Cliff Fromm, Navy torpedo man, saw duty in the infamous Gulf of Tonkin

BY CLIFF FROMM

Class of 1960

I joined the Navy after high school in 1960. I turned 17 in April, graduated from Division Avenue High School in June and left for boot camp in August with classmates Jimmy Halpin and Bruce Garabrant. In 1961 I was sent to San Diego to the USS Gregory DD802, a Navy Destroyer, as a torpedo man. We were deployed to the South China Sea and operated in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam to add to the United States presence.

Although the U.S. wasn't officially at war in Vietnam, the first battlefield casualty was in 1961. When we got back to the South China Sea our sister ship, the USS McDermott, and my ship were tracking a submarine when we collided. My ship caught fire and all the training and drills came into play and everyone knew their job to save her, although she was no longer usable as a war ship.

The Gregory was somehow brought back to the U.S., decommissioned, and used for target practice and by the Navy Seals for underwater demolition. She was sunk off San Clemente Island to the heartbreak of those who served with her.

After the collision, I was transferred to the USS Ingersoll DD652. We operated out of Yokosuka, Japan and were there for R&R in November of 1963 when President Kennedy was shot. I was assigned to Shore Patrol (the Navy's equivalent of Military Police) when the photo of me (see above) was taken with the United States flag at half mast behind me.

President Johnson wanted to increase the military's presence in the Gulf of Tonkin so my enlistment was extended. I got out of the Navy in 1966 but my last year or so was in the reserves on the USS Bristol DD857 out of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. In 1965 I met Marilyn on a blind date and we got married in 1966. This May will be 47 years. We tell everyone we got married when we were 10.

My first job out of the Navy was in construction working for a company building one-family homes in Smithtown, Long Island. I then got a job working for General Electric in its finance operation. I went to school nights and weekends getting my BS in Accounting from C.W. Post College and my MBA in Finance from New York Institute of Technology. G.E. paid for most of my tuition and, taking full advantage of the G.I. Bill, I also received subsistence allowance from the Navy.

I left General Electric in 1980 and started my own company in corporate finance. Eventually the economy started to have a negative affect on my business so at 62 I decided to retire. Now I'm always so busy that I don't know how I ever had time to work. Marilyn is a nurse at a New York State Psychiatric hospital and plans to retire soon. We live in New City, New York.

We've traveled a lot and plan to spend our children's inheritance doing more.  Five years ago Marilyn and I went with my veterans' group back to Vietnam where we, along with the local Rotary, are supporting an orphanage and a school. It was a very rewarding experience.

____

Blogger's note: This story last appeared two years ago. It is my intention to repeat some of my favorite stories, ones that make me proud to be a Levittowners.

Division Avenue High School is getting an historic name change and good bye Blue Dragons

By FRANK BARNING

As a teenager more than a half century ago, I thought the name of our high school was stupid, uninspired. Division Avenue High School was so blah. We cheered, "We're from Division, we couldn't be prouder...."  We were proud to be from Levittown, but not really excited about the name of the street that the school was on.

Many other Long Island high schools were named for their towns. Well, we already had Levittown Memorial, so that possibility was out. When a third Levittown high school opened, it was named for war hero General Douglas MacArthur. A junior high was named for Dr. Jonas Salk of polio vaccine fame, but that was a few years later.

The year 1947 was pivotal in the history of Levittown and the area from which many of the early residents migrated. The first Levitt and Sons houses were moved into in late 1947. That April, Jackie Robinson had broken the Major League Baseball color barrier when he took the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers. That was a huge moment in American history. Early Levittowners were pioneers and so Hall of Famer Robinson.

Levittown quickly became a baseball town with its variety of neatly manicured fields that sparked the development of a first-class Little League program. Every spring there was a parade to commemorate the opening of a new Little League season. And many of us were Brooklyn Dodgers fans because of our roots. Yes, there were Yankees and Giants fans, too, but there was a strong Brooklyn influence. If eventually there became a Levittown accent, it including a large dose of  Brooklynese. You known what I'm talkin' about.

