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thedrifter
11-19-07, 08:53 AM
At 87, old Marine's itching to return to his post
Monday, November 19, 2007

The Marine Corps ball just wasn't the same without Tom DeFrancisci.

He looks forward every year to the gala affair with his brothers from the West Hudson detachment of the Marine Corps League, in Kearny.

The ball, held in Carteret, is steeped in tradition and ceremony. Marines are dressed to the nines, wearing red blazers or suits. Ladies are decked out in long gowns. The color guard is there, and bagpipers play reverently. Taps and "Amazing Grace" recognize Marines who died for their country. An empty glass is turned over, to remember Marines who died the past year. Each name is read and a bell is rung.

The commandant, the highest ranking officer, cuts the cake with the sword of a non-commissioned officer. The first piece goes to the oldest Marine. He passes the second piece to the youngest.

This was the first time in 15 years that DeFrancisci, 87, didn't get to eat his cake.

It was Nov. 10, the 232nd birthday of his beloved Corps. Marine detachments across the country gathered in their own way to celebrate, to be always faithful -- "Semper Fidelis."

"They were there and I was stuck here," DeFrancisci said. "What can you do?"

DeFrancisci was in the hospital recovering from an accident on Nov. 5. He's a crossing guard at Cedar Grove Middle School and did what he normally does during dismissal. He greeted the kids, their parents, stopped the motorists.

"Everybody is in such a rush these days," he said.

He made sure it was safe at Ridge and Rugby roads when he turned to cross the children. That's all he remembers. Everything went blank, like he was blindsided. A woman in her 80s hit him with her car.

"I felt like I was flying," he said.

He's a lucky man -- no broken bones. But he's sore, real sore. Everything on his right side hurts. Even his teeth on that side.

DeFrancisci can handle the pain. Not being active is what he doesn't like while on the mend. The crossing guard gig kept him busy in his retirement. So did a job making parade floats when he was 71 years old. He's always worked, putting in an honest day wherever he punched the clock.

When he returned home from World War II, where he had served in the southwest Pacific, DeFrancisci repaired sewing machines in Newark. Two decades in that business was enough, but DeFrancisci kept on working. He took a job as a toll collector on the Garden State Parkway, then left to care for his wife, Carol, who became ill. When she was better, he needed something to do.

He was too old to drive a truck and not technical enough to deal with computers. DeFrancisci tried the company with the parade floats, but the crossing guard job was a better fit. And Carol, to whom he was married for 48 years, had passed away. He was in his element at the middle school. It put him in touch with people, just what a personable character like him needs.

DeFrancisci always has conversation. Cordiality is his creed, a basic tenet of manners and decency. He's a throwback, a value-based man. Give up your seat for a lady on the bus. Hold the door for her if she enters a building, gets out of a car. Remove your hat in her presence.

DeFrancisci is old-school. He raised his twin sons, Pat and Michael, with a Do It the Right Way, My Way style of discipline.

Pat says it was a good solid upbringing from his dad, a man he considers a hero from a generation too often taken for granted.

"He's still trying at his age to do the right thing," he said. "He's still going strong."

DeFrancisci doesn't know how long it'll take to recover from his injuries, but he can't wait to get back to his post.

"It's not a question of 'if.' It's a question of 'when,'" said Thomas Tucci, town manager for Cedar Grove.

"He's all about the town. He'll take his jacket off and give it to you on a cold day. He'll give you the last dollar in his pocket. He's a giver, not a taker."

DeFrancisci misses the students. He misses social night on Fridays at his Marine detachment. They play poker, eat home-cooked meals over laughs. Venison stew was served recently. Eggplant parmigiana, too.

But he missed having his piece of cake, remembering one year when he and his grandson were the youngest and oldest Marines at the ball.

The disappointment of not being there this time was obvious. His Marine brothers knew it. Last Tuesday Frank Buffardi, 77, walked into his room at the Waterview Center in Cedar Grove. Sal Marotti, 80, and Perry Piwowarski, 58, were not far behind.

They teased him, joked with him. They talked about the Corps, the bond between Marines, the paraphernalia they wear. Buffardi had his ring. DeFrancisci, a sweat shirt. Marotti, a hat. Piwowarski, the eagle, globe and anchor on a chain around his neck -- like the chain DeFrancisci was wearing the day of the accident.

"It's probably what saved his life," Piwowarski said. "That's an old-school Marine right there. That's a salty Marine."

He was definitely missed at the birthday ball. They brought him a slice of chocolate cake to let him know that.

"All we need is some beer," DeFrancisci said.

"I could go get you some, put it in a Yoo-Hoo can," said Piwowarski, playing around. "Hey Sal, you're supposed to think of that."

DeFrancisci ate some cake, then looked into the camera. It wasn't the Marine ball, but he celebrated the birthday of the Corps after all. He was able to be always faithful.

Semper Fidelis.


Barry Carter may be reached at bcarter@starledger.com or (973) 392-1827.

Ellie