World War II buddies reunite after 66 years apart

From NOLA.com: World War II buddies reunite after 66 years apart
Soldiers Joe Pennino and Frank Bonfield last saw each other in the summer of 1945, just after the United States dropped the atomic bomb on Japan. But on Saturday, the old buddies reunited at the National World War II Museum and swapped happy stories about jitterbugging at military dances, hijinx at soldiers’ rest camps on the French Riviera, and the day Pennino tapped the pope on the shoulder.

The two also recalled more somber times: Allied loyalists in Italy who were captured and tortured by Facist agents working for dictator Benito Mussolini. And the day they first saw dead American soldiers after a fighter plane had crashed into a nearby mountain. They gathered up scattered body parts and, most important, the dog tags that identified the soldiers.

“We knew then it was war,” Bonfield said, recalling the gruesome crash scene.

The two close friends — whom Bonfield described “as compatible as brothers” — met while serving in North Africa and Italy in a unit of the 5th Army. Both were Italian-Americans in their early 20s who spoke their parents’ native tongue. They bonded over a mutual love of horses and a shared capacity to horse around.

In August 1945, not long after Allied forces had triumphed in Europe, the two men were headed home for a 30-day leave before more service in the still-active Pacific theater. Suddenly, as their ship crossed the Atlantic Ocean, bells began to ring and everyone embraced, crying out, “They dropped the atomic bomb! The war’s over!”

“But it was a funniest thing, that happiness,” Bonfield said. “We were so happy that we almost forgot everything else.”

Ecstatic, the two men left for home without bothering to exchange addresses, not realizing they wouldn’t talk for 66 years. Bonfield established himself in Newcastle, Penn. Pennino, a New Orleans native, returned home to Mid-City and eventually settled in Covington.

Bonfield had traveled to New Orleans several times in the past to visit a cousin, the Rev. Tony Rigoli of Our Lady of Guadelupe church. Each time he looked for Pennino, but had never found “the right Joe.”

This time, however, Alice Bonfield, his wife of 64 years, went online and found a press release about a spry old horse trainer named Joe Pennino. The release had been posted by a Houston public-relations executive Laura Pennino, Joe’s daughter. After a few phone calls, Saturday’s reunion was arranged.

During World War II, the United States government interned more than 3,000 Italian-Americans and classified more than 600,000 as “internal enemies,” a classification that came with restrictions banning travel of more than five miles from home and the ownership of short-wave radios or cameras.

But the U.S. Army found ways to capitalize on its bilingual Italian-American soldiers by training Italian-American troops who parachuted behind enemy lines to help build support among the Italian people, Pennino said.

Pennino was occasionally called on to interpret. And while they were stationed in Italy, Bonfield helped Allied troops communicate with partisans who hid in the mountains, gathered intelligence and helped foment rebellion behind Germany Army lines.

Bonfield, whose family name was changed from Bonfiglio by a schoolteacher who couldn’t understand why the ‘g’ should be silent, became a full-time interpreter after suffering injuries in North Africa. The Allies had captured Italians fighting for Mussolini and needed someone fluent in Italian to head up a prisoner-of-war camp.

Throughout the war, Pennino served as the orderly — “basically, flunky,” Pennino said — for Lt. Col. John N. Hauser. Hauser, also a horse-lover, had met Pennino through the stables at Jackson Barracks and selected him to be his driver. So when Hauser landed duty in Africa, he requested Pennino, who was on call at all hours.

Pennino got perks as well. When their company was stationed near Rome, Bonfield stood in line to greet Pope Pius XII but never got to touch him. But since Pennino was later stationed “with the brass” near the platform where the pontiff walked out to greet the crowd, a major gave him permission to chase the papal ring.

So Pennino hopped onto the platform, tapped the pope on the shoulder and said, “Papa, I’d love to kiss your ring.” He got his wish and created a time-honored narrative he told more than once to passing visitors at the museum on Saturday.

Noting that his older brother was a priest, Pennino tapped on the knee of his old friend Bonfield Saturday morning and delivered his tried-and-true punchline.

“You remember? I wanted to be able to tell my brother: ‘You may work for him but I kissed his ring.’”