Recently, the Levittown school board, realizing how boring the name Division Avenue High School sounds, decided to rename the school. In a few weeks, our alma mater will officially become Jackie Robinson High School. The 1947 tie in was the hook, along with an understanding of history. What an appropriate name. I would have been proud to have had it on my varsity jacket.

The school board also worked on changing the nickname used by the teams. So Blue Dragons is out. Bums was briefly considered, because the Brooklyn Dodgers were affectionately known by that title. Also considered was Trolley Dodgers, an early nickname. But Levittown never had trolleys.

It was decided that a contest was needed to choose the nickname. Some colleges and professional sports teams have gone to the public for help in name changes. Details of the contest will be announced shortly.

What do you think of our school's new name and do you have any thoughts about an appropriate nickname?

Zippy cartoon by Bill Griffith

c

Random memories -

click on cartoon to enlarge

Here's recent Zippy strip  in my series called "Random Memories". It all takes place in Levittown, in my home at 47 Red Maple Drive North. Ed Emshwiller, well-known sci-fi illustrator and filmmaker, lived next door--the incident is true.

-Bill Griffith

You can take the boy out of Levittown . . .

ZIPPY THE PINHEAD

click on cartoon to enlarge 

Thanks to Bill Griffith for permission to use his "Tower of Power" strip. He is a 1962 graduate of McArthur High School in Levittown and is famous for his Zippy The Pinhead strips.

Bill Griffith's website is:

http://www.zippythepinhead.com/

How a Levittown Boy Scout learned many lessons about religion more than 55 years ago

How a Levittown Boy Scout learned many lessons about religion more than 55 years ago

Also learned was how we are all interwoven to each other no matter how we worship

By DAMON SOLOMON

What a beautiful story Kathy Stahlman Zinn told about Levittown and St. Bernard’s Church earlier this month in this blog.

I, too, used to go to St. Bernard’s Catholic Church. Quite a few of Boy Scout troop 160's meetings were there. I often walked there from Elm Tree Lane, which was near the North Village Green. I had many happy memories there but it was also the home to one of the saddest moments of my life, as well.

Our beloved Scoutmaster, Mr. Carroll, was suddenly been struck down with what I now believe was a heart attack. He and his son Wesley, who was older than I, but a good friend, always made this Jewish kid from the lower east side of Manhattan feel welcome as a true brother in scouting. They both took me under their wings and made that time of my life most memorable. But I digress.

The sadness came when the funeral for our Scout Master was held at St. Bernard’s, and our whole troop was in attendance. Not only was this my first funeral but it also was the first time I attended a Roman Catholic Mass. I cautiously entered the vestibule of the church and tried to blend in with my troop as closely as possible.

I entered the pew and turned my attention to the altar where the congregation was transfixed. My first view was the massive image of Christ behind the altar. Then came my first experience with death and its many rituals.

The coffin was open and there lay our Scoutmaster, poor Mr. Carroll. Shock raced through me like a bolt of electricity. Now the Mass began. At that time virtually everything was in Latin and I was having enough trouble with English and learning Hebrew at our local temple. I knelt and genuflected as best as a beginner could and soon it was over.

Now came one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my short life. Members of our troop all rose and slowly marched past our beloved Scoutmaster in a final farewell.

That day I learned many lessons about religion, life, death and the value of friendship. I also learned how we are all interwoven to each other no matter how we worship. Like Kathy, I too remember St. Bernard’s Catholic Church and the many lessons about life that it taught me.

___

Damon Solomon is a 1960 graduate of Division Avenue High School and a Hofstra University alumnus. He lives in Florida.

My Favorite Things: a version for seniors

New lyrics for Julie Andrews' old song

To commemorate her 78th birthday, actress/vocalist, Julie Andrews made a special appearance at Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall  for the benefit of the AARP.  One of the musical numbers she performed was 'My Favorite Things'  from the legendary movie 'The Sound Of Music'.  Here are the lyrics she used:

Botox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the pipes leak, When the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Back pain, confused brains and no need for sinnin',
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin',  
And we won't mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favorite things.

