Armani. Bartucci and his family are involved with all of these businesses. He is the founder of the Italian American Business Association of Harlem. He has four children and seven grandchildren.

Summing up his Army years, Bartucci says, “It was the best experience I have had in my life, and I feel it would be great for everybody to have that experience. It teaches you to respect yourself, respect others and take nothing for granted. It gives you a way of growing up.”

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Linda Grisolia

August 13, 2020

Navy reconnaissance photograph Ralph Triggiano

Realizing is dream of becoming a photographer by joining the Navy during World War II, Ralph Triggiano captured the enemy’s presence in the Pacific from 10,000 feet and the horrors of war from point-blank range.

Ralph Triggiano was born in Chicago and grew up in the neighborhood of Taylor and Peoria streets surrounded by his maternal grandparents, aunts and uncles. Triggiano’s father, Joseph, emigrated from Carbonara di Bari, and his mother, Emmanuela Lorita, was born in Basilicata.

Only five years old when his mother passed away, Triggiano moved in with his grandparents while his father worked on the railroad. “The aunts and uncles were really great,” says Triggiano. His father remarried, and he has a half brother and half sister.

Childhood memories include hanging out at Hull House and participating in many activities, including softball, dancing, ping pong and boxing. “It was a fabulous place,” he says. His grandmother made bread dough and carried the bundle on her head to Atlas Bakery to be baked for 20 cents. “I would pick up the bread at night,” Triggiano says. Monday was soup night, and Thursday was macaroni. “Every Sunday after mass, the whole family dropped in,” he says.

Triggiano graduated from Guardian Angel Grade School and St. Patrick Academy. He was eager to join the Merchant Marines at 17 years old, but his father would not sign his permission and said, “Wait, they’ll call you.” He was employed as a copy boy at the Times, hoping to get into the dark room, when he was drafted in 1943. Triggiano chose the Navy because of his interest in photography. “I was glad to go,” he says, “I hate war, but you got to defend your country.”

He completed basic training at Great Lakes Naval Training Center and transferred to Pensacola, Florida, for Photographic Aerial Training. Next, Triggiano completed classes at the Photo Science Laboratory in Washington, D.C.

In San Diego, he boarded the USS Suwannee, CVE27, an escort carrier. The ship was home to 830 men and 25 planes, each with its own crew. The Suwannee set off into the Pacific, traveling in a convoy. From Gilbert Islands, Marshall Islands, Mariana Islands, the Philippines and the Battle of Leyte Gulf, to Okinawa, Triggiano remained on the ship as a reconnaissance photographer. His two biggest jobs were mapping Guam and Cebu in the Philippines. The aerial renditions he made from his photos were given to intelligence officers. This information was crucial in fighting the war.

In the torpedo bomber, alone with the pilot, Triggiano set up his camera in the belly of the bomber and took photos as they flew back and forth in a set pattern. The targets were enemy air bases. He processed the photos, took the middle of each and feathered them together to get an accurate rendition of the area.

During other reconnaissance flights, along with the camera placed in the plane’s belly, Triggiano also shot photos from the open cockpit with an F20. The camera had a trigger that turned the lever and the film. “It was beautiful: turn it, trigger, turn it … 50 feet or 25 feet of film,” he says.

In Guam, Triggiano took the photos and packed them into a watertight kapok attached to a parachute, opened the cockpit canopy and dropped it down to a waiting motor boat. He needed to be close to the ground to get accurate shots. The pilot was flying at 10,000 feet in the Philippines, and when Triggiano said he needed to get down to 2,500 feet, the officer yelled at him. “I know why; he didn’t want to get shot at,” says Triggiano. “I don’t blame him.” Flying low over enemy territory, they were under attack on every reconnaissance mission. “But we got lucky, and none of them ever hit us,” he says. “Your adrenalin works up real well.”

Flying over Cebu, Triggiano photographed more than 100 planes on the base. He explained that some of the planes are legitimate and others are mock. “Intelligence has to know this,” Triggiano says. “I’m really proud of that one.”

On Oct. 25, 1944, the Suwannee was embroiled in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Her sister ship, the Santee, received the first hit from a deliberate suicide attack of the war. Seconds later, a Kamikaze bomber crashed into Suwannee’s flight deck, its bomb exploding on impact. Triggiano heard and saw the plane and instinctively ducked as it crashed. “So I looked up after the sound was over and jumped up on the deck; everything was burning.”

He watched as men climbed a ladder trying to escape the fire and witnessed many being thrown into the sea. “I was like a rabbit at the beginning, I kept running up and down the catwalk, because of the fire,” Triggiano says. “Then I said whoa to myself and just jumped down on the deck and started photographing.” One of his buddies was always with him and hearing the explosion ran with another sailor for the ladder to the deck below. “They got mashed like meat. If he’d have stayed with me he would have … ” Triggiano chokes. “You know, that’s the way things are.”

The gash in the deck was repaired in 90 minutes. The next day, Oct. 26, the second Kamikaze attack stopped the Suwannee from operating. The plane hit one of the two elevators on the ship, which were crucial to the repair and rotation of the bombers. “Once they hit that forward elevator, we were dead,” Triggiano says. He was in the photo lab and, hearing the tremendous explosion, ran topside and witnessed the havoc. “You become numb; it’s hard to imagine,” Triggiano says. He saw his friend, only 19 years old, naked and dead. “It was horrible,” he says. Hundreds of men were killed instantly, and others suffered terrible injuries during these two attacks.

The Suwannee returned to Bremerton, Washington, for repairs and then headed to Okinawa. “That was miserable, very bad,” Triggiano says. “Every night at 4:30, the Japs sent their planes out to attack. We were lucky,” he says. “We never got hit.”

Triggiano had leave in Nagasaki only two weeks after the bomb was dropped. “They took us through these fields of nothing, just concrete posts,” he says. “Total devastation!” He has photos of the ruins. “The thing that really I was against was the atom bomb. I was shocked that we did that,” says Triggiano. “It could have been done differently, I think. Who knows?”

Triggiano was discharged in 1946 as petty officer 2nd class. He returned to Chicago and married Alice Bartolomei in 1949. They have three children, four grandchildren and one great-grandchild. Triggiano is retired from the trucking industry.

He looks back 75 years ago. “The amazing part is you saw so many American ships that you felt like you could walk from one ship to another … it was amazing, the might of the United States. It was truly awesome. I would look over there and my God, I was just struck by the enormity of our power.”

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Linda Grisolia

Naval surgeon Dr. Paul Rubino

A surgeon serving in Vietnam, Dr. Paul Rubino still vividly recalls a four-day stretch during which he and his team toiled to save the lives of a couple dozen severely wounded Marines.

