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My Son, Your Father Died a Hero
by Betty Gagne

Tony Focca, Jr., with Mom Pat Focca Moniz

When you look at Patricia Focca Moniz today, you see a smiling, vibrant blonde woman with bright, happy eyes and a hearty laugh. But life was not so cheerful for this woman back in the summer of 1957, when she first learned of her husband's demise aboard the USS Somersworth. . . . . . . .

It was mid-July, with typical hot, humid, sticky nights; nights that make it hard to sleep, especially if you're a young navy seaman's wife and your husband is out in a ship at sea. Pat Focca kicked off the sheets and sat up in bed. It was dark outside, and the hands on the clock indicated it was close to 3am. She yawned and stretched, recalling the beautiful summer day she'd spent earlier with her 2 year old son, Tony Jr.

A surge of desire to look at her sleeping boy drove her to stand up and walk quietly to his
room. By the soft glow of a nightlight, she tiptoed over to his crib and gazed in loving wonder at him.
Even in sleep, he looked so much like his Dad. His olive skin, deepened by the warmth of the days' summer sun, was smooth and flushed; thick, dark, tousled hair covered his little head. His chubby, dimpled hands were splayed out on each side of him, and as he lay on his stomach with his face turned toward Pat, his rhythmic breathing filled the warm night air. Pat gently touched his bare back and felt him flinch slightly; but he was in a deep sleep, despite the sticky night.

She quietly padded over to the window and looked out at the dark, deserted street. Although the Focca's had moved to New London, Connecticut 3 months before, Pat knew she'd have to start living her life knowing that her husband, Anthony J.Focca SR., was going to be away for frequent blocks of time. Pat sighed. She was lonely. She had little Tony to fill her days, and what a joy he was. But the nights - oh, the nights were too long, and too empty. Knowing her husband was supposed to be home the next day for a short time eased some of her loneliness, but the lift was immediately followed by a sinking feeling that said their time together was too short.

She laid down on the spare bed in Tony's nursery and began to drift off to sleep. As her mind slowed down and twilight began to take over, Pat began to dream. In her dream, Tony was playing with baby blocks on the floor. He picked up a plastic hammer and began hitting the hardwood floor with it. Bang, bang, bang . . . . . . bang, bang, bang . . . . . . .

Pat opened her eyes, still half asleep and ready to take the hammer away from Tony. Bang, bang bang, she heard, and she was awake now. Darn neighbors, she thought, annoyed. Don't they ever sleep? But there it was again - loud, repeated banging. She stood up and walked to the window. Looking out, she saw 3 uniformed men standing outside her door. Startled, she headed for the door while slipping quickly into a housecoat.

When she swung the door open, she was met with 3 pairs of concerned, serious eyes. "Are you Anthony Focca's wife?" one of them asked.
Despite the heat, Pat Focca shivered. "Yes, I am," she answered.
"May we come in?" was the next voice she heard. "There's been an accident aboard the USS Somersworth. An explosion seriously injured several crewmen, and killed 3 others."
Pat Focca froze. Not her Tony. It couldn't be. "Is . . . . . . . . is my husband alright?" she asked kindly.
She already knew the answer. Of course. He's fine. He's going to be home tomorrow.
But the concerned men were silent, until one of them answered her. "I'm afraid not, Ma'am," he answered in practiced military fashion.
"Surely you don't mean to tell me my husband is dead," Pat whispered. She could barely hear or feel her own voice; it sounded like it was coming from somewhere else.
But the three men, who were holding their hats over their hearts, all nodded with their faces tipped downward. One of them handed her an unread letter with shaking hands . . . . . . . . .

"I can talk about it now," Pat says today. "But it's been a struggle for my son. I eventually re-married and had more children. But Tony has always been painful regarding his fathers death." She paused, adding that, "Brophy and Turley were real good friends of his, too." Frances P. Brophy and John R. Turley were also killed in the explosion on board that day, which was caused by the lighting of a too- short fuse.

All 3 men, plus a fourth, Antonio Ico DeGuzman, who was lost in a 1953 shipboard incident, were remembered in the Memorial service that was held at 11am on Saturday, July 17th.

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