Goodfellows52: Serving his country and playing baseball in occupi...

Goodfellows52: Serving his country and playing baseball in occupi...: “ Without heroes, we are all plain people, and don't know how far we can go ”   Bernard Malamud My father's uniform sports ...

Serving his country and playing baseball in occupied Germany

“Without heroes, we are all plain people, and don't know how far we can go”

Bernard Malamud

“Without heroes, we are all plain people, and don't know how far we can go”

 Bernard Malamud

My father's uniform sports three citations for his service to his country

Big Al Blasi pays a visit to his daughter's house

Anthony stands in front of a P-51 Mustang at the Brunswick Air Show. 

Anthony and Terri stand in front of an M-60 tank in Augusta.

Anthony and I on the deck of the U.S.S. Massachusetts - an old World War II battleship that now rests at Battleship Cover in Fall River, Mass.

A pair of bombing can't keep a proud and good city like Boston down.

AUBURN, Maine – There's a classic black-and white picture of my dad speaking with the opposing coach and his good friend Joe Bevere after Revere played Chelsea in a high school baseball game.

Big Al is wearing his traditional team cap, baggy pants and rumpled blue coat at wind-blown Curtis Park – a shabby baseball field battered by endless, cold sea breezes and summer humidity. An MBTA train used to rattle past the outfield as it raced toward Boston to drop off passengers.

The field is gone, but not my memories of my father's unforgettable moments on the diamond and that wonderful, old dusty field that was removed from my past to make way for a new school.

I sometimes stare at the picture that rests on my desk at the Sun Journal. I fondly remember moments when I served as the team's batboy and all the young men who played ball for my father.

My dad knows baseball like a sailor who is able to maneuver his vessel in a harbor with his eyes shut.

Big Al's knowledge America's pastime has served him well as a baseball skipper who coached the Revere Patriots for nearly 43 years without being run out of town.

What I often forget is that he was drafted and served his country during the Korean War. But Pfc. Al Blasi, and his brother, U.S. Army 2nd Lt. Rocco Blasi, missed serving in Korea by this much. Both of them ended up being stationed in Europe as the world rebuilt war-torn nations from the ground up.

They were both lucky, and they knew it. Europe was like a vacation on the Maine coast compared to slugging it out with the North Koreans and Chinese.

His outfit was the fabled Big Red One, a division that served with distinction in World War I. In the second war, the Big Red One was the first to fight the enemy in North Africa and Sicily. The division was also the first on the beaches of Normandy and captured the major German City – Aachen. The Big Red One remained in Germany until 1955 and was later redeployed to Fort Riley in Kanas. A movie starring Lee Marvin was made about the division's heroics during the second war.

There were no tales of combat for my father, but there were plenty of stories about him playing baseball in Germany. He was sort of like Joe Dimaggio who played ball in Hawaii to raise the country's morale during World War II.

Big Al owned the plate whenever he was at bat. He could hit, and when a high-ranking officer witnessed my dad's hitting prowess, he chose my father to play for the company's baseball team.

Life got a lot easier in the Army for my dad. Picking up a bat and glove was easier than carrying a BAR (Browning automatic rifle) or bazooka. He proudly served his country, but he brushed off the idea of making the military a career. 

But he did answer the call to duty and eventually became a sharpshooter. While he did not face the perils of combat, he witnessed an infantry unit bivouacking after a night of patrolling. The men were sleeping when American tanks on maneuvers came rolling through the German woods. Men ran for their lives and climbed thick trees to escape the blind, roving monstrosities that tore up the landscape.

Big Al was once given a lift from his uncle, Air Force Maj. B.J. Murano, who was a pilot who saw action from the seat of a B-24 in Italy during World War II. He also flew 100 missions in a fighter called the P-51. Murano flew my father home in that storied fighter that eventually became an icon of air superiority in that era.

My father rarely spoke about his experiences in the Army. He moved on and was busy working two jobs and raising four children. There was no time for the dedicated teacher and high school baseball coach to spend days spinning yarns about his tour at the local VFW Post.