Paul Rubino was born in Bitritto, a small town near Bari, Italy. When he was 12 years old, he and his mother, Domenica, immigrated to Chicago where his father, Vincenzo, had been working as a candy maker. The family settled into a third-floor apartment on Grand Avenue and May Street, above Taccogna Foods, now known as Bari Finer Foods.

The close-knit neighborhood was largely Italian, many from Bari. Everyone looked out for one another and helped each other. “When you live in a strange world, strangers become friends,” says Rubino.

Rubino entered Santa Maria Addolorata grade school in the sixth grade. “We were 25 of us, all Italians, all immigrants. We were taught how to speak English for one semester,” Rubino recalls. “Then we went into the regular class. The nuns were very devoted to making sure we learned English.”

Education was very important to Rubino’s mother, who only had a fourth grade education in Italy. His parents found a way to send him to St. Ignatius High School. “For a woman who hardly knew this country, how she made the decision to send me to St. Ignatius, I don’t know,” Rubino wonders. “These Italians, they talk to each other and they find out the best place to go.”

Many of his classmates planned on attending college to improve themselves and Rubino followed suit. “If they’re going to go to college,” he thought, “well I’m going go to college, too.”

He graduated from Loyola Medical School, interned, and spent a four-year residency in general surgery at Cook County Hospital and West Side Veteran’s Hospital. He was drafted into the Army while in the final year of his residency and obtained a deferment to complete the term.

The deferment gave Rubino the opportunity to join the Navy in July 1968. He was stationed at Great Lakes Naval Base for one year, where he treated soldiers recovering from combat injuries in Vietnam. Rubino was a full-fledged surgeon by that time and received no basic military training. His captain said, “Anybody that has more stripes than you do, you salute them. If they have less stripes than you, he’s gonna salute you first, so you just return the salute.” “That’s the honest truth,” Rubino chuckles. “That was my whole training.” He explains, “Doctors are not soldiers. We get big names like lieutenant or lieutenant commander, but that’s just an honor.”

Before deploying to Vietnam in October 1969, Rubino spent one week at Camp Pendleton in California where he attended lectures on tropical diseases and learned to triage large numbers of critically wounded men. He also observed a mock war with Marines fighting each other.

Rubino was with the 1st Medical Battalion as part of the 1st Marine Division stationed at a camp a few miles outside of DaNang. Six doctors shared a hooch, a type of hut that served as their living quarters, with local women called “mama sans” who cleaned for them. The camp housed a priest and contained a chapel, 12 hooches, a separate building for the cafeteria where the doctors ate three meals a day and a hospital that was a converted Quonset hut.

The 30-bed hospital included six operating rooms with ample supplies and medical equipment. About 25 doctors representing various specialties staffed the camp. “A patient got treated very well under the circumstances,” says Rubino.

Nestled at the base of a mountain, the camp was protected from mortar fire and never got hit. As it was a guerilla war, the order was “search and destroy” and “shoot anything that moves,” a strategy determined by politicians in Washington. He heard rockets his first night there. “I was a little scared,” Rubino says, “but after a while you learn to live with it. There’s one sound as rockets come in; there’s another sound going out.”

Pagers in each hooch notified the doctors of incoming wounded, and helicopters flew in routinely with casualties. The doctor on call quickly evaluated the patient and paged the appropriate doctor depending on the condition of the patient and the type of treatment needed. Rubino’s area of expertise was abdominal injuries. The soldiers were treated with antibiotics and pain meds as doctors worked to stabilize them.

One night in December, the pagers blared that massive casualties were coming. “I’m a doctor; that’s what they sent me there for,” explains Rubino. “You are there to save human lives.” A truck carrying a couple dozen Marines had hit a landmine, catapulting 20 feet into the air and exploded into flames upon crashing to the ground. All the doctors rushed to the emergency room as helicopters arrived with the severely injured soldiers. Their triage training kicked in as they swiftly evaluated each man. “Every doctor looked to see what was going on,” Rubino recalls. “I’ll take this patient, you take that one.” Far too many went directly to the morgue.

Spines were crushed and arms and legs were shattered by the explosion. Many of the Marines lost limbs. Abdominal wounds exposed shredded organs. Soldiers struggled to breath with caved-in chests. The scene was gruesome as the doctors sprang into action, taking the worst patients first. All six operating rooms were in use at the same time. Others patients waited on carts for their turn. The doctors toiled non-stop for four days to stabilize the soldiers. “You don’t think about sleeping,” says Rubino. “You’re there to take care of the next patient.”

Once the soldiers were out of immediate danger, they were transferred to hospital ships in DaNang Harbor.

Twice a week, Rubino volunteered at a local civilian hospital in DaNang, where he performed surgery with the assistance of Vietnamese doctors and also taught medical students from Saigon. The hospitals were very primitive, with beds often being shared by two patients.

Rubino’s wife, Ann, was pregnant with their fourth child when he was in Vietnam and they wrote daily. The doctors sometimes watched movies in the evening and had pig roasts once a month. They often wondered out loud why they were in Vietnam. These young people being maimed and killed, and for what? “You start blaming the politicians for creating the war,” Rubino recalls.

Lt. Commander Rubino spent six months in Vietnam, returned to the United States in April 1970 and was stationed at Great Lakes until his two-year term was finished. Upon discharge, he joined the Family Medical Group in Joliet, working as a surgeon until retiring in 2003.

He and his wife have five children and six grandchildren. Rubino keeps in touch with many of the doctors he served with. His photo and memorabilia are on display in the Italian American Veterans Museum at Casa Italia in Stone Park.

“Helping the Marines was great for me,” Rubino says. “Yet, looking back, I honestly feel we really did not belong there. It was too bad Truman didn’t listen to Ho Chi Minh when he asked for help.”

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Linda Grisolia

August 6, 2020

Army MP John Del Medico

In one foray into a French village during World War II, John Del Medico and a fellow MP single-handledly took more than 120 Nazis prisoner and freed 800 Russian soldiers from a Nazi prison camp.

John Del Medico was born and raised in Chicago. He was employed at a steel mill when he was drafted into the Army in November 1942.

Del Medico completed basic training at Camp Grant in Illinois and was assigned to the 26th Yankee Division, as a military policeman. He deployed overseas and disembarked in England.

While in England, Del Medico and his fellow soldiers constantly trained and conducted day and night time maneuvers. Fully prepared, the men were ready for combat. One day, the orders came in. The commanding officer said, “This is it.”

Del Medico headed to Normandy and participated in the second landing. Enemy gunfire from pillboxes facing the channel met the landing ships and many men were lost. Del Medico said, “It was rough.” Men were shot down before his eyes. He said, “I felt scared, everybody was scared. … I saw bodies blown apart.”

Of the three types of military policeman — front line, division and rear — Del Medico was assigned to the front line. He and his partner escorted convoys of troops to the front and also handled German prisoners of war.

