thedrifter
09-20-06, 09:18 AM
Dave McCarthy: Veterans contribute again, this time at the Westerly Armory
01:00 AM EDT on Wednesday, September 20, 2006
WESTERLY -- He was a young Marine just back from three years in the South Pacific, where he served first on Guadalcanal, then won battle stars at Bouganville, Guam and the horror that was Iwo Jima.
She was a member of the "Rhodie Girls," a group of young women who traveled to Big Band dances at military sites around Rhode Island and the huge Navy base in New London.
The Rhodie Girls were doing their patriotic duty. For an evening, the Rhodie Girls allowed war-weary servicemen, longing for home, to hold them close, but innocently, on the dance floor.
One of the most popular dances was held weekly at the Westerly Armory.
"Half the sailors from Quonset would be down here," Margaret (Lynch) Liammni recalled.
The young Iwo Jima veteran decided to take in a dance at the armory. He strolled through the huge doors to the big drill shed and immediately liked what he saw in Rhodie Girl Margaret Lynch.
She, too, was impressed -- at first.
They shared a couple of dances, but then Margaret dumped him.
"She thought I was a drunk," Anthony Limanni said. "I admit I had had a few drinks that night."
The young Marine had earned the right to unwind with a few drinks after surviving the hell of Iwo Jima, but his timing couldn't have been worse.
Over the next few weeks, Margaret learned from friends that knew him that Anthony Limanni was no drunk. But, though he tried, she refused his repeated requests for a date. She had another concern. Anthony kept passing out, all over Westerly. Her girlfriends warned her: "Don't go out with him. He's a sick guy."
Three years later, Anthony Limanni, his malaria brought under control, served as a driver for Margaret's father as he ran for Town Council in Westerly.
The spark that was lit at the Westerly Armory burned brightly during the campaign, and they married in 1948.
The other day, Anthony and Margaret Limanni visited the place they met 61 years ago, and looked over the window they "bought" that will preserve that meeting for posterity.
Westery Armory Restoration, Inc., the group restoring the armory, is "selling" windows to help in the restoration effort. WAR has, so far, sold 15 of the armory's 93 windows, which range in price from $250 to $1,000, depending on location.
"You can get posterity here and relatively cheaply," said Roberta Mudge Humble, who heads WAR.
The Limannis paid $750 for their piece of posterity. Their window lights the stairway leading to the second floor.
The window will carry a plaque that honors Anthony Limanni's service in World War II and the Korean and Vietnam Wars. It will also pay tribute to Mrs. Limanni's father and three brothers, who all saw war-time service. It will also mention the service of the Staab family. The Limannis' daughter Theresa is married to Dr. Arthur Staab, who comes from a military family.
The stairway to the second floor is around the corner from the armory's museum, where a mannequin wears Anthony Limanni's Marine Dress Blues from when he was a drill instructor at Parris Island, the Marines' East Coast boot camp.
He spent nearly 28 years in the Marines, reaching the rank of warrant officer. On leaving, he dropped down to the enlisted ranks because the retirement pay was higher. He reverted from warrant officer to master gunnery sergeant, which, along with sergeant major, are the Marines' highest enlisted ranks.
His Parris Island uniform stands near a window that was purchased for $1,000 by Earle Travis, who in 1947, as a 17 year old, joined the National Guard's Battery D of the 705th AAA (Anti-Aircraft Artillery) Battalion, which was headquartered at the armory.
"I was in high school and I suppose I had a soft feeling for the military," Travis said. "When they had a drive, I decided to join."
He graduated from Westerly High School in 1948, then went on to college and medical school. He retired in 1997, having served as chief of staff at the old Cranston General Hospital.
Dr. Travis rose through the ranks in the National Guard, from private, to master sergeant, to lieutenant. He also is considered a veteran of the Korean War although he never made it to Korea.
The battery got orders on Aug. 15, 1950, activating it for the Korean War, but its AAA guns got shipped to the wrong place.
"The guns went to Okinawa by mistake, and it was easier to change the place we were going than to move the guns, so we ended up on Okinawa." The antiaircraft battalion was put to work guarding an airbase on the island.
Now 77, Dr. Travis and his wife Carolyn, who have been married for 52 years, live in East Greenwich. Each Thursday, they drive to Westerly. She lets him off at a local coffee shop, while she visits with friends or shops.
When they left Westerly for Korea, the battery had 71 members.
"Of the 71, 38 are no longer with us," Dr. Travis said. "Every Thursday we meet at [the coffee shop] and discuss the old times. Sometimes we'll have 12 or 13; sometimes we'll have six."
He spent nine years in the Guard. He wanted to stay longer, but the pressures of medical school and starting a practice overwhelmed him.
"The armory is home to me. I enjoyed my time in the military," Dr. Travis said. "But there was competition for time. I was busy as the dickens."
His voice carried a tinge of regret. But armory director Humble perked him up with a verbal pat on the back: "You're a part of the armory and the armory is part of you."
The doctor's window plaque read, simply: "Lt. Earle Travis."