After my mother died, he began speaking about his tour of duty, but Alzheimers has made it impossible for my dad to recall all those interesting moments in the service. The words don't come easy and he is frustrated, and I am saddened that his memories are quickly disappearing as this horrible disease progresses.

A few years ago, my dad wanted to sell his uniform for a few bucks. I pleaded with him to give it to me. My other siblings were not interested in it, but for me, it was a piece of his past and this country's history, and I didn't want to see the uniform in a stranger's hands.

I had worn his uniform at a Halloween party when I was in high school. 

There are three ribbons of citations sewn on the 60-year-old jacket. I had no idea what they stood for, so Anthony and I turned to the Internet and spent the next 30 minutes researching and identifying each ribbon. Those ribbons include the President's Unit Citation, Army of Occupation Citation and the National Defense Citation.

When I visited him a year ago, he gave the uniform to me and said, "What the hell are you going to do with it?"

I just smiled and didn't answer him. I think we both understood why I wanted his uniform in my possession

I am preserving his uniform to honor him, because that's what sons do for their fathers who give a damn about the right things in life.

Goodfellows52: Happy and rocky trails to you

Goodfellows52: Happy and rocky trails to you: Heading up the rocky trail Now that is a huge bolder. Nothing like seeing wildlife along the trail ...

Happy and rocky trails to you

“Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Heading up the rocky trail

Now that is a huge bolder.

Nothing like seeing wildlife along the trail

A foundation from an old home

TURNER, Maine — If you are looking for a stroll in the sun at Androscoggin Riverfront Park, take a good look at the ankle-turning trails and rough terrain up ahead.

There are peaks and valleys that will make you feel like you trudging along on a Stairmaster. You will be looking down a lot until you reach walking trails with no hazards. Huge tree roots and protruding rocks are like small landmines along the narrow trails, making it easy for any careful hiker to trip and fall.

"That was a killer trail," said my wife, whose soar back and feet can attest to challenging paths throughout the snaking 12-mile trail.

A weekend ago, we headed to the new park that is still being transformed into a hiker's paradise. The trail runs around the Androscoggin River. For the moment, it is free to the public. Take advantage before the state installs a gate and demands that you pay a park fee.

Beware, though, there aren't many outhouses along the way. I found that out the hard way when I received an urgent call from nature. And the trails are barely marked, and if you miss trees that are color coded, you will be in for long haul back to your car. There are no maps, yet.

I put mother nature on hold when a fellow hiker told me there was a one-holer down the trail a might. I figured it wasn't more than a quarter of mile to find the outhouse. Well, after marching through the wilderness for at least a mile, I started scouting for a secluded place to take of business. I sent my scout, Anthony, up ahead in search of relieve, aah, I mean an outhouse. He was like cavalry marching ahead of a regiment. He moves faster than me. He has youth and sturdier legs on his side.

Just when I thought I would have to take cover in the barren bushes, Anthony found one of the cleanest outhouses I have ever seen in the wilderness. Was there an attendant on duty? Would I have to tip him or her for the use of this backwoods facility?

I sprinted toward the toilet as Anthony kept an eye for Terri. I pleaded with Mother Nature for a reprieve.  I promised to be nicer to people if I made it in time. I swung open the door and made my peace with Mother Nature.

We carefully headed back up the trail, and I was feeling like a new man again.

I have tacked on information from Maine.Gov's Website about the trails:

Trails

• 12 miles of multiple use / shared use trails
  10 miles of hiking trails (6.6 miles shared with mountain bikes)
  6.6 miles of single-track mountain bike trails (existing and planned)

Multi-Use Trail (9.5 miles one-way), a central spine down the Turner parcel, is popular among ATV users, snowmobilers, bicyclists, horseback riders, and hikers. ATVs must use the north entrance parking area for off-loading.