After Normandy, Del Medico advanced through France and continued into Germany, encountering resistance and fighting all the way. He carried a rifle and a side arm. A jeep that he sometimes rode in was equipped with a machine gun. He moved with the infantry, sleeping in foxholes along the way. As Del Medico and his partner approached a town, they looked first for the hanging white flags, usually bed sheets, of surrender. If there were no flags, they proceeded with caution.

One day, while patrolling the front line in Germany, he entered a village that didn’t display any white flags. He looked at his partner and said, “I don’t like this.” They had been told that everything was OK and secured in the area. Suddenly, three German soldiers ran across the street toward a house and Del Medico and his partner shot at them. Del Medico grabbed one, held a gun to his head and asked, “Are you alone?” The soldier understood English and answered, “No.” A major exited the house to surrender and Del Medico asked, “Is there anyone else?” The major answered, “Yea.” Del Medico said, “OK, tell them to get out, they’ll want to surrender, too.”

Civilians of the village watched as white flags appeared and the German soldiers came out of the building, one by one, and threw their firearms in a pile on the ground. Del Medico then asked the garrison commander, “Who else do you have?” He answered, “We have a Russian prison camp.”

That day, in that village in Germany, about one month after landing in Normandy, Del Medico and his partner captured 126 German soldiers and six officers, including the garrison commander. They freed 800 Russian prisoners that had been held outside of town. The Russian soldiers were happy and relieved to leave the prison gates and their commanding officer led them away. Del Medico turned the captured officers over to his commander and escorted the German soldiers to the next military police station, where they were then taken to a prison camp. Del Medico had no problem with them and said, “They were glad to get caught.”

Looking back, Del Medico said, “I was scared, but I didn’t show it in my face, in my heart I was scared.” It was only him and his partner and they did not have time to think about the danger. He said, “We both were lucky that we were alive.”

Del Medico continued on through Germany, Luxembourg and Belgium, escorting the troops to the front line. The citizens of each town were good about letting Del Medico know if there were any German soldiers. He said, “The civilians were always happy and glad to see Americans come in because they knew the war would end for them.”

As he advanced through Europe, Del Medico continued to capture German soldiers. At times, other American soldiers detained the enemy and turned them over to Del Medico and his partner to be escorted to the military police station.

After capturing German soldiers, the first thing Del Medico did was tell the men to take off their shirts. The SS men, Hitler’s right-hand men, had tattoos underneath their arms. They were the “bad ones.” They were sneaky and had to be watched closely. Del Medico said, “The other soldiers didn’t want to fight any more than we did. Hitler’s men were different.”

At the Battle of the Bulge, Del Medico fought the weather as well as the enemy. He remembered the extreme cold and the snow. Del Medico kept warm by tying newspapers and gunnysacks around his feet and legs. He said, “I’d find any newspapers I could.”

Many lives were lost during that wintry battle. Del Medico told of taking a fallen soldier’s rifle, sticking it in the snow, topping it with his helmet and propping the soldier against it. A special outfit would then come and pick up the fatalities. The soldiers all worked together.

Del Medico was discharged when the war ended and his awards include three Battle Stars and the Silver Star.

He is proud to have served his country. Del Medico says, “I didn’t know if I would come home alive or what … I was just praying to make it home. I guess God was with me.”

Del Medico returned home to his wife and worked as a mechanic. He is active in the Italian American War Veterans, the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the American Legion. Displayed among his military awards is a framed essay titled “My Hero,” written by his granddaughter, Nicole, while in third grade. Perhaps, this is his greatest honor of all.

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Linda Grisolia

Army Rifleman Bruno Perino

“My religion kept me going,” Bruno Perino says of the non-stop combat he experienced during World War II. “Every night in the foxhole I said the Act of Contrition, blessed myself with the Sign of the Cross, and thought, ‘If I’m going, that’s it.’”

Bruno Perino was born in Chicago and grew up in the Chinatown neighborhood. He was 16 when Pearl Harbor was bombed and his older brother, Joe, was drafted into the Army. Two years later, it was Perino’s turn.

He completed 17 weeks of training in Florida and shipped out to Oran, Africa. Enemy bombing was so heavy in Oran that the troop ship continued on to Naples, where Perino trained at the replacement depot. He was assigned to the 45th Division as an infantry rifleman.

Perino saw his first combat when, amidst heavy shelling, he landed on the beaches of Marseilles on D-Day plus six, June 12, 1944. He and his comrades were caught in the crossfire between the enemy on the beach and the Allied battleships. “The noise was horrific!” Perino says. “Lots of guys threw up. They were crying … praying.”

The troops advanced inland and, at nightfall, the soldiers were ordered to “dig in.” Perino’s foxhole buddy was a sergeant on his third amphibious invasion. He sat, shaking, in the hole. Perino asked him, “What’s wrong?” He replied, “I just can’t take it anymore!” The sergeant propped his rifle under his chin and a worried Perino ran for the captain. The sergeant, a victim of combat fatigue, was taken to the hospital. “He scared the daylights out of me,” Perino remembers.

From the south of France to the Vosges Mountains, Yugoslavia, Belgium and Germany, Perino fought battle after battle. He remembers sitting in a foxhole, praying, while the Germans blasted away at them for six hours. Marching through open countryside, forests and cities, rifleman Perino was always out in front, often the first scout “at the point.” Occasionally, he rode on a tank. “You don’t know what you’re going to run into in the towns,” he says.

Perino was leading his squad of 10 men on patrol when he heard his foxhole buddy yell out, “Perino, I tripped the wire!” His buddy fell right on the land mine and was blown three feet into the air, mortally wounded. The blast threw Perino to the ground; he was shaken but not injured.

His new foxhole buddy was an Italian guy from the Air Force with only two weeks of infantry training. Leading the patrol in the mountains, Perino told him, “As soon as you get across the road, hit the dirt.” Perino crossed, hit the ground and heard shots. A squad member came from behind and told him, “Joe got shot.”

Perino chokes up with emotion as he recalled the many officers and enlisted men who lost their lives in the war. Some were killed in their first days of combat. Perino recalls thinking, “Who’s going to die next?”

Every night, when Perino went to sleep, he thought, “Well, I made it to tonight, now will I be awake tomorrow morning?” And when he awoke the next day, he would think, “Now will I see tonight?”

“That’s the way we lived,” Perino matter-of-factly says. “Cold, hot, snow, rain, out in the wilderness for two years.”

Perino’s squad was spread out as he led them on patrol up a winding mountain road in Alsace-Lorraine. He spotted a light shining from under the door of a small building and immediately advances. Perino opened the door, and much to his surprise, found 12 German soldiers standing at the bar. He jabbed his rifle into the back of the first soldier, who happened to be a lieutenant, and said in German, “Hands Up! The war’s over for you. You’re going on the ship back to America.”