Dave McCarthy is the Journal's South County regional editor.
Ellie
01:00 AM EDT on Wednesday, September 20, 2006
WESTERLY -- He was a young Marine just back from three years in the South Pacific, where he served first on Guadalcanal, then won battle stars at Bouganville, Guam and the horror that was Iwo Jima.
She was a member of the "Rhodie Girls," a group of young women who traveled to Big Band dances at military sites around Rhode Island and the huge Navy base in New London.
The Rhodie Girls were doing their patriotic duty. For an evening, the Rhodie Girls allowed war-weary servicemen, longing for home, to hold them close, but innocently, on the dance floor.
One of the most popular dances was held weekly at the Westerly Armory.
"Half the sailors from Quonset would be down here," Margaret (Lynch) Liammni recalled.
The young Iwo Jima veteran decided to take in a dance at the armory. He strolled through the huge doors to the big drill shed and immediately liked what he saw in Rhodie Girl Margaret Lynch.
She, too, was impressed -- at first.
They shared a couple of dances, but then Margaret dumped him.
"She thought I was a drunk," Anthony Limanni said. "I admit I had had a few drinks that night."
The young Marine had earned the right to unwind with a few drinks after surviving the hell of Iwo Jima, but his timing couldn't have been worse.
Over the next few weeks, Margaret learned from friends that knew him that Anthony Limanni was no drunk. But, though he tried, she refused his repeated requests for a date. She had another concern. Anthony kept passing out, all over Westerly. Her girlfriends warned her: "Don't go out with him. He's a sick guy."
Three years later, Anthony Limanni, his malaria brought under control, served as a driver for Margaret's father as he ran for Town Council in Westerly.
The spark that was lit at the Westerly Armory burned brightly during the campaign, and they married in 1948.
The other day, Anthony and Margaret Limanni visited the place they met 61 years ago, and looked over the window they "bought" that will preserve that meeting for posterity.
Westery Armory Restoration, Inc., the group restoring the armory, is "selling" windows to help in the restoration effort. WAR has, so far, sold 15 of the armory's 93 windows, which range in price from $250 to $1,000, depending on location.
"You can get posterity here and relatively cheaply," said Roberta Mudge Humble, who heads WAR.
The Limannis paid $750 for their piece of posterity. Their window lights the stairway leading to the second floor.
The window will carry a plaque that honors Anthony Limanni's service in World War II and the Korean and Vietnam Wars. It will also pay tribute to Mrs. Limanni's father and three brothers, who all saw war-time service. It will also mention the service of the Staab family. The Limannis' daughter Theresa is married to Dr. Arthur Staab, who comes from a military family.
The stairway to the second floor is around the corner from the armory's museum, where a mannequin wears Anthony Limanni's Marine Dress Blues from when he was a drill instructor at Parris Island, the Marines' East Coast boot camp.
He spent nearly 28 years in the Marines, reaching the rank of warrant officer. On leaving, he dropped down to the enlisted ranks because the retirement pay was higher. He reverted from warrant officer to master gunnery sergeant, which, along with sergeant major, are the Marines' highest enlisted ranks.
His Parris Island uniform stands near a window that was purchased for $1,000 by Earle Travis, who in 1947, as a 17 year old, joined the National Guard's Battery D of the 705th AAA (Anti-Aircraft Artillery) Battalion, which was headquartered at the armory.
"I was in high school and I suppose I had a soft feeling for the military," Travis said. "When they had a drive, I decided to join."
He graduated from Westerly High School in 1948, then went on to college and medical school. He retired in 1997, having served as chief of staff at the old Cranston General Hospital.
Dr. Travis rose through the ranks in the National Guard, from private, to master sergeant, to lieutenant. He also is considered a veteran of the Korean War although he never made it to Korea.
The battery got orders on Aug. 15, 1950, activating it for the Korean War, but its AAA guns got shipped to the wrong place.
"The guns went to Okinawa by mistake, and it was easier to change the place we were going than to move the guns, so we ended up on Okinawa." The antiaircraft battalion was put to work guarding an airbase on the island.
Now 77, Dr. Travis and his wife Carolyn, who have been married for 52 years, live in East Greenwich. Each Thursday, they drive to Westerly. She lets him off at a local coffee shop, while she visits with friends or shops.
When they left Westerly for Korea, the battery had 71 members.
"Of the 71, 38 are no longer with us," Dr. Travis said. "Every Thursday we meet at [the coffee shop] and discuss the old times. Sometimes we'll have 12 or 13; sometimes we'll have six."
He spent nine years in the Guard. He wanted to stay longer, but the pressures of medical school and starting a practice overwhelmed him.
"The armory is home to me. I enjoyed my time in the military," Dr. Travis said. "But there was competition for time. I was busy as the dickens."
His voice carried a tinge of regret. But armory director Humble perked him up with a verbal pat on the back: "You're a part of the armory and the armory is part of you."
The doctor's window plaque read, simply: "Lt. Earle Travis."
Dave McCarthy is the Journal's South County regional editor.
Ellie