With Memorial Day weekend recently behind us, I’ll tell you one last soldier’s story about the late John A. Pica Sr., who shipped out from Baltimore’s Little Italy and came home as one of Maryland’s most decorated World War II heroes.
He received the Silver Star for “heroic gallantry in action,” the Bronze Star for “bravery and valor,” and two Purple Hearts.
“It was nothing,” Pica used to say. “Every time I ran for my life, they gave me another medal.”
In 1944, while serving as an Army infantryman, Pica volunteered for a hazardous patrol mission near Italy’s Mount Pantano, scouting German defense positions, crossing flat terrain under enemy fire with no trees or rocks to hide behind.
In the radio and newspaper reports of the time, he said, “I zigged and zagged to dodge the fire. I remembered zigzag dances we used to do back home after a football game.”
Once, after scouting enemy positions, Pica headed back to his own lines and heard a man moaning. It was an American officer who had wandered into a minefield, set off an explosion, and lost his eyesight and one of his legs.
Pica made his way across the field by setting off mines with his bayonet. Then, through bursting shells, the exhausted Pica carried the officer for six hours until they reached safety.
Twice, he was taken prisoner. Once, he and a Jewish kid from Brooklyn named Bobby Polansky were captured by the Germans in the Italian town of Cassino.
“They’ll kill me,” Polansky whispered to Pica, “just for being Jewish.”
“Not anymore you ain’t,” said Pica, thinking fast. “Throw them dog tags away.”
Then Pica took off his own dog tags and slipped them around Polansky’s neck.
“You’re Catholic now,” said Pica. “Only …”
“Only what?”
“Only you better learn to say the ‘Our Father.’”
Home from the war, Pica had a schoolboy incorrigibility. Stationed at Fort Meade while the fighting continued in the Pacific, John would sneak down to his parents’ home in Little Italy for Sunday evening dinners.
Military police were sent to take him back. When they got there, Pica told his mother, who spoke no English, “Don’t worry, Mom, they just came to invite me back.”
He was back in the neighborhood when the war ended. He ran down to the Della Noce & Sons Funeral Home in the heart of Little Italy, “borrowed” a casket and got a pal to dress up as Japanese General Tojo and lie in the coffin.
Pica, who died in February of 2002, went on to a term as a Baltimore City Councilman representing the Third District. Years later, his son, John Jr., served in the state legislature. His late daughter, Maria, had one of the great stories about her dad and the patriotism he held to his dying day.
In the immediate aftermath of the Sept. 11, 2001, terror attacks, many Americans flew U.S. flags outside their homes — so many that the stock of available flags diminished, and it became difficult to buy one. Some citizens then took to swiping neighbors’ flags.
By this time, the failing Pica was living in an apartment a block from his old neighborhood. Maria went to see him. Hanging on a living room wall was an American flag.
“Daddy,” said Maria, “don’t tell me you stole that flag.”
“Stole it?” said John. “I fought for that flag.”
Michael Olesker’s latest book, “Boogie: Life on A Merry-Go-Round,” was recently published by Apprentice House. It’s the life story of Baltimore legend Leonard “Boogie” Weinglass, an original “Diner” guy who grew up to create the Merry-Go-Round clothing chain and contribute millions to charity.
What does it mean to be fully present with each other and the sacred, asks Maryland-born cultural anthropologist Alanna E. Cooper.
As millions mourn the passing of Stephen Colbert from the airwaves, Michael Olesker looks back on the "institution" of late-night TV.
As he gets ready to leave for California, Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg looks back on his time in Baltimore and his 10 years writing for Jmore.
