Die^t       Part Three        

In the spring of 1996, I got a call from my Dad. Perhaps the first call I’d EVER gotten from my Dad. “Your Mother is having a stroke and we’re on our way to Pascack Valley Hospital” he said without greeting. I replied, “I’m meet you there.” And hung up. We are a family of few words.

When I arrived, my Mom was still in the Emergency Room. She was in a bed, eyes closed. My Dad was next to her. I stood next to my Dad and watched my Mom have a stroke right before my eyes. Bells and sirens went off and 2 nurses ran in asking us to step aside. They fussed and my Mom convulsed and shook. I was thinking what better place to have a stroke then a Hospital when a nurse turned and said, ”This is not good;” she looked at my father and said, ”your wife needs a Neurologist immediately and her current Primary Care Doctor is a local Dietician”. I asked what we needed to do and was handed a “Physician Release Form” to be completed by Mom’s current doctor.

I said to Dad, “I’ll do this”, mostly because its what Mom would have asked me to do. I got her Doctor’s name and address from the nurses’ station. It wasn’t far. On the way there I practiced opening remarks etc. He must have known I was coming because his receptionist got up and brought the form into another room; came out with a signature and I was gone. No yelling, no hitting. Back at the Hospital the Floor Nurse breathed a sigh of relief and made a call. Within 15 minutes I met Mom’s new Neurologist who advised my Dad, me and my brother (he had arrived during my absence) they would put Mom through a battery of tests yada yada yada.

Mom survived (kinda). The stroke was caused by a Brain Tumor. Surgery was tried but not completely successful. Mom was ok; she could walk and talk but she sometimes slowed down verbally and had trouble finding the right words. She stopped driving which was sad because she enjoyed her adventures with my Son one day a week when she would give my Lovely wife a few hours off. When I asked why she was going to a Diet Doctor sha said she had been taking the weight loss drug Fen-Phen. Again, why, I asked. And the answer was: “To be thin for your father.” Mom lived pleasantly with the Brain Tumor for 4 years and died in 2000.

Phen-fen is not a GLP-1 drug. It was a combination of two drugs, fenfluramine and phentermine, that were used as an appetite suppressant for weight loss under the Brand names: Pondimin or Redux. It was developed by American Home Products (AHP) and was taken off the Market in late 1997 due to its association with serious heart and lung problems. Some 4000 individual lawsuits, along with a number of class action lawsuits, are still pending.

Everyone has a reason to lose weight. Within the last 12 months, it has gotten VERY EASY to lose weight. Stab yourself once a week with a drug that tells your Brain your stomach is full. The fight is on for who will have access to this “Miracle Drug”. Oprah got it. The November issue of Men’s Health” has a swelt Tyler Perry down 30 pounds. At $1000 per month, most of Hollywood will be lining up. If you don’t have a Doctor, not to worry. Companies like RO have announced they have online doctors and can ship you not only the Branded weight-loss drugs, but they have a “Special Compound” that’s cheaper. Yes, Ro is about to become the Walmart of Weight-Loss drugs.

Meanwhile, Insurance companies are scrambling to figure out who should be covered, why and how much. Until then – the marketplace will dictate prices and you know what that means. Someone is going to make a lot of money. And rich people are going to start to get thinner than ever. And then (history tells us) the shit will hit the fan.      

Die^t       Part Two        

Lets talk the science of this drug and get terms right:

Google “What is a GLP-1 drug” and this is what you’ll see:  A GLP-1 drug is a glucagon-like peptide-1 receptor agonist, which is a type of medication used to treat type 2 diabetes. A GLP-1 drug works by stimulating the pancreas to produce more insulin and reducing the amount of glucose released by the liver. A GLP-1 drug can also help with weight loss and improve heart and kidney health.