Homestead Trail (4.5-mile loop with a 2.6-mile option; allow 2.5 hours for full loop) provides riverside hiking form the northern parking lot to the Picnic Meadow (1.1 mi.), where you can take the "Harrington Trail" (0.5 mi) and Multi-Use Trail back to the the parking area (1.0 mi.). To extend your hike, continue south on the trail past Picnic Meadow to the juncture with the Multi-Use Trail that leads back to the main entrance (1.8 mi.).

Ridge Trail (6.85 miles) is reached by following the extended Homestead Trail to the Multi-Use Trail (2.0 mi.). Turn left, proceed over a bridge, turn right and continue up to a ledge outcrop overlooking the river (1 mi.). Turn left and descend steeply toward the river on the Ledges Trail (0.4 mi). Turn left on the Multi-Use Trail and return 2.25 miles to the Picnic Meadow, and on to the parking area via the Homestead Trail (1.1 mi.).

Deer Path Trail (8.0 miles) adds an additional loop beyond the Ledges Trail, with the Bradford Loop Trail (0.5 mi) that connects with the Deer Path Trail. At 1.5 miles, bear right at a fork and follow 0.5 mi to Multi-Use Trail. Return via the Homestead Trail (2.0 mi).

Bradford Loop Trail (12.2-mile loop) requires advanced ATV and snowmobiling riding skills. It can be accessed from the north end of the Park by following the Multi-Use Trail.

Bradford Hill Trail (variable length trips, starting with a 9.6-mile loop) offers hiking from the Conant Road entrance. Follow the Multi-Use Trail approximately 3.8 miles, turn left onto Bradford Hill Trail, then turn right on the Bradford Loop Technical Trail and follow the Multi-Use Trail back to the parking area.

Pine Loop Trail (5.7-mile round trip) from the Conant Road parking lot runs along the river. Hike along the Multi-Use Primitive Trail 1.6 miles (please see the map - this is a rough trail section), then veer right to reach the Pine Loop Trail.

Goodfellows52: A letter and a labor of love from our son

Goodfellows52: A letter and a labor of love from our son: "The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom."                                                             - Henry...

A letter and a labor of love from our son

"The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom."                                                           - Henry Ward Beecher

AUBURN, Maine — Words start wars, bring peace and can, on some occasions, make a 6-foot-3, 350-pound former football player weep.

My son penned a remarkable tribute to his mother on Mother's Day. His words knocked this gridiron center to the floor. I felt like I was sideswiped by a nose tackle after I just snapped the ball to my quarterback. 

This letter is one from the heart from a young man who means so much to his parents. I knew our high school sophomore could write, but when I reread it, I realized Anthony was paying us back with his genuine love for his mother.

I won't reveal the contents of his letter. It is personal and it is for our eyes only, and it is a keeper.

If parents are selfish, abusive and oblivious to a child's needs, kids will pay them back in full, and their revenge will last a lifetime.

I guarantee it. I have witnessed their anger in action, and it is damn ugly.

Whatever it is worth, our son is the product of a home where love, kindness and his needs come first. He is also an anachronism, if you will. We raised him with books, museums and long incursions into the Maine woods and endless days at the Pine Tree State's beautiful beaches. We shunned video games and cable television. We have found those mediums of entertainment a waste of our time.

So what did we get in return? Well, he has been to paying us back with great grades, kindness toward others and continues to demonstrate his belief in the greater good— something the U.S. Congress has apparently forgot about.

There is no luck here. Anthony's demeanor and thirst for knowledge has been nurtured by a mother who has her priorities straight when it comes to raising a child.

This mother has her act together and Anthony has become a one-man show in the classroom.

Anthony's letter is better than any store-bought card or extravagant gift.  It will be framed, and you can bet it will be sitting on Terri's dresser three decades from now. 

In the letter, Anthony said he will continue to be grateful to his mother for her love and devotion.

We are grateful he feels this way about an extraordinary person — his mom.

Goodfellows52: A family affair and a city that remains strong

Goodfellows52: A family affair and a city that remains strong: REVERE, Mass. — I was raised on this beach. Time and weather has changed its appearance, but its sandy shores will always b...

