Testa Durra…Part Two:
Out of boot camp and off to casual company. That is where you wait for your orders to be cut.
I was there for a couple of weeks and then off to school in 29 Palms California. Average temp-too hot if you’re not a marine.
I was in Air Traffic Controllers and Weapons Tactical Management School. That is where we sat in a radar hut and watched for friendlies or bogies. “Friendlies” were ours and we managed if they could make it to a target given their fuel and weapons payload. “Bogies” just never made it home. We learned weather and communications also.
I was heading for the top in my class when the instructor came to me reminding me that a Major was in the class. Apparently it was not courteous to outdo an officer. The Major overheard the instructor and came over. He said, “Marines do the best they can, go for it.” As a result, I was at the top of my class.
I wanted to go to Nam, but the numbers said no. So, I was stationed at Willow Grove Naval Air Station.
One day, I was summoned to duty. A 707 out of Philly was on a direct path in line with an F4 Marine aircraft out of Johnstown. The captain said, “Onesti, do something!” I had equipment at my control that was 40 years ahead of its time. Bear in mind the speed of an F4 is around 1600 miles per hour. The cruising speed of the normal 707 was 500-600 miles per hour. So, the F4 could get in trouble 4 times faster and was more maneuverable.
I told the Marine pilot to take his hands off the controls and stuff them down his trousers. A little brash on my part (heedless of the consequences) mixed in with a bit of nervous, scared, and trust your training. This was a new data link system that allowed digital connection and communication between ground control and the auto-pilot system. In reality, the Marine pilot was not rendered useless of course, but I, like the fourth seat in the Blue Angels, could see everything and help with the decision. I told the captain of the 707 to hold fast asking for hie altitude. Dropping the F4 in altitude and taking it to port, we; the equipment, the F4 pilot and the training, quickly and efficiently avoided a collision, (details omitted). This allowed the 707 to continue to climb normally and on course, and the passengers never spilled a drop of their respective drinks. The captain of the 707 told me he was impressed with my fast thinking and actions and to give him my name as he would put me in for a commendation to the FAA and the Marine Corps. He never mentioned the Pilot of the jet…oops. I told him that I just told a Marine pilot to stuff his hands down his pants and I respectfully declined to mention my name. He understood. My CO, a smart guy, told me to get the hell out, go to the mess hall, put on my cover and grab a mop. Strategy…you do NOT wear your hat (cover) indoors unless you are armed. He knew that Major would be hot for me as soon as the wheels hit the tarmac. After all, I stole his thunder. He was right. The Major finally came storming in the mess hall, saw me with my cover on, screamed to take it off indoors, called me a few choice and familiar names, and stormed out…SAFE!
After a short while I went to my commanding officer and asked to be transferred to the regular Marine’s division and sent to Nam. My destination was Monkey Mountain. He thought I was nuts. He said radar operators were the first to be targeted. I said, my skill was such that I could save Marine lives. He said “No.” I was his top Air Traffic Controller and his best teacher. I was unimpressed. I told him I was going AWOL, Absent Without Leave. He said, “Where will you go.” I said, “Saigon!”
“OK, OK,” he said, “How about if I give you a duty where you can help your fellow Marines and still stay state side.” He let me go to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital where I helped parents reunite with their incoming Marine and Navy children. That sounded OK for now, except that he didn’t tell me I would help reunite parents with parts of their children.
I took moms and dads aside and schooled them gently that what they saw go off to war, was not what they were going to see now. I told them that their son, there were no daughters at the time, was injured, some very seriously both physically and mentally. I told them that a positive front, no matter how hard, was best.
In we would go to the hospital room, and invariably, parents would lose it. Fathers would weep, mothers would faint. I would stay to stabilize the situation as long as I had to.
If you want to see something difficult, watch the face of a mom look at her once whole son with no legs, or arms, or parts of their faces. I still lose sleep over this; my PTSD is intractable.
Then one day, my Commanding Officer said, “Onesti, you are walking like an old man, what’s going on?” I didn’t know. I went into the radar hut, 50 degrees to keep the equipment running, and my body was going stiff.
He sent me to my doctor who said I had arthritis, especially from the waist down and he never saw this in a young man.
My Commanding Officer sent me to the Naval Hospital, this time for an evaluation. The Navy doctor agreed with the finding of my doctor and deemed me unfit for duty. I thought I would retire or die as a Marine and they evicted me! Yet another dream demolished!