That’s the science. There is a class of drug called GLP-1 that was found to help type 2 diabetics. In doing that, this same drug was found to help with weight loss because it also decreased the desire for food. Well, once that fact got got you can image what happened next. Yes, products were quickly developed, named, and brought to market. The European drug maker Noro Nordisk (NVO) was the first out of the gate with 2 unique branded products: Ozempic to treat Diabetes and Wegovy to treat weight loss. Not to be beat out of any profits, the US company Eli Lilly developed and branded Mounjaro for Diabetes and Zepbound for weight loss.

Zepbound was the drug Oprah injected to lose her weight. The drug was not yet approved for that use but who’s going to say Oprah did wrong. On November 23, 2023, Zepbound was approved and Weight Watchers International kinda pivoted their strategy from counting points to sticking a needle in your stomach. I guess there is no longer a reason for the ladies to get together weekly and cheer each other on, ya think? But Eli Lilly as any red blooded American company would do, made their drugs BETTER than the others. Yes, they have studies (very recent studies) that show you’ll lose MORE weight on Zepbound versus Wegovy or Ozempic. But Ozempic has got that catchy commercial with the slogan and all. Anyway, that’s the Science and the Market thus far.

The downside is perhaps made evident by a Tweet I copied yesterday: “Several people I know on Ozempic all complained that Chick Fil A does not taste good anymore. Some other fun foods as well, but the fried chicken from there specifically was mentioned. And they all tried it over and over again with same results. Like, why would you keep trying?” Think about that for a minute…….

Cost is $1000 a month. Will insurance cover? How much? If you stop injecting the drug, the weigh will slowly return.  Think about THAT too.

Die^t       Part One        

The research for this Blog Post began last August when I noticed the stock of a sleepy 100-year old Danish drugmaker rose 30% in one day. Seems this Company, Noro Nordisk (NVO), had not one but two new and highly successful drugs on the Market. Both drugs are once-weekly injectables of a ingredient called semaglutide: Ozempic is prescribed for Type 2 Diabetics and  Wegovy is approved for weight loss. Both were selling like crazy in Europe and creating a supply problem for Diabetics who needed Ozempic for “real” medical reasons and other consumers who only wanted Ozempic because Wegovy was out of supply and they wanted to lose weight.  Hmmmmm I said at the time, sorry I didn’t know before the stock jumped. BUT THAT’S NOT ALL!

In April 2023 Weight Watchers International announced the purchase of Sequence a one-stop weight management telehealth platform that employs clinicians able to prescribe drugs online. Sequence costs 99 dollars per month for access to its online platform. In October 2023, Oprah announced she lost over 60 pounds using a weight loss medication called Zepbound. Created by Eli Lilly (LLY), Zepbound just recently received FDA approval for weigh loss treatment. It is in the same Class of Drug (GLP-1) as Ozempic and Wegovy, delivered the same way by injecting into the stomach. The next day Weight Watchers announced the launch of the new Weight Watchers partnership with Sequence to deliver Zepbound to WW clients. A subscription to Sequence would be required. No more counting points for WW clients.

Flash forward to the TV commercials I started to see touting new weight loss drugs set to a catchy jingle. Then an October 20, 2023, a Wall Street Journal article pointed out the lack of a “modern” definition of Obesity is causing Insurance companies to hesitate to cover these drugs. Under the current definition of Obesity, half of the US population qualifies for Wegovy.

On Friday, January 5, 2024 as reported by the WSJ, Eli Lilly launched a Direct Sales Online service specifically to sell its “new anti-obesity drug Zepbound”. According to the article, the new service called LlllyDirect will take Lilly into new terrain and turns it into a rival to firms like Weight Watchers and even the Pharmacies the firm sells its drugs to. Buy the way, do you want to know exactly HOW these  drugs achieve weight loss? They send a chemical signal to your brain that you are no longer hungry. Yup. And you lose weight. As long as you keep injecting the drug into your stomach every week. Simple. The average retail price without insurance is $1000 per month. I’ll have more to say on this. For all you worriers or conspiracy theorists  –  it might be time to circle the wagons. There is a smell of PROFITS in the air and I’m just interested in maybe getting more than my fair share if possible.   