The German officer replied, “You’re a brave soldier,” took off his gun belt and handed it over to Perino along with his Luger, dagger and .25 automatic. The other Germans soldiers threw their rifles down and Perino marched them out single handedly, all the time wondering where his men were. He thought they were right behind him.

The squad met up just outside the tavern. Some had passed the building and others were just coming up. One of his buddies said, “Who the hell you think you are, Sgt. York?”

“To this day, I don’t believe what happened,” Perino says. “The Blessed Mother or some saint was watching over me that night.”

The fighting was fierce through Alsace and Germany, and after marching all night, Perino and his men arrived at the Siegfried Line about 3 in the morning. The Germans turned their searchlights on them and opened fire. “This I’ll never forget,” he says. “They wiped out about half the battalion.”

He woke up in the field hospital with a concussion, and who did he see watching over him but his brother, Joe, a medic, who he had not seen in over two years. They savored a brief reunion while Perino recovered in Joe’s barracks for a few days before returning to battle.

He joined up with Patton’s men and pressed onward. Meeting resistance in the town of Aschaffenberg, the ground troops called for air support and, according to Perino, “The P51s were strafing the hell out of it.” The bombing continued for five hours, and then the ground troops went in for building-to-building fighting. “Your adrenalin kicks in and that’s it … they train you to kill or be killed,” he recalls. “The colonel (in charge of the German troops) was a fanatic; he finally surrendered.”

Perino participated in the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. He remembered riding in on tanks. The sight of the camp is something he will never forget. The stench was horrible. Bodies were stacked like cordwood. He opened boxcars and discovered bodies piled high. Perino said, “We couldn’t believe it!” The grateful, emaciated prisoners bowed and kissed the feet of the American soldiers. He said, “Their eyes were sunken … it was like skeletons talking to you.”

The orders were to take the Nazi officers as prisoners, but the crimes the American soldiers witnessed were so heinous that they killed them on the spot.

When the war ended, Perino stayed on in Munich as part of the occupation force. He was in the States, ready to head to Japan, when the atomic bomb was dropped. “We could not believe that one bomb could destroy a city,” Perino says. “We were happy that the war was over; all hell broke loose.”

He returned home to Chicago, where he was honorably discharged with a chestful of decorations that included three Bronze Stars.

Perino is married with three children, nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and is retired from the city of Chicago.

Recalling his many battles, Perino says, “My religion kept me going. Every night in the foxhole I said the Act of Contrition, blessed myself with the Sign of the Cross, and thought, ‘If I’m going, that’s it.’”

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Linda Grisolia

July 23, 2020

Army artilleryman Robert Fuggiti

Choosing to become a cannoneer rather than a medic, Robert Fuggiti spent his tour of duty in Vietnam providing artillery support for American troops on the ground.

Bob Fuggiti was born in Chicago and lived in the Cabrini Green area. His family moved to the Old Town neighborhood when he was 3 years old. Fuggiti’s father, Dino, worked as an electrician for the CTA, and his mother, Adeline, was employed as a nurse’s aide and a Spanish language interpreter. His paternal grandparents, who emigrated from the Lucca area of Italy, had two apartment buildings where the family settled. Fuggiti and his younger sister grew up surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. “It was great,” Fuggiti says. “You always had friends, even if they were cousins.”

He graduated from St. Michael’s Grade School and High School and was working for an insurance company when he was drafted into the U.S. Army in February 1966. His parents were devastated. “My grandmother, Oh God, you talk about the prayers,” says Fuggiti. “I always say that my grandmother’s prayers are what got me through Vietnam.”

Fuggiti completed both basic and advanced training at Fort Lewis, Washington. He was given the choice of artillery or becoming a medic. “In hindsight I should have become a medic,” Fuggiti says, “but I took the artillery.” He was assigned to the 6th Battalion, 32nd Artillery.

At the end of February 1967, he boarded the USS Weigel, a troop transport ship, for a 28-day voyage across the Pacific Ocean. Most of the soldiers were seasick, and Fuggiti stayed out of their way by working in the kitchen and keeping busy to avoid thinking about the war. “I never dwelled upon it,” says Fuggiti.

After a one-day stop in the Philippines, the ship landed in Qui Nhon. Fuggiti’s primary job was cannoneer on the 8-inch Howitzer, preparing the artillery rounds. Though his base was fairly secure, conflicts were close enough to hear small arms fire. After three weeks of fire missions, Fuggiti was transferred to the 1st Battalion, 30th Air Mobile Artillery of the 1st Cavalry Division. The unit, overrun by Viet Cong, suffered casualties and needed replacements.

Fuggiti worked on the 155 Howitzer, the largest gun that could be airlifted, and was promoted to crew chief, setting the sights on guns. He traveled from one fire mission to another either by helicopter, airlifting the 155, or by truck, towing the big guns. “Sometimes we’d spend a few days, sometimes we’d spend a week, sometimes we get up after the one day and go someplace else,” Fuggiti says. “I built more bunkers than I could even remember. You built them, and then you tear them down and you go someplace else.”

Ground troops went in first, securing the perimeter for the big guns in the inner perimeter. Agent Orange, sprayed to destroy forest cover and food crops used by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong, was also used to clear the jungle terrain around base perimeters for the artillery. Each gun had a squad of 10 guys plus the sergeant, with four guns in each of the three batteries. “We were support for most of the battles up there,” Fuggiti says.

Sniper rounds flew overhead and mortars whistled as Fuggiti’s crew set up on a mountain. Forward observers called in the coordinates for where to shoot

Fire missions varied, from one hour to four or five hours. “Sometimes it’s harassing fire,” says Fuggiti, “or preparatory fire for ground movement.” One particular battle raged for 26 hours straight. The soldiers took turns manning the howitzer, five men on the gun, while the other five rested.

In one mission, the guns were split up, half going in one direction and half going up to the mountaintop. Suddenly the battle intensified, the soldiers on top of the mountain were in danger of being overrun, and they turned the guns back. Fuggiti believes his grandmother’s prayers saved him during that mission.

In the field, helicopters dropped C rations and water, and the soldiers slept on the ground. They built sandbag hooches when staying in one place for a while. During the monsoons, the guns sunk deep into the mud and after shooting a few rounds they had to be dug out and moved forward. “So we spent a lot of time in the mud,” says Fuggiti. “It was just nasty all the time.”

At a landing zone in December 1967, the troops were stranded, surrounded by fighting. No aircraft could get through to deliver much-needed food and supplies. “We were out of water; we were actually trying to dig wells to get water,” Fuggiti says. Finally, helicopters dropped supplies. The choppers also transported mortally wounded infantry soldiers from the field and lined them up on the ground, covered. “The tarps kept blowing off these poor guys; it was terrible seeing it,” says Fuggiti. “I always think about that.”