What to do with the rest of my life. A good friend suggested that Pennsylvania had a Vocational Rehabilitation Department, and I should go see them and I did. After much testing, they gave me a full scholarship to the Philadelphia Musical Academy. I was to be a music educator carrying on the tradition of my Uncle Frank. However, you don’t just get in to PMA just like that. You have to audition. My Uncle Frank had a good friend, Florenza Decimo Levengood, a piano professor at PMA. We met, I played for her. She was kind but reminded me that most people that get into conservatories at that level start playing seriously when they are five! She said that perhaps in five years or so I would have a shot. OK! I started lessons with her and practiced some 6-8 hours a day. My advancement was nothing short of miraculous. At the end of the year, she said that because I was going for Music Ed and not performance, I might have a shot, and a shot I took. I got in!
My body and pain worsened. PMA was a 5-year program. I transferred to Temple as it was a 4-year program in an effort to reduce my sentence. I just could not finish. All the while, I continued to do piano tuning and repair to make a living…things didn’t go well for me.
I continued to have trouble walking. I went to the Rothman Institute where Dr. Vaccaro told me I had severe scoliosis at the base of my spine, specifically L1 through S5, and the amount of arthritis suggested an injury when I was a young man. I never put the two together; falling from the rope climb in boot camp and trauma induced scoliosis. I didn’t pass the MCATS!
I had L3, L4, and L5 fused to straighten my spine and relieve the nerve pressure.
I now live with a pain level of an 8 on a good day and off the charts on a bad one. BUT I’m a Marine. I still work a full week at 76 and I probably should be retired, but I can’t afford it.
So, some time ago, I got a letter from the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. They said, “I think you might be a veteran.” I laughed. They gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out-I did.
I received a follow up that said, “We think you are trying for Veteran’s Benefits. If so, please fill out this paperwork.” Same paperwork! I did.
So, one day I was working at the Proclamation Church in Bryn Mawr. A young man from Congresswoman Mary Gay Scanlon’s office called to say “I see where you are trying to get your veteran’s records. I would like to cancel that and help you do it correctly.” I went on line, filled out a form, and gave them permission to get my military records.
A few days later, he called again and said he had half a ream of paper on me. He didn’t know if what I needed was in there would help but sent them over to me immediately.
In the first few pages were the reports from my personal physician and the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, both in agreement. I had a body full of arthritis and probably trauma induced scoliosis.
In steps Dave Delloso State Representative. His office kicked into gear and set me with the American Legion who is running point on my problem.
So now I am in the middle of going through the process of trying to get the VA to understand what happened. I was marked fit for duty when I went in the Corps and thrown out shortly thereafter.
The rest is history. I worked hard as I pointed out in an earlier blog, became rather competent at what I did and built a small but sustaining business built on work ethic and pain.
Welcome to Ralph Joseph Onesti Piano Restorations…not my choice!
OK…back to the top. Am I uninteresting and useless? I’ve thought so all my life. I wanted to be a Marine…I was handed the road not taken. Did I like that? NO. But, I did manage to find a way to be useful after all and I must blame it on my Marine training; NO MAN LEFT BEHIND!
I have taken up a career in helping others. Like my platoon buddies said, “Onesti is the guy you want to have your back in a fight.” And sometimes, the fight is life. In the course of my working I have aided kids in finding the right school or helped them find the right career path, assisted volunteer organizations become more useful and efficient, helped people get through unthinkable tragedy, supported people through brake ups, helped people come out and to have the courage to be themselves, helped musicians get on the right career path and also to get through recording sessions and performance anxiety, supported folks through times of loss, helped folks find the right doctor or psychologist, helped people find the right pet, helped people appreciate themselves for who and what they are, and yes, I have even babysat for some of my clients. The only person I have yet to appreciate, or help is me! I must fix that.
With the help of my beautiful and wise partner (wife, boss, supporter) I will fix that.
As my psychologist said, some people who are abused learn to pass on the abuse and others learn to stay abused. I chose the path of the latter. I will fix that too. If it weren’t for Gretchen, my wife, and my Psychologist Dr. Vincent Morello…long process…I kept from pointing the gun in the wrong direction.
Vincent taught me what PTSD was, how to meditate, do controlled breathing and even tapping therapy…all working. And as irony would have it, I found him through Dr. Mark Tennenbaum a client for whom I built a Mason & Hamlin A (which he still loves to this day…hey…I’m good) who ran the Wayne Counseling Center…Thank you Vincent and Mark and Gretchen, I love you all.
OK….sorry, got to get back to work. Someone may need help!