Sometimes you find things sifting through old papers and journals. Things that you kept because they moved you. I don’t know exactly when I acquired this story, but I know why I kept it:

A sweet lesson on patience. A NYC Taxi driver wrote: I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes, I honked again. I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.

‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

 ‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’ ‘Oh, you’re such a good boy,’ she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’ ‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly. ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. ‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds .She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. ‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse. ‘Nothing,’ I said ‘You have to make a living,’ she answered. ‘There are other passengers,’ I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. ‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. Be nice to a stranger today.  

Ode To The Onion by Pablo Neruda

Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth
the miracle
happened
and when your clumsy
green stem appeared,
and your leaves were born
like swords
in the garden,
the earth heaped up her power
showing your naked transparency,
and as the remote sea
in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite
duplicating the magnolia,
so did the earth
make you,
onion
clear as a planet
and destined
to shine,
constant constellation,
round rose of water,
upon
the table
of the poor.

You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists,
but to me, onion, you are
more beautiful than a bird
of dazzling feathers,
heavenly globe, platinum goblet,
unmoving dance
of the snowy anemone
and the fragrance of the earth lives
in your crystalline nature.

Ode to the Bloomin’ Onion by kongoboken

There are 687 Outback Steakhouses (as of October 2023). Only 4 states have NO Outback’s: North Dakota, Maine, Rhode Island and Vermont. Even Hawaii (5) and Alaska (1) have at least one. Florida has the most – makes sense since the FIRST Outback was opened in Tampa in 1988. There is one in Edgewater, NJ and I ate there when they first opened and yes, I had a Bloomin Onion, and yes it was GREAT.

Over the years, I’ve shied away from The Outback, not because of their steaks (which were decent enough), but because of that Bloomin Onion. I WANTED one but I’d remember reading things like it contained the caloric equivalent of 3 days of eating. And it had enough fat to kill Godzilla. It purportedly had turned 6 people in Australia into Salt Sticks. I’d be a FOOL to eat a Bloomin Onion. But still, something gnawed at me…. is it THAT bad.

Well let’s look:

1. Salt – 200% of a normal day’s intake. Effect – you piss it out.
2. Calories –  1950 No doubt about it, THAT’S a lot of calories. Best to be on a diet/lifestyle that doesn’t count calories, methinks.
3. Fat – 160grams, this is good on a Carnivore/Keto diet but terrible on the Standard American Diet (SAD).
4. Carbs – 117grams, surprisingly low until I read the onion is a low-carb vegetable.
5. Sugar – 28grams, a drop in the bucket on the SAD but terrible on Carnivore/Keto
6. Protein – 18grams, (who cares) you’re going to have a steak or a burger WITH this Bloomin Onion!! WTF

In Summary:

I just cannot get past that Sugar number Soooooo, I’m going to share my Bloomin Onion with my Lovely Wife. 14 grams of Sugar is not a problem with me.

Merry Christmas Eve to all.    

Nana Part 2 of 2

Nana’s family had a home in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey that she would visit in the summer. One uncle, Rudy I think, would get everyone outside early each morning for exercises. It impressed Nana because she talked about summers in “the Highlands” often. My Mom even remembers going down there. One day in the mid-1980’s my Mom, her brother, my Uncle Joe (Simon) and Nana took a ride down to Atlantic Highlands to search for the ancestral summer home. After driving around aimlessly we discovered the home had burned down “years ogo” (bummer).

