Update 11-25-03


Hi,

First, a reminder from Paul DeMartino that he and the New York gang are getting together this Saturday: Just a friendly reminder to our classmates scattered far and wide, that the Class of '65 is getting together over the Thanksgiving Holiday on Saturday, November 29th at Lily Flanigan's Pub in Rockville Centre. You can drop by anytime in the afternoon after 1:00 PM and we'll be there -- probably until about 6:00 PM. If you plan to be in the area for the holidays and are free Saturday afternoon, please come by and be part of the "mini-reunion." Anyone needing more information, or directions, can contact me at: Pdem070@msn.com. Or call: 516-799-1590. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Next, Vince Tampio's funeral mass was something he would have been able to find funny. For one thing, it was somewhat on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Barnet described it more specifically, but to repeat that would risk censure. It was scheduled for Friday night, shortly after rush hour. Barnet, Amy, Paul, and I left in three different cars, from three different places, and kept in touch by cell phone. The plan was to meet at 6:00, at Vince's favorite Italian restaurant, near the church.

At 6:00, I called Amy, who was riding with Barnet. "I'm gonna be late," I said. "I'm stuck in traffic on the 210."

"That's OK," Amy replied. "We're stuck on the 60."

By 6:30, Paul had also been heard from: he was jammed behind an accident on the 10. To appreciate these numbers, you have to understand how many clogged freeways there are in L.A.
The funeral began at 7:30. I squeaked in at 7:25, Barnet and Amy close behind me. Paul and his girlfriend Becky arrived shortly after the service started, and just before I quietly said "Excuse me" to Barnet and slipped out.

It wasn't the blonde woman with the guitar, providing the only music for the service, and seemingly trying to honor John Denver. It wasn't the mariachi band, playing at a supermarket across the street and bleeding into what were supposed to be considered silences. It was the well-intentioned priest, coincidentally also named Vince -- Father Vince -- who'd only met Vince Tampio several times, shortly before his death, and was trying to give him a savvy show biz send-off. And, as Barnet put it, he was also trying to channel Mr. Rogers.

Father Vince somehow started talking about dissecting piglets in seminary, then segued to the wonder of creation, then to the folded flag on Vince's otherwise white-draped coffin. "What branch of the military was Vincent in?" he asked.

"The Army," one of Vince Tampio's childhood friends answered. "He was in Korea, with Special Services."

Meaning he sang and danced for the troops. But Father Vince thought the friend meant Special Forces -- the Green Berets -- and zoomed off, praising Vince's bravery and the miracle of his even having returned from treacherous Korea alive. At this point, Amy was patting Barnet's knee in sympathy, and I'd taken off my glasses, trying to focus on my thumbs to keep from being rude. Then Father Vince slipped orbit and began talking about Vince's design career.

To begin with, there's a difference between a scene designer and a scenic artist. Vince was primarily the latter, a painter. Father Vince soared about the magic of creativity, the joys of inspiration, and the selflessness of unknown and unheralded designers. At one point, he actually used the words "passive" and "quiet" to describe Vince. That's when I left.

Vince Tampio was a lot of things, but passive and quiet, he wern't. His ability to show either of these attributes ranged in nano-fractions, and that might be what I liked about him most. Vince taught his students -- and friends -- to constantly question, by steadily questioning everything around himself.
After I left the church, I walked its grounds, noting the police coming to silence the mariachi band, and a pair of teenagers doing not-solely-teenaged things in a parked car. I wandered into the nearby parish house, where a parallel mass was being said in Spanish. After listening for a while, understanding nearly nothing, I slipped back to the church.

The double doors from the front vestibule were open, so I could hear and watch the rest of the service. After seemingly-infinite huffing, Father Vince rambled to a close, and the amplified, acoustic, John Denverette warbled "On the Wings of Eagles." Vince's friends had been invited to say a few words about him toward the end of the mass, but only his 40ish godson spoke. Then, when I figured the worst had passed, Father Vince resumed.

"There's something our beloved Vincent Francis probably wanted all his life," he explained cryptically, "though I'm sure he was too private to ever admit it. And it might be against all the rules to give it to him now, but I'm sure it will be all right -- for just a few minutes."

From a cardboard box, Father Vince pulled an old, dirty Emmy, and he set it on Vince's coffin. Moments later, the coffin rolled up the aisle, right at me, coming out of the church still draped in white, with the folded American flag pointed at its head like a nose cone, and the tarnished Emmy serving as the tail fin of a wingless jet.

"I just wanted to call Vince and tell him how awful it was," one of Vince's closest friends almost laughed in the vestibule later, while still wiping away tears.

Afterward, everyone was invited to the godson's house, but Amy, Barnet, Paul, and I still wanted to try for Vince's favorite restaurant. We got there just as it closed, though Barnet and Amy charmed our way in. They explained how much Vince had loved the place, how frequently he'd eaten there, and how he'd practically known everyone by name. The young manager agreed, as long as we ordered simply. But it was only after we'd done that, and were eating, that he clearly understood it was Vince Tampio who'd died, and not his local parish priest, Father Vince.