When the joints ache, When the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I've had,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Levittown provided a sense of safety to a pious young church goer

Kathy walked to church every day for six weeks during Lent

By KATHY STAHLMAN ZINN

Class of 1963

In the early spring of 1955, I was nine and a half, in 4th grade at Summit Lane School (Miss Temesy) in Levittown, and the eldest of 5 kids, Theresa having been born a few months previously (3 more kids would come in the next 7 years).

It was Lent, that season where Catholics and some other Christians "give up something" to prove their piety in the 6 weeks leading up to Easter. I was a very pious little girl. That year, instead of the moderately difficult giving-up-TV for 6 weeks, I decided to be holy, indeed, and go to mass every day. 

I don't know if I even told my parents.  My mother was busy with the other 4, including the baby.  It was so early in the day when I left  that I don't think anyone noticed I was gone.  My father was often away overnight on his job as a co-pilot for Eastern Airlines.  So I would leave 99 Butternut Lane in the often-cold, still dark morning air.

I walked down to Sycamore Lane and turned left;  walked past a few houses and turned right onto Bucket Lane, which curved around and went all the way to an entrance to the shopping center. But I turned left,  halfway down Bucket Lane,  onto a short street that took me to Squirrel Lane, and turned right.  Now I knew I was nearly there   I also had a crush on someone who lived on Squirrel (whose name will go to the grave with me), whom I always anticipated seeing, but never did (how's that for piety?).

I finally came to Grassy Lane, turned left, and had one short block until I reached Hempstead Turnpike, right across from my destination, St. Bernard's Catholic Church.  In my memory there was no stop light at that intersection, so I waited for the traffic to clear (not too heavy at that hour), walked across, and went into the church, which, on the outside, still looked like the renovated airplane hanger that it originally was.  

Inside the church, it was warm and cozy, with candle light. The few members of the congregation present were scattered throughout the pews. They were mostly little old ladies dressed in black, with babushkas (head scarves), and a few old gentlemen.  I was clearly the only child at the mass. 

Daily mass is much shorter than on Sundays.  There are  fewer people, and fewer prayers.  It actually was much more of a meditative experience, the priest with his back to us, muttering in Latin, the little old ladies whispering their rosaries, no sermon, with Communion being the highlight of the services.  It was over in less than a half hour. 

Then I went back out into the cold early-Spring air, with more light in the sky.  I crossed back over Hempstead Turnpike with no stoplight, walked one block down Grassy Lane, turned right on Squirrel, walked back down past many houses (still hoping, in vain, for a glimpse of my heartthrob), turned left on the short, name-forgotten street, turned right onto Bucket, left onto Sycamore for 1 block, and then right onto Butternut, past 3-4 houses, to #99, walked in and had my breakfast and went to school.

Surely my mother was up by then as well as my 3 sisters and one brother.  Surely my mother knew.  But in my memory, she didn't know and didn't ask.  None of the old ladies, nor the priest. ever spoke to me. I never told any of my friends - they would have thought I was weird, and well, I WAS weird, for a 9 year old little girl.  Probably I was feeling kind of alone at that stage of my life, and this great "sacrifice" of going to daily mass was my special time with God - and, not insignificantly, with nature - for isn't nature also God?

I loved seeing the earth change every day, as it got warmer, the crocuses and daffodils starting to peek out, maybe a few other colors, mostly yellow and white, starting to appear, each day being a little lighter at the start of my journey, and, by the end of Lent, full sunlight and the pink blossoms of Easter cherry trees. 

I realize, now, that my trip must have been around a mile each way.  I was a little girl, alone, in the dark for part of the way.  I crossed over a busy highway.  I sat, knelt, and received Communion by myself in the big church. It is difficult to imagine that today someone wouldn't have wondered what I was doing there, especially the priest.  But Levittown was safe - or at least we all operated under that illusion.  And it would have been unusual, in those days, for the priest to intervene.  His role was strictly to say mass. He probably figured someone knew that I was there.  

My daily journey for six weeks instilled in me a sense of being special, a wonder at the signs of God in the natural world all around me (it amuses me to think of my finding nature in this most planned and artificial of communities), a sense of being close to God, and a great sense of confidence and independence.

It was my way of coping, and it worked well.  And Levittown provided me with a sense of safety,  like huge, loving arms around me.