The term “no social filtering skills” was coined to describe my Grandmother. When my wife and I were newly married both my Mom and Nana would constantly ask, “When are you two going to give us a baby?” Nana in her high-pitched voice could be particularly annoying. One Holiday, I leaned into her after she asked the baby question and said, “Nana, J and I can’t have children, my penis is too big.” Without batting an eyelash, she waved her hand dismissively and said, “Oh posh, all girls love a big penis.” I had no retort. At another family party my cousin’s wife had gained a few pounds and came under Nana’s scrutiny; “My, you gained weight”, Nana said in greeting and everyone in the room tried to be invisible. Not to let things rest there, Nana added, “You gained A LOT of weight!” I closed my eyes and tried desperately to recall my last root canal. Everyone always cut Nana some slack. I don’t know why.

When I started traveling for my job, I would always send a postcard to Nana from whatever city I was. When my son was born, I added him and would send 2 postcards from wherever I was. I liked to send my son the postcard that had a map of the state. They are hard to come by these days. At Christmas, I’d always include a big bottle of Jean Nate (Na-Tay) body lotion in Nana’s gifts, just to hear her yell, “Oh, look it’s Jean Nate” (you had to be there!!).

My father was not a big talker. My Mom always felt that was the reason Nana thought Dad hated her (don’t try to analyze that – just accept it). This happened more than once: Nana was alone in the kitchen “cleaning up” everyone else was in the living room watching a ballgame (it was my father’s TV). Suddenly two sounds were  heard in rapid succession. First a glass shattering, then a high-pitched voice shouting “I didn’t do it!” We’d all exchange looks, my Mom would get up and go into the kitchen, my father would shake his head and take a drag of his Marlboro.

Nana got the last shot at my Dad. The day she died, that evening, while watching a basketball game Dad got a nosebleed that just wouldn’t stop. He wound up at the local emergency room getting his nose packed. No reason was ever given, But I know. It’s obvious that Nana gave my Dad a good punch in the nose on her way to Heaven. I don’t doubt it for an instant. A few weeks after Nana died my Mom presented me with a shoebox that contained a 3inch rubber-banded pile of my postcards. Nana had kept everyone and had room for many more. I wonder what happened to her sock monkey? I should have asked my Mom.

Nana  (Part 1 of 2)

We didn’t have Grandmas when I was growing up. We had Nanas. I had two: Nana Fontaine (Mom’s side) and Nana Kyle (Dad’s side). But there was REALLY only one Nana to little Kevin: Nana Fontaine.

Born Viola Louisa Brizzlara in 1905, my Nana was raised on a pig farm in Secaucus, New Jersey. She remembered feeding the chickens and the pigs and milking the cows. Nana quit school in sixth grade to help out on the farm. Her parents Ella and Tony Brizzlara sold the farm in the early 1920’s and bought a bar in Hoboken, New Jersey on 2^nd Street and Park Ave. Viola worked in the bar where she met and fell in love with Simon Villa. They married and Simon came to work in the bar. They had 2 children Edith (my Mom) and Simon (my Uncle). What happened next would be relayed in a hushed whisper: Nana would lean into me and whisper “in was the Drink what killed my first husband”. Eventually, I figured it out.

Nana lost the bar but managed to raise 2 healthy well adjusted kids through the depression and World War 2. She married Steve Fontaine in the late 1940’s. I called him Pa but he died in a boating accident in the late 50’s. Nana lived in a 5^th flood walk-up apartment in Union City. She worked at a Sweater Manufacturer walking distance away and was paid piece-rate to fold sweaters all day 5 days a week. After she retired, she moved into the same apartment complex as her sister – my Aunt Edda. They had the same apartment but on different floors. They were cute together.

Nana had a unique way of pronouncing certain words. If you left food out it might spurl she’d say. To make pasta, you first must burl water. A person who couldn’t hear is deef, and of course the always funny earl for oil. She also had this strange offer she made EVERY time I picked her up for the drive to my parent’s house for a Holiday dinner. She was so consistent, I sat with confidence the first time I picked her up with my then girl-friend J in the front seat. Nana is in the back seat. I start driving. Wait for it. Wait for it. Suddenly from the back seat we hear a high-pitched voice: “Kevin, can I blow you for gas?” Life’s funny moments don’t get much better than that.