In January 1968, the beginning of the TET Offensive, Fuggiti moved to the airport barracks, waiting for his rotation back to the States. One day, the loudspeaker blared the names of those to be on the next flight. He was called as standby. Fuggiti quickly packed his duffel bag, ready to go. The plane came in, some of the guys did not show up and Fuggiti boarded as a replacement. “Then I got on the plane, and it was once again the prayers of my grandmother,” he says, “because that was the last plane that was flying out for awhile.” After a long nap, he woke up to land in Anchorage, Alaska. “On that day, the warmth of being home in the USA was more powerful than the weather’s cold,” Fuggiti says.

Fuggiti was discharged in January 1968 as an E-4 corporal, and his parents met him at the airport. “It’s just stuck in my mind. I could picture the joy of the moment like it was yesterday,” he says. He is retired from a 32-year career with the Chicago Police Department, the last 22 years as detective. He and his wife, Linda, have two children and four granddaughters. With the help of the GI Bill and the State of Illinois Veterans Scholarship, Fuggiti graduated from Northeastern University with bachelor’s degrees in art and computer science. Fuggiti has heart disease attributable to Agent Orange and is recovering from heart surgery.

Reflecting on those fire missions 50 years ago, Fuggiti remembers he did not have time to worry only react. “I’m sure that’s true for everyone else out there in the battle … thinking about keeping their head down and throwing rounds out there. Then when it stops, everything kind of kicks in, the nervousness, the fatigue. The adrenalin is flowing and all of a sudden it stops.”

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Linda Grisolia

Army Technical Sergeant Mario Avignone

Mario Avignone’s stint in the Army turned out to be a blessing, as it led to a friendship with a most remarkable man.

Mario Avignone was born in Chicago and raised in the Roseland community. He was employed by the Sherwin Williams Co. when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He decided to enlist in the Army Air Force in January 1942.

Avignone met his future wife while training at Casper, Wyoming, and they married later that year. Christmas Eve 1943, found Avignone among thousands of troops waiting to board ships in Newport News, Va. His Liberty Ship was part of the largest convoy of troops and war materials ever to disembark from the United States.

The teary-eyed, young soldiers sang “Silent Night” as they sailed. Avignone says it seemed very strange to sing carols on the holiest of days as the crowded ship full of young men headed off to war “to kill and many to be killed.”

After two weeks on the rough ocean and a brief stay in Oran, North Africa, Avignone headed on to Italy, the birthplace of his parents.

On January 27, 1944, a date that Avignone remembers well, his ship arrived in Naples. He says, “The buildings on shore were bombed pretty badly; the docks were all destroyed.” As the ship waited for boats to bring the troops to shore, hundreds of boats carrying soldiers left the harbor going north.

Avignone found out later that those boats were headed to the Anzio Beach invasion. For two days and nights, the Liberty Ship waited in the harbor. Avignone says, “It was an experience I shall long remember, my first taste of actual war.”

The Germans bombed the harbor nightly and the Allied troops retaliated. Avignone says, “I’ve never seen fireworks as those two nights.” Ships near his were hit; luckily, his was not.

Finally, the troops were brought to shore and Avignone traveled to Cerignola, were he was assigned to the 304th Bomb Wing, Headquarters Squadron. Offices and living quarters were located in two different schools in town.

The locals were friendly to the soldiers. The children pleaded, “Me hungry Joe … give me food.” Whenever he could, Avignone took extra food and medicine for them. He says, “The poor, old and children are the ones who suffered the most.”

As company clerk, Avignone’s rank was technical sergeant, and he kept records for all the personnel, including payroll for the soldiers as well as the civilians who worked for the Army.

Avignone became close friends with two men in his outfit, Joe Asteriat and Leo Fanning, both of New York. Together, the three men hung out during their free time and often attended the Capuchin Church in town. Because the soldiers were in a war zone, they were allowed to receive Holy Communion at any time during the day. They became friendly with the monks and visited and dined with them.

One of the Capuchin monks, Padre Paolino da Casacalenda, told the three soldiers about Padre Pio, who bore the five wounds of Christ. The men were fascinated and wanted to meet him. Padre Paolino offered to arrange a meeting.

Only Avignone and Asteriat were able to go on the appointed day. When they arrived in San Giovanni Rotondo, Padre Paolino, the provincial of Franciscan monasteries in Central Italy, led them into the monastery. They waited for Padre Pio in the sacristy of the church and when he entered, Avignone says, “My heart began to beat double time.” Avignone and Asteriat knelt down and kissed the palm of Padre Pio’s hand and Avignone says, “I was speechless … filled with indescribable joy.”

During the crowded, two-hour Mass, Avignone saw the suffering on Padre Pio’s face. It is said that during Mass, Padre Pio relived the passion of Christ, quivering as if he, along with Christ, were being nailed to the cross.

When Padre Pio raised his arms, Avignone saw the blood soaked wounds in the palms of his hands. Avignone says, “The only words that came to my mouth were ‘My Lord and My God.’”

Avignone and Asteriat sat on either side of Padre Pio as they dined together with the monks in the monastery. They were thrilled as Padre Pio kidded with them. Avignone says, “There are millions of people who would give anything to be in our shoes that day.”

That was the beginning of a long-lasting friendship between Padre Pio, Avignone and Asteriat, as well as Fanning, who came with them on later visits. Padre Pio called them his “spiritual sons.”

Avignone and his friends persuaded one of the monks to give them each a piece of Padre Pio’s bandage from his wounds.

The war ended and Asteriat had points to return home, while Avignone would stay in Europe and Fanning was headed to Japan. They visited Padre Pio and told him of their orders. He smiled and said they would all go home together.

When they arrived back at headquarters, they found a change in their orders. All three would return home together. Avignone says, “Our Spiritual Father, Padre Pio, was right … he probably miraculously arranged it.”

Avignone returned home to Chicago to his wife and the son he had never seen. He remained close to Asteriat and Fanning and corresponded with Padre Pio through Maria Pyle, who lived in San Giovanni Rotondo.

Avignone is retired from Sherwin Williams Co., and though his beloved wife Peggy has passed away, he still enjoys the company of his two sons and eight grandchildren. He is very active in the Pullman community and with St. Anthony Church. Avignone has been writing “Petals From Roseland” for Fra Noi for 38 years.

He spent almost two years in Italy during the war and he still has the piece of bandage from Padre Pio’s wounds. Avignone says, “He changed my life. I shall never forget Padre Pio, my friend and my spiritual father.”

