‘The night of fireworks, I avoid like the plague’
June 27, 2024 at 1:04 a.m.
The crunch of seed saplings crushing under the rescue carrier still echoes in Tommy Giorgi’s head.
In vicious agony, he suffered from second and third degree burns and a bullet wound to his pelvis as he counted his blessings and listened to the rhythmic snapping pick up speed at the same rate as his escape.
Part of an 18-man patrol, he had been ambushed during a poorly planned mission in Vietnam—one of five surviving U.S. soldiers from a day he remembers so vividly 58 years later. It was July 3, 1966; the day he got his “million-dollar award,” meaning: “wounded enough to get taken out of the game but will live to tell the story.”
Giorgi used to love the Fourth of July, but now it’s a holiday he’d rather skip over.
“This time of year, it starts to bother me, the closer we get to the Fourth of July,” Giorgi, a Rye Brook resident, said. “Since we’ve been living here, they’ve cut down some trees on Whittemore Place, directly across from Woodland Avenue where I live, and we have this complete, unobstructed view of the fireworks at Port Chester High School. You can sit on the front porch and see everything…and hear them. And that’s what bothers me.”
“They’re too reminiscent of my July 3.”
Next Thursday, the skies over Port Chester High School will become extravagantly technicolored as fireworks blast for the Fourth of July. In traditional Port Chester fashion, the community is invited to gather in Ryan Stadium for a show that will begin around 9 p.m.
It’s a holiday of patriotism. But to countless veterans, patriots who sacrificed their wellbeing for the mission of the Armed Forces, it’s a celebration that often elicits triggering reminders of trauma.
Fireworks, albeit awe-inspiring, are loud—booming in a way comparable to the startling clashes of war.
“It’s an anniversary date for me, and anniversaries are always hard. So naturally, I’m not in the best frame of mind, thinking about people I lost,” Giorgi said. “But the fireworks, they’re pretty, it’s nice to look at them and how they light up the sky. But the explosive sounds I can’t take. They just bring me back. I can’t really think of any Vietnam veteran who enjoys the fireworks.”
Chet Edwards said Giorgi’s sentiments are common, especially among combat veterans like himself.
A Port Chester resident, Edwards has dedicated his life to veteran advocacy. Whether it’s through his work with the Westchester County Veterans Alliance, the Hudson Valley Honor Flight, or as a peer-mentor, he works to support those dealing with the traumas he finds all too familiar.
“I’m very much a patriotic mind, so I like the celebration of the Fourth, I like the concept. I like the fact that we still celebrate the country,” he said. “I’m not so sure that the ad hoc fireworks and people making loud noises is really celebrating the country.”
“It should be seen as a holiday celebrating the birth of the country. The whole idea of fireworks and loud noises, it harkens back to the war that allowed us to become a country…but the focus should not be all of that, it should be the true meaning,” he later continued. “The random noises, to me, just doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
For combat veterans particularly, he said, loud noises can activate a sense fear, suddenly bringing them back to intense feelings of imminent danger without their understanding why.
And for some soldiers, he reminded that the Fourth of July can also stimulate another trauma—their treatment after the war.
Communities across the U.S. love to express their patriotism on the Fourth, but when soldiers, particularly from Vietnam, returned home, they didn’t receive such compassionate love.
Giorgi ultimately earned a Silver Star for heroic actions that day 58 years ago, attempting to save the lives of his comrades. It was an effort doomed from the start, but at least he got out alive.
“We were sent out looking for NVAs (North Vietnamese Army) that evaded us the night before. My patrol went south, and we picked up a trail which led us into a basecamp,” he recalled. “After we searched it, none of us liked the feeling we got. Everything was too quiet; it didn’t feel right. We wanted to get out, go somewhere in the shade and eat rations, but we didn’t get to do that because on our way out, the NVA were on their way back to occupy the base.”
The patrol got ambushed. Snipers fired from the trees as others quickly surrounded them to take fire from every angle. The army men were stuck for over five hours, waiting for a calvary to come to their rescue.
“It would pick up for a while and then would quiet down, and you’d think they’d left, but moments later someone would be wounded,” he remembered. “They’d call for a medic, but the medic was dead, and I’d have to call that out. Because that would just draw more fire.”
Even when rescue units arrived, the fight was far from over. Their evacuation carriers were hit by anti-tank weapons, causing explosions that severely singed Giorgi.
He was ultimately one of the few able to return home to his family.
“I was extremely proud to have served, and I love it when someone thanks me for my service, but that just recently started to happen,” he said. “Now it’s fashionable to be a Vietnam vet. But for years, we were ignored, or worse.”
“I still don’t know how we made it out. And that’s survivor’s guilt. Why did so many get killed and I lived? That’s hard to deal with, and all these feelings come out this time of year,” he said. “For anyone that’s seen more, you never stop seeing it. I’m in Vietnam every day. I remember every detail of July 3 like it happened yesterday. And while people have become much more understanding and gracious…this time of year is hard. It hits home. And the night of fireworks I avoid like the plague.”
The booms and clashes of fireworks are often triggering to combat veterans who experience hypervigilance. But when it’s a planned celebration like the Village of Port Chester’s upcoming program, Edwards said preparations can be made.
That said, everyone has different tolerances. While Edwards can handle a fireworks display, Giorgi typically spends the evening in his basement with headphones on.
“It’s the mental state you get yourself into. Though everyone has different levels of trauma and patterns of PTSD, for a lot of us, if you know something is coming, you can get into the right mindset,” Edwards said. “But it’s the sudden noises, when you hear sudden noises, you react back to something from your past. You don’t know why, because it’s so sudden, but it takes you back to your combat days.”
He referred to the most troubling part of the holiday—the individual celebrations, when folks set off firecrackers or smaller fireworks in their own backyard. The practice, ultimately, extends the Fourth of July throughout the entire week, leaving veterans on edge as they never know when it’s coming.
Folks must be aware of their audience, Edwards said. But it’s a sentiment not so easy to abide by.
“You never know who’s around you, and you might not know if your neighbor is a combat vet,” he said. “The thing is, veterans don’t necessarily talk about their service. So, we need to be sensitive and assume some people will be negatively affected by the sound.”
A spectacle is coming next week to remember the origins of the country, but Edwards hopes the men and women who dedicated their lives to maintaining it are equally celebrated through respect.
Comments:
You must login to comment.