Oh, Say Can You Die?

This book is about a man named John who loved his government enough to die for her. Unfortunately, he did just that—not as a hero but as a victim of negligence and bureaucratic bungling.

John Louis Zocco joined the Army after the Second World War, even when he was not called upon to serve. My husband for thirty-four years, a man fiercely loyal to his Sicilian heritage, gladly served this, his beloved country, both as a soldier and in responsibilities as a civil servant. When not sporting with his sons or me, he loved to cook spaghetti sauce, play the accordion and smoke his pipe.

In the military, he was commissioned as a policeman to transport prisoners out of this country and back to a defeated Nazi Germany. John, enormously proud of his service to the United States government, was chosen to join America's Honor Guard recruited to participate in burials at Arlington National Cemetery. This squad of elite troops would fire a twenty-one- gun salute honoring presidents and enlisted men alike. He would guard doors at autopsies of fellow soldiers who died in accidents while in service for their country. He escorted bodies home to the families of his fellow soldiers and spoke kind words to the bereaved. John was the officer who folded the funeral flag and gave it to the mother of the deceased. To sensitivity and compassion, he was no stranger.

He possessed thick, wavy, dark brown hair, gorgeous, sensual brown eyes, and a smile at once inviting and beguiling. To our sons, Sam and John Junior, and to a dog named "Cinnamon," John was a hero.

As a people person and a peacemaker, John made friends easily, could talk to anyone on any subject, and would never allow a guest in our house to leave without bestowing Sicilian hospitality. Though he worked the nightshift at a local Post Office, many times he gave up his days to help friends when he should have been sleeping. He would run over to their houses to help them move, rush out to rescue someone in trouble, or hurry off to sit with a friend who needed someone to listen.

My husband made every day a joy for his sons and me. As a Godly man, he took seriously his responsibility to his Creator. His deepest peace came on Sunday morning when he sat after services in an empty church feeling God close.

John and I had many plans for our retirement. He would finish his time at the Post Office, take his pension and relax for the first time in his life.

Those plans are now a ghost story: John is the ghost. That sentiment holds a deeply sad and dark message because death is final and incontrovertible. That is both the truth of it, and the agony of its certainty. John is dead. He will never come back to earth again. I am left with only memories.

Why couldn't my husband realize his simple plans? Why was he cut down in the prime of life? Why were our sons and I robbed of a lover and a provider? Why were his friends cheated by this tragedy?

You might ask if John was killed in an accident, or by a robber? Did he die of natural causes? The answer will surprise you.

No, John was killed by the government of the United States, the government he loved and served with honor. He has no medal to remember his heroic deeds as a citizen in civil service.

John was killed not only by his government but also by a whole host of people who were connected with his death. In one- way- or-another, they all contributed to the crime. I would not believe it if I had not lived through it. I tell you it would take an intentional act of the devil to repeat this crime, it was that incredible.

John's ghost will remain in this book. It is a tribute to him as an irreplaceable human being. I need to tell the story of how he was killed, the cover-up that followed, and why he never had his day in court.

If you pick up this book and get a warm feeling, that is John drawing you to him. Come closer and he will fill you with the truth. Perhaps then he can find his rest at last.