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Linda Grisolia

July 16, 2020

Army Corporal Michael Priami

Earning a Bronze Star and Five Battle Stars as a forward observer during World War II, Michael Priami scouted out the enemy’s presence across Europe, communicating their locations back to the troops.

The second of four children, Michael (Mike) Priami was born in 1924 in Hancock, Michigan. His father, Federico, was born in Rota, Italy, and his mother, Davina Barsocchi, was from Lucca. They met and married in Italy and emigrated to Hancock, settling near relatives.

His parents grew a huge vegetable garden with potatoes, tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini and more. “They had everything,” Priami says. He, his older brother and two younger sisters all helped out. In addition to baking bread, his mother canned and preserved the produce. Cousins visited on holidays to enjoy homemade ravioli, wine and buccellato, a specialty cake native to Lucca. Priami’s father worked as a miner and bricklayer. His mom sewed clothing from flour sacks for his sisters. “It was tough times, it certainly was,” he says.

Priami attended Franklin Grade School and Hancock High School. After graduating in 1942, he joined the Army. His father passed away when Priami was 15 and his older brother had been drafted into the Army. “I could have stayed at home as the only supporter of the family,” says Priami. “But I insisted I wanted to go into the service.”

He completed basic training at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and advanced artillery training in Mississippi. Priami embarked from New York on a seven-day trip across the Atlantic Ocean to England. “The storms were terrible. We all got seasick,” he says.

The soldiers did not talk about the war. “You know, we were all young, never giving a thought about what was happening,” says Priami.

A week later, Priami deployed to Ireland where he was stationed for one year. He was a forward observer with Battery A, 46th Field Artillery in Gen. George Patton’s Third Army and was promoted to corporal. The soldiers constantly trained, going on maneuvers in the mountains four or five days at a time. “We were never aware that we were going to go in, invading France,” Priami says.

One day, they all loaded onto a troop transport and left Ireland. After one day at sea, they mysteriously turned back. A week later they headed out again, destination unknown. “We had heard about D-Day and they kept telling us we could possibly be into it, but not knowing exactly when,” says Priami. As they neared the Normandy coast, the soldiers transferred to a Landing Ship Tank (LST). “When the time came to get onto the ship, we knew that was it,” he says.

Priami remembers climbing into the water on June 11, 1944: D-Day plus 5. “Then you have fear, yes, you do.” Moving steadily toward shore, Priami saw bodies floating in the water and on the beach. “They were just laying there,” he says. “Terrible! It was frightening!” The troops were surrounded by gunfire and bombs but kept moving forward. “We were sitting ducks there,” says Priami.

Each battery had a forward observer and three to five forward observers along with an officer advanced ahead searching for the enemy, always communicating back with the troops. “It was really slow at the time because we didn’t have a foothold yet,” Priami says. They moved stealthily, close to the ground, through the dense hedgerows, always aware that German machine gunfire was just up ahead. “We had to call for fire when we knew where they were, whether it was tanks or troops,” he says. “We had to get them killed before we could move forward.”

Day by day, Priami marched through the French countryside, always alert, searching, while trying to stay hidden. “We would try to get as high as we could so we could get good observation for the enemy,” says Priami. They climbed up water towers or church steeples to get a good view. “But then we were sitting ducks, because the Germans could just pick us off. Thank God they never did,” he says.

Priami advanced through the war-torn towns. “It’s a sad feeling to see that,” he says. “At that point, you realize that this is for real, it’s not games.” The people were happy to see the American soldiers. “They gave us what little things they had,” says Priami. “In turn, with the kids, we’d give them candy bars and they were in awe.”

At times, German soldiers came out from the buildings and surrendered. “They just put their hands up and surrendered … kind of frightening because you didn’t know what they were going to do,” Priami says. The forward observers guarded the Germans until they were turned over to the troops.

In Metz, the forward observers crossed the Moselle River in a small boat. It was vital to move the artillery troops forward. They quickly located the enemy and called back for artillery fire. Surrounded by German troops, their lieutenant told them to return at nightfall. Once again they got into the boat and crossed the river. “Nothing but frightened and praying to God every minute,” says Priami. “Thank God we never got shot at and made it to the other side.”

Priami moved on to the Battle of the Bulge in the frigidly cold, snowy Ardennes Forest. Planes could not fly in the stormy skies. ‘We got stuck because we couldn’t fire any artillery because we were surrounded, and we didn’t want to give away our position, so we just had to sit back and wait,” Priami says. “And I’ll never forget! It was frightening.”

On Christmas Day, Priami cut down a little tree and decorated it with bits of paper. Finally, the skies opened up, and for two days Priami found shelter in his foxhole while Allied planes bombed the Germans, clearing the way. “That was the last big push. We were able to move forward from then,” says Priami.

Priami’s brother was also fighting in the European Theater and near the end of the war, they managed to meet together for a few hours while in Belgium. “It was like a miracle,” Priami says.

When the war in Europe ended, Priami deployed to Austria and rotated back to the States. He was on furlough, scheduled to fight in the Pacific, when the atomic bomb was dropped. He was discharged from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, in 1945 with a Bronze Star and five battle stars. Priami settled in Chicago where his mother and sisters moved to be close to family. He became a butcher and owner of M & M Finer Foods. Priami married Elizabeth Pieri in 1949, and they recently celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary. They worked together at the store until they closed it and opened Loretta’s Gifts and Cards, working together until retiring. Their only son passed away five years ago.

Looking back on his war experience, Priami says, “At that time, it was so frightening, I didn’t know what to think … just praying every day,” he says. “It makes a man out of you.”

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Linda Grisolia

July 9, 2020

Marine Corporal/USAFR Staff Sergeant Diana Fecarotta

Choosing between the Peace Corps and the Marines during the Vietnam War, she made a decision that had a profound positive impact on the rest of her life.

The oldest of four children, Diana Frances Fecarotta was born in Chicago and grew up in the heavily Italian neighborhood known as “The Patch” near Grand and Ogden avenues. Her parents, Joseph Gerris and Francesca Mary (Lombardino) Fecarotta, were born in Chicago and both sets of grandparents emigrated from Sicily. The family lived in a six-flat owned by Fecarotta’s maternal grandparents. Her mother had three sisters who lived either in the building or across the street, and they raised their children together. “My maternal cousins and I all grew up like siblings,” she recalls. “I loved it: the warmth of extended, multi-generational family living near one another.”

She has fond memories of Sunday dinners and her grandma’s homemade pasta and meatballs. “Her meatballs, I can still taste them now, they were phenomenal,” Fecarotta says.

Another favorite was grandma’s cannoli, with Fecarotta helping out as the dough was pressed into just the right size using a tool made by her uncle. The dough was then wrapped around pieces of a broomstick and fried. “I still have pieces of the broomstick,” Fecarotta says. “That’s a special memory to me.”

