September 11, 2009
Today, family and friends said good-bye to a hero.
Lino “Leon” Roggi of DesPlaines was laid to rest at Ft. Sheridan after a funeral Mass at St. Mary’s. He was 84 years old and was buried in his US Marine’s uniform with full military honors. He leaves behind his beautiful wife Marina, four children, grandchildren, a large family and many friends.
In 1944, Lino, Leon – or just “Roggi” as many called him, was a 19 year old Marine in Guam. His accomplishments in combat earned him a Silver Star and Purple Heart – as well as near-fatal wounds that left shards of shrapnel throughout his body. He carried those reminders of his war experiences for a lifetime; pain was a constant companion and memories of battle were never too far away.
Like many of his generation, Roggi spoke little of those events in the Pacific so long ago. We did know his actions saved the lives of other Americans before he was hit by machine gun fire. Despite the fact that he was given little chance of survival he was sent home to recuperate, or die, at Great Lakes. Perhaps it was his Italian hard-headedness, or simply knowing that nothing he had yet to face could compare with the horror he had already experienced, but he fooled them all.
He returned to Chicago, married Marina and started a family. One of my earliest memories of Roggi was when I was five or six and my parents were setting up for a party in our apartment in the Austin neighborhood. As the couples arrived, all dressed up, my sister and I were in our pajamas, ready for bed. Marina and Roggi walked in and I can remember turning to my mother and saying, “Mommy, he’s sooo handsome!” And he was. He had a wonderful laugh, dark hair and big brown eyes that held a mischievious glint, a sparkle that never faded over the years.
Roggi loved his friends, his cigarettes and the lotto, but most of all, he loved Marina and his family. He was a good friend to my parents, always there to celebrate, support, share, and return love. He was firm in his convictions, often not quietly expressed, but he had a soft side, especially where kids were concerned. His laugh was loud and genuine and his tears were real and heartfelt. He looked you in the eye when he spoke to you. You knew from the moment you met him, there was nothing phony about Leon.
Like my father, he was born in Italy and came to the US as a child. More than once, his naturalized citizenship caused confusion with local bureaucrats and during the 1950s, it was questioned by an election judge as he attempted to cast his vote. When Leon explained he had been born in Italy but naturalized through his parents, the judge insisted he couldn’t be a citizen. Frustrated, he opened his shirt, displaying his scars and saying “I wish I knew that before I got this!” The judge called the police and tried to have this decorated veteran arrested. I don’t know if he ever voted again.
Leon was proud of his service to his country but he scoffed at being called a hero. “The guys who didn’t make it home – those are the heroes,” he would often say. But in the eyes of all who knew him, he truly was a hero. It wasn’t only because of his brave actions as a young Marine, but how he shouldered that experience, never letting it go, and allowing it to forge him into the strong and loving man his family and friends came to know and hold very dear.
Semper Fi.
