Wingfoot: Tracking the 101st Cavalry: Farewell and thank you, Joseph Coccia

A few years ago, I traveled to Maryland to meet and interview five men who had served with my dad in the 101st Cavalry. For some reason, the Maryland group became especially dear to me: Buck Fluharty, Charles Covey, John Borotka, Robert Klein, and Joseph Coccia. Just writing their names makes me smile.

These lovely men all invited me into their homes and told me their stories. First I went to St. Michael's on the Eastern Shore where Charles Covey told me I was the first person he had ever talked to about the war. And Buck Fluharty showed me his model airplanes, started up his motorcycle for me, and contributed dozens of photos for my book. It was an amazing opportunity.

In Baltimore, I went to Joseph Coccia's house, where I spent more than two hours with him and John Borotka.

Joseph Coccia c. 1944

Although the two men had grown up in the same Baltimore neighborhood, they had not know each other until they joined the 101st Cavalry. During the war, their mothers became friends because their sons were serving in the same squadron.

"John told his mother everything," said Joseph, "and I told mine nothing, so they would get together." It was the only way his mother could find out what was going on.

Joseph had trouble hearing--a gift from the war, he said. Howitzers going off over his head had been so loud his ears began to bleed. The medics sent him to the 63rd evacuation hospital, but there was nothing they could do. John fought in the battle for Merkendorf, for which his troop received a Unit Citation.

Joseph Coccia 2007

After the war, the men remained friends, found jobs and raised families.

The day I met with them, Joseph dominated the conversation with stories of the war, his family, the Catholic Church--anything and everything.

John wanted to tell me about Merkendorf, and I wanted to hear about it, but we both willingly gave the floor to Joseph. He had an impish sense of humor, and I would get so caught up in his stories that I forgot to take notes. Before I left, he even sang a song for me. Music was an important part of his life, he said. Music and family.

As I walked down the sidewalk to my car, John Borotka asked to buy me lunch. He still had his story to tell. We had lunch, and I finally heard about Merkendorf, as well as more stories about his friend Joseph.

I don't know if John is still alive, but this past January, Joseph's daughter sent word that her father had died. He was 92. As always, I cried. I want them to live forever. I have grown to love them--maybe because I still have so many questions. Maybe because, in their presence, I feel close to my dad.