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.

A family tree grows in Auburn

AMERICA'S PASTIME: My father, Al Blasi, at around nine years old. He was already smitten with baseball, and it explains why he became a baseball coach for over 40 years at Revere High School.

ALL IN THE FAMILY: My father Al, lower right, with his family: His dad, Anthony Sr., his mom, Anne, his sister, Rita, and big brother, Rocco.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS: My mother, Louise with her family: Mom Josephine, brother Wesley, sisters Carol and Nellie.

"We all grow up with the weight of history on us.  Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies."  

~Shirley Abbott

AUBURN, Maine — Anthony would have been held incommunicado in my mother's kitchen if Louise witnessed how swift my son traced our family's ancestry using a reliable laptop, two impressive libraries and a great deal of patience and tenacity.

Anthony raced through centuries of history with the push of a button. He was like curious time traveler Rod Taylor in the 1960 movie version of H.G. Wells' "Time Machine" While Taylor watched eons pass before him outside his laboratory windows with a nudge of a lever, Anthony observed dozens of our decedents' names appear on a computer screen.

His arduous journey began when he started reading about the Davis family and our connection to the American Revolution on my mother's side. My mom's clan was a seafaring bunch who came over from Scotland and then eventually took on King George in America. The other side is Italian, and my heritage on my dad's side explains why I am excellent cook. I will take anyone on the kitchen and win each battle with my culinary delights.

For most of his school vacation, my son plowed through Ancestry.com to research our lineage. Centuries flew by on the computer as our family tree grew like the 40-foot pine in our front yard.

He spent days meticulously connecting the forgotten dots of time. He began with my wife's family and then moved on to his dad's ancestors without showing any signs of exasperation. Obstacles or detours didn't stop him from conducting his research. When the road narrowed and leads dried up, Anthony switched direction and found a new path into our ancient past.

If my late mother saw how easy it is to trace your roots using the Net, Anthony would have become his grandmother's hero. She was a proud member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Her ancestry and love of this nation's history made her a living reference for all of us. 

My son is now obsessed to see how far his quest will take him inside recorded history. He persuaded me to pay for another month of Ancestry.com's time-traveling, technological wizardry. The site is like a wormhole, a shortcut if you will, through the ages.

After facing several road blocks tracing the origins of the Blasi family, he moved on to the Davis family tree with significant results.

First and foremost, I am from nobility. You could say I am related to England's modern-day royalty, so bow the next time you see me. Of course, a handshake will do, too. I've inherited my love of gardening from the Royals, and I bet Prince Charles and I could go round and round about raising a bumper crop.

Anthony's startling discoveries include: 

* I am a first cousin, 13 times removed to Sir Francis Drake — An English vice admiral, privateer and navigator during the Elizabethan era.

* I am a second cousin, 12 times removed to Richard Grenville of the of the H.M.S. Revenge, 

* My 13th great grandfather was Roger Granville, who was captain of the H.M.S. Mary Rose

* I am first cousin, 18 times removed to Richard the Third — a king of England. His remains were recently discovered underneath a parking lot in Leicester, England.

* My 22nd great grandfather was Edward the First, also known as Edward Longshanks, a medieval monarch and slayer of William Wallace. 

Obviously King Richard and Edward were despots, but they are still part of my heritage, and it is cool to have a few skeletons in the closet.

Anthony also focused on Terri's mother's maiden name — Richardson. He brought to light several startling revelations about my wife's ancestry.

* Terri is the seventh cousin, four times removed to Franklin Delano Roosevelt — the 32nd president of the United States.

* She is the fifth cousin, six times removed to Ulysses S. Grant — the 18th president of the United States.

* She is the sixth cousin, five times removed to Laura Ingalls Wilder — author of the Little House series.

* Her 19th great-grandfather was Louis the Fourth — holy Roman emperor.

In the course of his research, he discovered an obituary of my late uncle — World War II hero Biagio Murano.

Every Christmas, I would visit and share a drink with him. He rarely spoke about his exploits during the war. I guess he had seen enough killing and destruction for both of us. 

According to his obituary, he was a highly decorated war hero who flew missions in the seat of the sluggish B-24 — a bomber that was so difficult to maneuver that pilots would develop huge biceps in their right arms. He participated in the Berlin Airlift and flew 100 missions in a P-51 fighter during the Korean War where he earned the Distinguished Flying Cross. He is also the 254th person in the United States to break the sound barrier in an F-104.

In between his demanding studies and being a member of the ski patrol team, Anthony has unearthed these forgotten tidbits of our family's history. He refuses to stop there and wants to know more about his family's origins.

So do I, and he has taken me there.

But what human being doesn't want to know how their family grew over centuries.

Thanks to technology and libraries, many people are making this quest.

And Anthony is just another pilgrim on a journey to discover his roots.

A quiet Patriot departs

AUBURN — I was watching the last debate  between President Obama and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney tonight when I began thinking about a former South Dakota representative and presidential contender who died this week at 90 years old.

George McGovern was a liberal Democrat who lost in a landslide to Richard Nixon in 1972. What intrigues me more than McGovern's fine political career was his distinguished service as a World War II pilot.

He was a sincere and brave man who interrupted his studies at college and enlisted right after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He flew missions over Italy, Austria and Germany and earned the Distinguished Flying Cross after his plane was shot down.

McGovern flew the B-24, a pig of a plane that was difficult to maneuver. Pilots who flew this heavy bomber watched the bicep in their right arms become enlarged because this beast was so difficult to steer in battle.

He was a rare and sincere breed who demonstrated his integrity by putting it all on line for his nation in a war that consumed the entire planet.

Stephen E. Ambrose wrote an excellent book, "The Wild Blue: The Men and Boys who flew the B-24s over Germany, 1944-45." It featured McGovern's dangerous missions as a pilot who flew with the Fifteenth Air Force's 451st Bombardment Group stationed in Italy.

The book ended with a fascinating episode in a bloody war that haunted McGovern for most of his life. The former U.S. representative spoke about this devastating moment during an interview on a television station in Austria 40 years later.

After one mission, there was a 500-pound bomb dangerously hanging from the rack. McGovern and his crew had two alternatives: Ditch the aircraft or jettison this bomb to safely land the plane.

The crew eventually freed the bomb, but it dropped on a farm house around noon that day. McGovern figured he had wiped out an entire family on the border of Austria and Italy.

Well, during that TV interview, a farmer called the station and told McGovern he got his family safely out of harm's way before the bomb struck his home.

Imagine how relieved McGovern must have felt. After all, this was a man who risked life and limb for his country, but despite the scourge of war and the psychological scars he was forced to sort out throughout his civilian life, he never lost hope or his belief in mankind.