Love Never Dies
"Life is a series of meetings and partings." A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
My uncle, Master Sargeant and Green Beret, Jack C. Flynn, "went home" last Thursday, Sept 24th. He loved and visited the family on Long Island whenever he could. He loved standing waist deep in the waters of the Great South Bay off Sayville or Blue Point, or Shelter Island, with a peck (small) basket buoyed by kiddie tube while he dug clams with his feet. He loved boating and fishing. He was a favorite uncle with easy going, carefree ways. When he was a kid, my grandmother took him to see a psychiatrist because he would put his clothes on inside out or backwards. Once he grabbed the wrong paper bag from the kitchen table and ate six plain Kaiser roles for lunch because it never occurred to him that he grabbed the bakery bag and not his lunch bag. The psychiatrist told his mother, "This boy is fine. He doesn't have a nerve in his body. Nothing bothers him, he'll outlive us all."
So the boy without a nerve in his body went on to become one of the small heroes in the Viet Nam War, there are so many. He was a combat Medic with the 82nd Airborne Division. A combat tour in Viet Nam lasted one year, if you survived, you went home. Jack is the only Viet Vet I know who voluntarily did a second tour in Nam. He was decorated many times, but his favorite accomplishment was written up in the Daily News when he organized the first Boy Scout Troop in Viet Nam. He said there were many half American children who had been rejected by their families and were beggers in the streets, he wanted to do something for them. With the help of a local Catholic Mission, he organized a Boy Scout Troop, and with some other soldiers, taught the boys how to help each other as a group in order to survive.
His highest decoration was won when he was in a Huey gunship, They spotted a troop of Viet Cong escorting six captured Americans through a rice paddy. The prisoners hands were in bound in front of them and they were all tied closely together with a rope from one waist to the next to make it nearly impossible to escape; two men tied together might have a chance at a run, but not six. The gunship lowered over the men, and the VC ran for cover where they could turn and fire at the gunship. Jack jumped out. He always carried a small axe. He said it came in handy many times. One this day, as they pulled in one man, the rope between he and the next man would pull tight over the landing rail on the helicopter and Jack hacked off the rope in one chop. One by one, with bullets flying, they got five of the men in. At that point, someone spotted a shouldered bazooka pointing at the ship. One well landed grenade would disable the helicopter. Jack looped his arm through the still tied hands of the last man and grabbed onto the landing rail with both of his hands and one leg. The Huey lifted with the last man looped around Jack's arm. Two soldiers inside leaned out and reinforced Jack's hold on the rail. In two minutes they cleared the immediate danger enough to land for a minute and get Jack and the last man safely inside. Jack had been grazed by three bullets. His shoulder had been dislocated from the weight of the soldier, but they all made it back. He only told that story to us once, and I never heard him ever speak of his combat experiences again.
During his second tour, he served with his cousin, Maj. Neil Sheehan, an RN. Officer and enlisted men aren't supposed to socialize, but it was useless trying to keep them apart despite the efforts of one of the commanding officers, a Lt. Colonel, on their post. Uncle Neilly told us that one time Jack and he were driving off base to Saigon for a three day leave. Jack was driving when the LTC saw them at the gate. He ordered the jeep stopped and Jack dutifully got out and stood at attention. The LTC was a "Point Man" (West Point Grad) and a stickler for formality. The LTC saw that the back of the jeep was lined with two Army blankets and a third blanket had been folded into a pillow. The LTC asked, "What's the hell is this?" Jack responded, "Mobile sleeping quarters for Maj. Sheehan, sir." To which the LTC yelled back, "You think the back of jeep is appropriate sleeping quarters for an officer?" Uncle Neilly said he was already trying not to laugh, when Jackie said, "No, sir. I'll fix it right now." Then, he reached into Neil's knapsack, pulled out a bottle of good whiskey - that Neil had been saving for leave, placed it gently next to the makeshift pillow, turned back to the LTC and said, "I think Maj Sheehan will validate this as appropriate now, sir." To which the LTC replied, "You're killin' me Flynn, your fuckin' killin' me," and dismissed them. The story ends that Maj. Sheehan returned to base in his mobile sleeping quarters driven by Staff Sgt. Flynn all safe and sound, the whiskey however, became another casualty of war.
He will be buried with honors near his beloved Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne. The bad news is we'll miss him terribly. The good news is, he's back with his parents, Audrey and Ervin Flynn. But the really bad news is "Big Erv" is probably still mad at him for never fixing the hood latch on his car when he was seventeen, and every time Pop drove the car over the nearby railroad tracks, the hood flew up forcing Pop to open the door and lean half his body out to find a place to pull over. The stream of profanities that issued forth from his mouth are probably still hanging in the air where the railroad tracks cross Lincoln Ave in Sayville, New York.
