Who is Joseph Puggi? Middle name: David. Born: November 26, 1946. Hometown: Pleasantville, New Jersey.
So who is he and why am I writing about him?
Last year, during the start of the Iraq War, I read an op-ed piece in the Los Angeles Times written by one Philip Caputo. It was entitled “The Smell of War,” and in it he lashed out at the Bush Administration, asserting that “You don't attack another nation that has not attacked you and that does not pose an imminent threat to your national security or vital national interests.” The actual smell of war, of course, being those unforgettable smells the likes of which one can only imagine, all of them culled from the writer’s firsthand memories of war, up close as an Infantryman in Vietnam as well as from his many years spent as a war correspondent. With a single article, Philip Caputo knocked me off my fence and convinced me that the United States was wrong in declaring war on Iraq.
But this piece isn’t about Iraq; it’s about… Joseph Puggi.
I knew that when Philip Caputo, who volunteered into the Marines so he could fight in Vietnam, returned to the United States, bitter and disillusioned, he poured out his litany of dark tales of what it was like to fight in Southeast Asia, entitling his work “A Rumor of War.” It was a critical success, was turned into a mini-series, and is the finest book I’ve ever read on what it was like to be a soldier fighting on the ground in Vietnam.
But what does all this have to do with Joseph Puggi?
After reading Caputo’s book, and being given a glimpse as to how the adage “war is hell” was born, I had a newfound appreciation for the soldiers who had fought not only in Vietnam but in any other war for that matter.
I also recalled that in the early 70’s, my mother began wearing a POW bracelet. I don’t recall exactly when she started wearing it; can’t say when she stopped. Perhaps she wore it intermittently after awhile and then stopped wearing it altogether upon concluding, quietly and to herself, that all hope was lost for the safe return of the one soldier whose name was engraved upon the bracelet she wore. That soldier, of course, was Joseph Puggi. Either way, Mom never threw it out. And how do I know that? Well, because I’m wearing it. It reads “Spec. 5 Joseph Puggi, 2-2-68.”
February 2, 1968. The day the helicopter in which he was riding crashed in a jungle 12 miles north of DaNang. Yes, Joseph Puggi went missing on February 2, 1968. More than 36 years ago. Wreckage of the chopper was found some time later along with human remains which were classified as unidentifiable but, curiously, only one ID tag was found. And it was not Joseph Puggi’s. Which of course leads to the possibility that he may have been taken prisoner.
Last summer, fresh from reading Caputo’s book, I felt obligated to contact my sister regarding this POW bracelet and, sure enough, she found it in her jewelry collection. I asked her to send it my way and the day it arrived I put it on. I plan to remove it only when a final determination has been made as to what actually happened to Joseph Puggi because I believe that is the least to which this soldier is entitled.
I wear it for a few reasons, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that one of them is to remind myself of my late mother, for I believe this bracelet represents tangible proof of her concern for others. I also wear it, of course, for Joseph Puggi, who if indeed died in that crash in 1968, would have been only 21 years old. Young enough to be my son now. I wear it as a tribute not only to him but to all soldiers who have served when their country called, no matter how they may have felt as to the moral soundness of their country’s position. No, I don’t know Joseph Puggi’s politics or whatever feelings he may have held about the Vietnam War. They don’t matter to me. What does matter is that when his nation called, Joseph Puggi answered, and in so doing gave his life. 21 years worth. So far, I’ve been given over twice that. So I wear this bracelet to remind myself of the life I have, the freedom I enjoy, and the knowledge that what I do with that freedom will, in the end, define whatever character I may or may not possess. My epitaph you might say. The type of epitaph Joseph Puggi has thus far been denied.
So who is Joseph Puggi? He is that quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering to me to make sure that I always do the right thing. And you know what? Sometimes I even listen…
BILL