Goodfellows52: A family affair and a city that remains strong

Goodfellows52: A family affair and a city that remains strong: REVERE, Mass. — I was raised on this beach. Time and weather has changed its appearance, but its sandy shores will always b...

A family affair and a city that remains strong

"The family is a haven in a heartless world." 

Attributed to Christopher Lasch

REVERE, Mass. — I was raised on this beach. Time and weather has changed its appearance, but its sandy shores will always be remembered as my playground during the summers of my youth.

For years, my mother whispered obscenities under her breath as my father navigated our big-ass Buick down a clogged Revere Street on steamy summer days.

If my family didn't leave early, we endured a 20-minute ride through stop-and-go traffic. We didn't have air conditioning in the car. The heat was stifling in our oven-baked automobile. It was a short journey through hell.

Growing up in a coastal community and bathing in the chilly waters of the Atlantic was worth running the gauntlet to spend a day at Revere Beach.

Last weekend, we walked on the warm sand and ignored a chilly sea breeze at America's first public beach. Everybody who is anybody was out and about, and there seemed to be a sense of relief on the streets. People were cordial and the bright sun contributed to my good mood. A couple of weeks have passed since the Boston Marathon bombings. The confusion and fear has subsided despite the ongoing investigation into the attacks.

My father's struggle

There were three important reasons why I visited Revere. We threw a small celebration for one of the U.S. Navy's finest — my niece, who married a Navy guy from the great state of Missouri. It was a fine, sunny cool day on the deck of my sister's home. The Boston skyline is clearly visible from her home. It was an opportunity to meet the in-laws, who also happen to be nice people, too. There was a buffet of Chinese food for well-wishers.

I also spent quality time with my dad who is trying to stay a step ahead of Alzheimer's, but this affliction is malicious and relentless. This is man who earned a master's degree in history. He was a successful high school teacher and baseball coach for 42 years, and here he was struggling to utter simple pronouns,

But my father and I had a memorable Sunday morning after my neice's celebration. Any good day with my dad is a blessing, because there are times when his thoughts are clear and his words come easy, and those moments of clarity mean so much to me.

Big Al speaks quietly as he searches for the right words, which evaporate before he can say them. It hurts him and all of us. We are helpless and often feel hopeless because there is no cure for dementia.

Back on the beach

I tried to coax my father to come along with us to the beach. He politely refused, so we bought him a hot dog and fries from Kelly's Roast Beef — a fast-food joint that claims to be the creator of the first roast beef sandwich. 

Anybody from the Greater Boston area is familiar with Kelly's scrumptious reputation for seafood. Their fish, clam and scallop plates are unbelievable, but you will need to take a small loan to pay for them. Kelly's clam chowder is worth the price, especially on a cold New England day.

When fear and evil strike out

Every time a terrorist strikes, our openness shrinks, freedoms dwindle, and our feelings of suspicion and revenge rise to the top of our emotions.

Four days after we visited the Bay State, my son returned to Boston for a class field trip. Anthony's fearless history teacher had the class visit the Freedom Trail, Paul Revere House, Bunker Hill monument and U.S.S. Constitution. Before he boarded the U.S. Navy's oldest commissioned ship, his classmates were told to remove their belt buckles, searched and advised that any visitor who leaves a bag unattended will be asked to leave the ship.

These guys were not fooling around!

The Navy has always kept a watchful eye on the Constitution, and rightfully so. But due to the Boston Marathon bombings that killed four people and wounded hundreds, law enforcement agencies are on edge, and that means we are all under constant scrutiny when these bastards act.

But their cruel acts didn't prevent a class of wonderful students from Edward Little High School from visiting Beantown last Thursday.  Sure, I worried about my son and the rest of those kids, but when we cower in our homes, terrorists win.

Terror works for a little while, but resilient Americans won't be dictated by fear, and that's how you beat evil.

Just ask the Nazis!