The Italian enclave welcomed many immigrants from the old country. “People would come off the boat and come into our neighborhood,” Fecarotta says. “I was so eager to talk with them and teach them English, which kind of carried over with me.”

Fecarotta attended James Otis Elementary School and then chose St. Stanislaus Kostka because it was the area’s only college prep high school. After graduation, she was employed as a teletype/long distance operator while contemplating joining either the Peace Corps or the Marines. Fecarotta’s great-uncle, two uncles and father all served in World War II, and she followed in their footsteps, enlisting in the Marines in 1966. “I always thought so highly of the Marines,” she recalls. “My Mom was very concerned as she pictured me injured in battle.”

She completed boot camp at Parris Island, S.C., and basic supply schooling at Moffit Point, N.C. While at boot camp, they were told they were having a garden party. “I got very excited,” says Fecarotta. “I was really looking forward to it.” The women went outside, lined up on the field in a straight line across and were told to look down at the ground and walk until they were told to stop. They were instructed to pick up any trash on the field, anything that was not supposed to be there. “I cried,” she chuckles.

Fecarotta at her going away party before heading off for boot camp.

Fecarotta was stationed in San Diego at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot. She worked regular hours and rotated between three assignments — dry storage, cold storage and office work — to learn all the functions of food storage and supply. Meanwhile, her mother and grandmother would send her care packages filled with homemade goodies.

A typical day for Fecarotta began at 5:30 a.m. First came chores, whatever your assignment might be to keep the barracks clean. Next, you dressed in full uniform, ate breakfast, then reported for work for an 8-to-5 shift. “They were most strict,” she says, “but it was wonderful discipline training, which became my forte in teaching.”

Fecarotta recalls, “When we had inspections, everything had to be aligned, your buttons, everything.” The women were all required to wear red lipstick to match the red cord on their hats. Once while in the inspection line, Fecarotta briefly brushed under her nose and got a dash of lipstick on her white glove. “I got in trouble and got written up. It might sound stringent, but again, it was outstanding for discipline,” she explains. “Everybody was always respectful to us all the time.”

During her last six months in the Marines, Fecarotta was in charge of a squad bay of new recruits being trained in electronics. The women had intense daily schooling, and a major responsibility of Fecarotta’s was to ensure that they were checked into their barracks early in the evening and showed up when and where they needed to be during the day.

Fecarotta was discharged in 1968 as a Cpl. E4. She earned a bachelor’s degree from Loyola University on the G.I. Bill and went on to earn a master’s degree in education from Northeastern Illinois University. Fecarotta joined the Air Force Reserves in 1972 and worked in base operations at O’Hare AF Installation, checking the manifest for passengers upon boarding. She was discharged in 1975 as an SSgt E5. “I loved the military so much,” she says. “As a teacher, my classrooms were all red, white and blue, and the kids all knew the military songs. I was fortunate to have administration that supported me in having a lot to do with the military.”

Fecarotta taught in the Chicago Public Schools for 39 years. She also worked evenings and weekends for Chicago City Colleges for 27 years teaching GED and English as a second language, a throwback to her childhood when she helped Italian immigrants learn English.

Reflecting on women in the military, Fecarotta says, “During the Vietnam era, certain jobs were not open to women.” The women were told, “You are a lady first, then a Marine; you are here to free a man to fight.” As in World War II and the Korean Conflict, women weren’t allowed in combat and served near the battlefield only as nurses, but times were changing. A girlfriend became one of the first Woman Marine cooks in the Vietnam era. Another worked in communications. “I believe all military occupation specialties are now open to women, even the band,” she notes, adding, “I personally believe women best not be incorporated into ground force combat, where I feel men AND women there would each be at much greater risks, and lesser an equation of military might.”

Fecarotta lives in Chicago and serves as caregiver for her brother, Martin R. Fecarotta who is a disabled vet also from the Vietnam era. Her ongoing dedication to the military is reflected in her involvement with several organizations, including the American Legion, Honor Society of Women Legionnaires, Veterans for Unification, and Khe Sanh Vets, where she serves as editor of their magazine.

As commander of the Italian American War Veterans Guido Belmonte Post #4, she holds the distinction of being the first woman to helm a post in the history of the national organization. She also serves as third vice president of the Italian American Veterans Museum. “I am humbled and honored,” she shares. “It means a lot to me to be involved with the veterans, especially the Italian American War Veterans and the veterans museum.”

Summing up her time in the military, Fecarotta says, “It was an outstanding experience, a lot of discipline and order which I carried throughout my latter life. As we have formative years in our youth, I feel they were formative adult years.”

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Linda Grisolia

July 2, 2020

Naval NCO Georgiann Callaway

Opting for the Navy instead of college, Georgiann Callaway found professional fulfillment and adventure on six continents during a stellar 20-year career.

Georgiann “Gigi” Callaway was born in Chicago and grew up in LaGrange Park, one of four girls born to Andrew and Ann (Beres) DiDonato. Her father’s family was from Calabria.

Callaway enjoyed a close relationship with her paternal grandparents, who lived in the Little Italy around Taylor Street. “It was Sunday at my grandparents’ house,” says Callaway. Aunts, uncles and cousins gathered together for pasta. A cherished memory is making ravioli with her grandmother.

Callaway attended Forest Road Grade School and graduated from Lyons Township High School. Her parents owned a restaurant and encouraged her to go to college, but Callaway, undecided about her future, did not want to waste their hard-earned money on tuition. “I think I’m going to take a year off and work,” she told them. Callaway found a job downtown working at a garment company. During the week she lived with her grandparents and, depending on her plans, went home on Fridays to spend the weekend with her parents. A year later while having lunch at the family restaurant her mother said, “It’s time to apply to go to school.” Callaway replied, “Well, I’ve been thinking about joining the military.” Her mother stood up, “gave that wave that mother’s always give” and said, “You’re all talk!”

Six of seven uncles had served in the military in World War II and Korea. Callaway remembers looking at their pictures and asking her mother questions about what they did during the war. She was intrigued with their experiences. “I was the type of kid that any patriotic movie or song came on, it just pulled at my heartstring,” she says.

The next day, 19-year-old Callaway went to the recruiter’s office downtown, not sure which branch she wanted to enlist in. The uniforms were all on display and she had to make a decision. “I looked at what was the prettiest uniform,” she says. Callaway spotted a “gorgeous powder blue seersucker suit,” saw it was Navy and immediately joined for four years. Her mother and grandmother urged her not to tell her father and grandfather. Friday evening came around and as usual her grandfather asked, “Is Gigi coming for dinner?” Her grandmother replied, “Tony, I have to tell you something.” About the same time her father asked her mother, “Ann, is Gigi coming?” Her grandfather upon hearing that Callaway joined the Navy immediately phoned her father, who yelled, “What! She did what!?” By that time, Callaway was on a plane to Orlando for basic training. “Knowing my father or grandfather, they would have gone to O’Hare and tried to talk me out of it,” she says.