Finally, a far better tribute to Veterans Day than I could muster, from Jim Lorey:
I generally bite my tongue and try to avoid topics of discussion long banned from dinner tables as the basis for ruining everything from good friendships to family ties. However, I can't help but say that not only didn't I find anything in the update "in honor of Veteran's Day," but found it totally lacking any relevance to The Day at all!
     I guess what really gets to me is that, once again, it seems easier to pass by the meaning of Veterans Day without remembering, not only what it derived from, or what the cost was, but also what it continues to be.
     No matter what branch of the military or specific capacity they served; whether their service was within the boundaries of the United States or in some foreign country; whether they are on the ground, in the air, on the water, or below the water, whether it's a "conflict," a "police action," a Cold War, a Hot War, or no war at all; whether they were in combat or not; no matter what their race or religion, the moment they don the uniform, children of the day become adults. What they do is serve where and when they are told to, and do and what they are told to. At the very least, they are preparing to, or providing support, in some manner for those that, at the very worst, are preparing to do, or are doing, the unthinkable and unimaginable. This is what earns a person the title of Veteran.
In Honor of Veterans Day, I wonder how many of today's children (and maybe some adults, too) know the history of what we now know as Veterans Day? I wonder how many know the saying, "The War to End All Wars," or what "Armistice Day" is ... or was; or the significance of "the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month?" I wonder how many children, or adults, know that some 4,734,991 men and women are Veterans of that "War to End All Wars;" or that 116,516 military personnel died while in uniform; or that another 204,002 were wounded?
In Honor of Veterans Day, I wonder how many people know there are another 33,464,898 men and women Veterans who have served during "recognized" times of conflict since then, up through the Gulf War of 1991; or the other 501,409 military personnel who died while in uniform; or the 775,597 individuals who were wounded?

In Honor of Veterans Day, there is, of course, the uncounted numbers of Veterans, many of them Active Reservists serving in-between the "recognized" conflicts and wars, and the unknown numbers of them who were killed or injured while in uniform on specific assignment, tactical training missions, routine exercises, or even simply due to an accident.
According to the VA, there are some estimated 25,625,000* living veterans, approximately 17,578,500 of whom are wartime Veterans. Bad enough the meaning of the day is overlooked and forgotten, but so are the battles Veterans continue to fight here at home after their military service.
In Honor of Veterans Day, who remembers the "Bonus March" and its resulting horrors? Who remembers "The Forgotten War?" for which a service ribbon was only recently authorized? What about the Veterans whose war was only a "conflict" and whose welcome home was to be spat upon? How about those with "Agent Orange?" What about those with PTSD? What about those strange new neurological and physiological disorders they are developing? How about changes in the Veteran themselves? Will they ever be the same, or even close to as we knew them before they served? And how about the Veterans Hospitals, which now routinely close their doors to a multitude of our nation's Veterans?

In Honor of Veterans Day, a survey reported on CNN this Veterans Day points out that many of our nation's Veterans are right in front of you, everyday. They're the ones you avoid because of how they look and sometimes act. They are the homeless. The survey went on to tell us that 32% of men who stay in homeless shelters are Veterans who served during Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf Wars, and among the nations homeless Veterans, 42% served in Vietnam.
In Honor of Veterans Day, the only thing Veterans seem to be able to count on is that whatever benefits are offered to them when they go in, they'll ultimately be changed or be completely taken away from them at some point in the future.
Maybe I'm too sensitive to this. Maybe, as my kids frequently tell me, I am old school. Yes, I am a Vet (with no great claim to fame), and yes, I come from a family with a history of military service dating back to "Armistice" Day; and yes, we've managed to have at least one individual in each branch of the armed forces at one time or another, or at the same time. And yes, like so many other families over the years, ours produced a Gold Star Mother in one era and a Gold Star Wife with two small children in another.

In Honor of Veterans, forget the rhetoric and platitudes. And you don't have to agree with the politics of the day, either. Just don't take that out on the Veterans, because they don't make policy.
In Honor of Veterans, think about the Veterans on active duty, and the Reservists who have been called up, who, along with their dependent families, must apply for food stamps and other forms of public assistance because a Veteran's pay isn't enough to sustain their families; or the ones who are now facing losing their houses because they have fallen behind in their mortgage payments.
In Honor of Veterans, think about the changes endured by both the Veterans and their families resulting from prolonged absences. Think about the adjustments and changes in family structures and roles: new babies born, yet never seen; family deaths yet to be faced.
In Honor of Veterans, think about the not-so-remote possibility of a family having to face the ultimate sacrifice which every Veteran might make, and the resulting leaving behind of grieving parents, siblings, wives, and children.

In Honor of Veterans, next time you're at the airport and see that kid in fatigues with an M-16 slung over his shoulder, or simply see someone in a military uniform, be they a "ground pounder," a nurse, a clerk, or a fighter pilot, just go up and just say "Thank You!" to him or her.
In Honor of Veterans, you could even go a step further. Forget the barbecue for once. Next Memorial Day, go to one of your local parades. Afterwards, take a trip to the National Cemetery nearest your home. Walk around, read the inscriptions, or simply look around you. What you see, says it all.
In Honor of Veterans, on Long Island you have a choice between the Long Island National Cemetery in Farmingdale (also known as Pinelawn), or the newer one in Calverton. I know I'll be at one of them.

(All the statistics are from the Department of Veterans Affairs paper, "America's War," dated November 2002. Some individual subcategories were combined to get a total number. Casualty numbers are through 1991. * VA estimate as of 9-30-02.)

Next week, more on Vince from other classmates, as well as some additional notes that have come in. Meanwhile, best wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving.

The home page: http://hometown.aol.com/falcons1965a

Rich