I was going to write something else today, not quite sure
what but something else. Then I had a bit
of unexpected finger surgery and was told to ease up on the keyboard for a
couple of days. So you’re getting a reprieve. Of sorts.
Instead, I’m going to peck out something meaningful that
requires few words.
It’s a final salute to a man, husband, father, and
warrior. One of the best of The Greatest
Generation, living a life few writers could ever hope to capture, no matter how
hard they might try.
A second generation American of German Irish roots, born on
New Year’s Eve 1919 in NYC’S poor Lower East Side, his factory worker father
finally made enough to move the family up to the Bronx into another polyglot
neighborhood of hard working men and women.
His athleticism and good nature earned him a position as a
batboy at Yankee Stadium in the days of Babe Ruth—and later an offer to try out
for the Babe’s former team, the Boston Red Sox. After graduating high school he attended St.
John’s University, working two jobs to pay for it, leaving no time to sleep.
Then came World War II, and he made his choice to leave
school and go fight for his country.
He trained as a fighter-bomber pilot, flew 133 missions over
Germany, never knowing each time he went up if he’d come back. Many of his friends did not. He received many decorations—including the
unique honor of receiving both the United States and British Distinguished Flying
Crosses. But he never made a big deal of
them. He just did his job.
And thought about the love of his life, Virginia. The young woman he’d met on a one-day pass in
flight school, in Sarasota. And how
they’d been inseparable until he left a month later, knowing he could not ask
her to marry a soldier going off to war.
Four years later he returned, found her, and they
married.
He started a business. A very good one. But it ended with the Korean War when he was
called back to active duty to serve for twelve years as base commander of the
Air National Guard’s 139th Fighter Squadron and 109thAirlift
Wing in upstate New York.
There they had three daughters.
And there he buried his wife in 1970. His life was never the
same, though he lived it through his daughters, his grandchildren, and
reminiscences of a life respected and admired by all who knew him.
A memorial service with full military honors takes place
today as he is interred next to his beloved Virginia.
God rest your blessed soul, Colonel Frederick Joseph Zilly,
Jr. (1919-2014).
Jeff––Saturday
Hear, hear!
ReplyDeleteAwfully nice piece for someone with a bum finger, Jeff. Coincidentally, we JUST finished watching The Monument Men, and I thought I'd check the blog before going to bed, so my mind was already (still) in the atmosphere of WW II.
By the way, I also just finished SONS OF SPARTA this evening (JUST before watching the movie :-), and I agree, it's your best one yet! Congratulations, and another job well done!
Thank you, EvKa, your words are most appreciated!
DeleteMy deep condolences to Barbara. We have talked about our WWII dads. My heart is with her right now.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Annamaria, Barbara loves you almost as much as I do...but in a different way. :)
ReplyDeleteGreat Tribute!
ReplyDeleteThanks Jeffrey
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Susan vL
Nice, Jeff, thank you.
ReplyDeleteproud and EVER loving daughter, Patricia Zilly.
It was my honor, Pat.
Deletewow, great bio Jeff, thank you.
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome, Anthony. It came from the heart.
DeleteA wonderful tribute, Jeff. What a remarkable man he must have been, and how fortunate for Barbara that he played such a role in her life.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Tim, both Barbara and I appreciate your friendship greatly!
Delete