Callaway graduated from training school and was assigned to Midway Island working for the Judge Advocate General’s Corps (JAG) officer on base. During her 18 months there, Callaway became a scuba diver and voluntarily assisting scientists in defining different species.

An avid diver, she applied for Explosive Ordnance and Disposal (EOD), a field newly opened to women. Callaway was accepted into the first female class and called home to share the exciting news. Her father asked, “What is EOD? What does that mean?” She explained she would be learning to attach, detach and disarm bombs. “What!” her father yelled. “Please, please … ” “It was more than he could take,” says Callaway.

After talking with her dad and hearing his anguish, she asked for a desk job instead and deployed to Meridian, Mississippi, for Yeoman school. Noticing something special in Callaway, her superiors asked her to “challenge the course.” They felt she could complete the eight-week course in two weeks, and she did. When asked what she wanted to do, Callaway responded, “Something exciting: Joint Chiefs of Staff, NATO, Embassy duty, something exciting like that.” She was assigned to a spot with NATO but first needed to learn French through the Defense Languages Institute. After completing the intensive course, Callaway envisioned going abroad to serve in one of the 13 (at that time) NATO countries. Much to her disappointment, her orders sent her to Norfolk, Virginia.

Callaway was assigned to the Ambassador to International Affairs, working with Ambassador Anderson handling classified information, and found both her work and Anderson to be extremely interesting. Callaway was very young and felt that working for Ambassador Anderson was like having a grandparent on hand at times. “When he needed to be professional, he was very professional, but when he saw that I needed guidance, he would go into that role, which was very, very nice,” Callaway says. While stationed in Virginia, she met and married her husband, Michael Callaway, a Merchant Marine.

She worked with NATO for three years and, looking for an “exciting European assignment,” Callaway decided to stay in the Navy. “I wanted something different,” she says. “It would be a chance to go and see Europe, which I did, both on leave and while working there.” Callaway accepted an offer with the Naval Investigative Service in Rota, Spain. Her job was again classified, working for nearly four years with criminal activity and counter intelligence. “After that tour, I didn’t want to know what I knew anymore, so to speak,” Callaway says. She asked to get out of that field into a new rating called Navy Counselor.

Callaway attended school in Pensacola, Florida, for recruiting, part of the Navy Counselor rotation. The only female in the class, Callaway was the top recruiter. During her three-year stint, headquartered in Columbia, South Carolina, Callaway’s territory included the southeastern part of the state plus northeastern Georgia. Her son, Jonathan, was born while Callaway was stationed in South Carolina.

Next in rotation was the Family Service Center in Charleston, South Carolina. Callaway assisted deploying sailors with any issues they or their families might have. “We did briefings on deployments and what services were available for families and deploying units,” Callaway says. “I loved that job.”

Eight months later, it was decided that Navy Counselors would no longer be part of Family Service Center. Callaway was transferred to Mine Squadron 2, the only female assigned to that staff. “It was not a pleasant time,” she says, “probably one of my least favorite tours.” Fortunately for Callaway, her shore tour was almost over and it was time to go to a deploying unit.

When her detailer (a person in charge of assigning Navy personnel to various commands) told her, “You can go wherever you want to go.” Callaway replied, “Anywhere south sounds fine to me.” He said, “Okay that’s a deal.” She was transferred to Point Mugu, California, and deployed south to Antarctica where she had four tours of duty, spending five to six months at a time at McMurdo Station with the National Science Foundation and detachments in Christchurch, New Zealand and Williams Field, Antarctica.

As Navy Counselor, Callaway negotiated orders for anyone in her unit. Navy personnel talked to her about continuing in or changing their career, or where to go in their next rotation. If someone had a problem with their job, they came and talked to Callaway. She compared her job to that of a school counselor. Negotiating orders over the Antarctic satellite phone system was very difficult and phone time was precious. Callaway had an arrangement with her Commanding Officer, a pilot, to use his call time when he was flying. She phoned Washington, D.C., speaking with detailers to find the best duty for her charges and stressing that they shouldn’t hang up, but transfer the call if and when she needed to speak with a different detailer.

At the Golden Anchor awards ceremony

Needing to communicate with all military personnel at Christchurch, McMurdo Station and Williams Field to keep them aware of various policies and ongoing events, Callaway began writing a newsletter. To make sure it was read, she printed a sports section showing scores from games played between crews and also included a section about funny things that happened around the detachments. It morphed into a popular periodical Callaway named “The Polar Press,” a publication that everyone looked forward to reading. She found her Antarctica duty to be very interesting. “I enjoyed the exciting part of being somewhere where not a lot of people deployed to,” Callaway says.

She completed her tour at Point Mugu as Base Counselor and won two Golden Anchor Awards for the base. A Golden Anchor is a worldwide competition on retention for recruitment and programs offered to the sailors and their families. Only the absolute best win the prestigious award. Callaway helped Point Mugu win two back-to-back Golden Anchor Awards, a high note to end her 20-year military career. She was discharged in February 1997 as Navy Counselor First Class. Her deployments took her around the world, having lived in or visited six of the seven continents; only South America remains for her to visit. Her most memorable times during her military career were serving for the Ambassador to International Affairs and becoming the founder and first editor of “The Polar Press.”

Callaway returned to the Chicago area and began a second career in Human Resources from which she is now retired. She is a member of various organizations, including Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem, DAV and NRA. A longtime member of the American Legion, Callaway is proud to serve as the American Legion Fifth District Judge Advocate and the American Legion First Division Commander for the state of Illinois. She also currently serves as the Director of State Echelon 8 of Twenty and Four, the Honor Society of Women Legionnaires.

The Navy gave Callaway the excitement she was looking for. “Funny, I was working with scientists at the beginning of my career and around birds (Laysan albatross), and at the end of my career, I’m with the National Science Foundation and a different type of birds (emperor penguin),” Callaway says.

Her military decorations include: National Defense Service Medal, Battle “E” Ribbon, Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal [Personal], Navy Commendation Medal, Navy Achievement Medal, Meritorious Unit Commendation Medal (with one star), Good Conduct Medal (with four stars), Sea Service Deployment Ribbon (with two stars), Navy and Marine Corps Overseas Service Ribbon, Antarctic Service Medal, Expert Pistol Medal, and Gold Wreath Award (with three stars).

“I think that everybody should serve,” Callaway says. “If you really, truly want to find out what America is, live in a different country. Live outside the U.S. for more than two weeks. You have an appreciation for who we are and the liberties that we truly have.”

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