Tag Archives: Viet Nam

Tommy

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, Family, impediments, Personal Values, Social

February 27,2026- When I was about eight, a group of neighbourhood kids let it be known that there would be a “show” in one of the back yards. The host, who was a cut-up, did a show and tell of wilted flowers, which he stuck under each of our noses, and asked who could smell anything. Then there was Swami the Fortuneteller, a skinny guy about a year older than me, who sported a bed sheet wound around his head like a turban. He made silly predictions, none of which I recall, but the afternoon passed with many of us laughing and having a good time.

Years went by, and I came to know the “Fortuneteller”, his family and their twin German shepherds, Lad and Lady. His mother made the best spaghetti, meatballs and Italian sausage this side of East Boston, from which the family moved to Saugus in 1955. It took a lot to surpass my own mother’s cooking, but Tommy’s mother took Italian cuisine to a whole other level.

Tom went into the Army, not too long after graduating high school, and ended up in an artillery unit, in Viet Nam. I recall making a tape of his extended family, with about eight people contributing their 2 cents. It meant a lot to him to get that tape. When he came back, he had bonded with people of colour and inveighed against what he saw as prejudice. There was no colour in the jungle, except blood red. I was glad to hear that from him.

He went on to get an Associate’s Degree from North Shore Community College, as did several of us in the neighbourhood, myself included. Tom then chose the path of work for the United States Postal Service, following the path set by his maternal uncle. He thrived there and was able to retire after about twenty years or so. He and his then-wife raised three daughters, and he was able to take care of his mother, in her declining years. Tom never let go of his family bonds, and became a beloved grandfather to his three “babies”.

As our lives progressed, we saw one another less and less. I attended his wedding in 1974, before I moved away. When I went back to Saugus, usually once a year, I stopped by his house and we would occasionally go up to Polcari’s or some other pizza place for lunch. He and Beverly were at the reception my parents had for Penny and me, as were several of the guys and their wives. Tom and the gang were also at my father’s wake. After that, a stop at the house on Forest Avenue was a necessary part of any Saugus visit.

Tom passed away last Sunday. He was 77.

Thomas Frank Belmonte never shied away from a challenge and was always ready for a good time. The ability to know the difference between the two was a gift he shared with us. He was also one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had. Tommy, even from all this distance, I’m gonna miss ya.

Unstolen Valor

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, Inspiration, Personal Values, service, Social, Spiritual, Striving

August 15, 2024- Recent memes and diatribes have been directed at both of the major candidates for Vice President of the United States. They have stemmed from insinuations, mostly by people who have themselves never donned a military uniform and dogpiled by a few disgruntled former colleagues of each man, that the former soldier in question was amplifying his service record. Each candidate has taken the bait, and denigrated the other, to a certain extent. The term “stolen valor” has been used to describe the record of one, who has at least called for respecting everyone’s military service, including that of his opponent.

I will include attachments that accurately explain the service records of Timothy Walz and of James David Vance, but let me first go over my own military service record. Like the two candidates, I carried a weapon of war- in my case, an M-16. I used it twice: When qualifying in Army Basic Training (Fort Jackson, SC), and in a training exercise at a military firing range in Long Binh, Vietnam. I did not have to use it in combat.

My service was as a handler of U.S. mail, running a mail room in the TriService Barracks at Fort Myer, VA, from October, 1969-January, 1971 and running accountable mail (registered, insured and certified) in secure rooms at Long Binh and at Cholon, Vietnam, from March, 1971-January, 1972. I did my fair share of guard duty, while at Long Binh, but no provocateurs appeared during the nights I was at the perimeter post. Long story short-No combat.

I returned to civilian life on January 2, 1972 and went back to college, holding my own in an environment in which I had previously made a mess of things, when fresh out of high school. The discipline and sense of purpose that I acquired in the Army has come in handy, across a variety of situations, over the ensuing sixty-two years.

So, it is with the utmost respect for the United States Armed Forces, and all comrades-in-arms who have served, whether in a combat role or like me, in a supportive capacity, that I ask those who have not served, to do your diligence, before throwing up memes or quoting “sour grapes” reports that do not stand up to scrutiny. I ask those who have served-especially in combat, to respect those of us who had your backs. That includes the Reserve Units, who have actually been in combat theaters in the most recent conflicts.

Here are links to verifiable, diligent accounts of the service rendered by Tim Walz and by J.D. Vance. Both men deserve our gratitude, with regard to that service.

https://www.verifythis.com/article/news/verify/elections-verify/jd-vance-marines-military-service-record-fact-check/536-b3bfb88b-bdb3-4a48-82e1-4c7ebdd05c03

https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/tim-walz-falsely-accused-stolen-valor-jd-vance-1235075718/?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjwzva1BhD3ARIsADQuPnV3yW6Gcoh66jblz3ePgMg0bzFfzeuA6C48tcMzyTVq0AzQpcWhvigaAvuvEALw_wcB

Places of Which I Don’t Speak Much

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Posted by on in children, distraction issues, impediments, Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

February 10, 2020-

I kept myself home today, for good measure.

Yesterday was touch and go,

and I made it to the two obligatory gatherings,

being careful not to get too close to anyone,

lest what I felt was coming on,

was transferable.

I don’t speak of illness, much.

This is because it rarely comes calling.

Oregano, and a day of rest,

have knocked it out of me.

Illness is a state of being,

of which I rarely need speak.

Mount Chocorua was the first real peak,

I ever climbed.

I was grateful to my father,

for taking me there,

a uniquely satisfying climb,

that was distorted by a few moments

of diffuse anger,

back at the tent site.

When I had to deal with the same,

as a father, years later,

I knew what to do,

and let the boy work out his feelings.

Long Binh,

the only place where I ever felt

my life was in danger,

was also where I had to stand up

for myself.

So I did, and no harm came.

I may very well return to Viet Nam,

in a couple of years,

but I will leave Long Binh alone.

Hannibal saw me when I was

in a very raw state.

I was not allowed to write freely.

I was refused use of a computer.

Hannibal did not seem kind,

but someday, I will give

Hannibal a second look.

There are many places,

of which I don’t speak much.

 

Why I’ll Go Back Again

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Posted by on in Inspiration, Personal goals, Poetry, Striving

November 6, 2017, Prescott-

I’ll go back to Viet Nam, about five years from now.

Nothing I  remember is likely to be there.

Yet, I like to see how a nation grows.

I’ll go back to central Maine, in a year, or three.

The people to whom I caused some pain,

are mostly gone away.

Yet, it will be good to make some sort of amends.

I’ll go back to Israel, within the next ten years.

The places I visited, thirty-five years ago,

will be there for centuries to come,

yet, I need to approach them,

with greater reverence.

I’ll go back to Massachusetts,

at least once a year,

until the time comes for

my first angel to take flight.

Yet, I suspect that will be

some years in the future.

I’ll go back to Korea,

sometime in the near future.

Yet, I will be a prodigal son,

both atoning for breaches of manners

and honouring the roots that

my own seed might put down.

I’ll return to the American Southwest,

each time I need to pick myself up.

As  here, the desert and mountains

inform as to the way to renewal.

(Note to the nervous ones:  I’m not moving anywhere, any time soon.)