Nana, to little Kevin was always old. I would say to her, “Nana, you were born old.” She would smile and agree. I cannot remember a time when Nana complained about anything. When I was cleaning my parents’ house to sell it, I found a picture of Nana’s first marriage. She was beautiful. A tiny pixie of a girl with her whole life ahead of her. Nana could have said: “hey, buddy, I was a looker in my day.” But she didn’t.

                             To be continued……

The Wagon and The Fight                          

I was maybe 10 when my Mom decided I needed to get a job. She pointed to the red wagon outside our door. It rested in the hallway which led to the stairs up to the 2^nd and 3^rd flood apartments. She said in her you-will-obey-what-follows tone: “Take the wagon to the 6^th street A & P and ask ladies if you can carry their bags for them. They will give you a coin tip at the end of your journey.” I don’t recall arguing. Mom had a way about her.

I took the wagon handle and banged that red wagon down each of 20 stairs on my way out the two doors of 802 Washington Street. Hoboken used a grid pattern for streets. Numbered blocks were 100 kid steps long and the side streets were 50. Washington Street, for some reason lost in obscurity, was called “the Avenue” as it “I’m going down (or up) the Avenue”. The A&P was 2 blocks “down” and across the street. Every block on Washington Street had a traffic light. The light lasted 30 seconds (city kids know these things)

The A & P on 6^th Street took up FOUR normal storefronts – that’s 40 feet of store. Enough room to put bins of vegetables and fruit outside. The guy adding up Customers’ stuff knew exactly why I was there and directed me to wait and HE took over asking the ladies if they needed “a boy” (that would me). My first customer was VERY forgiving as I had not figured the physics of keeping grocery bags upright while dragging a red wagon up and down curbs (note: curbs were curbs back then – no wheelchair ramp enabled curbing). I forget what she gave me for a tip but I was instantly hooked with the Entrepreneurial spirit.

I was never without money from that day on. I even cut back on stealing from my Mom’s coats and pocketbooks. It’s possible she gave me the job to save more of her change. Anyway, whenever little Kevin felt the need for coins, the neighbors and probably most of the neighborhood, heard that red wagon hit every one of the 20 stairs.

One day, on my way back to 6^th Street from a delivery on Bloomfield, just one 50 foot block away but with a big incline, Billy Peterson plopped into my red wagon and said “Give me a ride up to Washington, will ya Kev?” Billy Peterson was the neighborhood bully. He was a little older and a little bigger than most of the other kids and liked being the big bully.

“No, Billy,” I said “you can walk it.” He wasn’t moving. I was facing the upside and he was in my red wagon on the downhill side. I saw my only advantage and went for it. With one big effort I picked up the red wagon handle and using gravity to help, dumped Billy onto the sidewalk. He was down and I jumped on him trying to pin his arms to keep him down. If he got lose he’d hit me. My only goal was to hang on till he got tired or someone came to break this fight up.

Here’s where something happens that I have many times repeated in my mind as one of the most frustrating moments in my life. Billy and I are rolling in the street and people are noticing and I can distinctly here the following exchange:

Man one: “Hey, What do we have here?”

Man two; “ I saw it all, the skinny kid started it. He dumped the big guy out of the wagon”.

Meanwhile, this skinny guy is hanging on for dear life and so out of breath I could not shout at the top of my lungs: “NOOOOO, Billy started it by plopping into my red wagon!!” Finally, a Cop came by (yes there was a neighborhood cop) and broke us apart. He recognized both of us (because he was THE NEIGHBORHOOD COP!!!). Told me to get out, grabbed Billy by the collar and started walking him home. Mission Accomplished

My friend Bruce posted this on his Facebook page. I like it and it fits into the “old” theme I’m currently into. Enjoy:

“An 87 Year Old College Student Named Rose”
The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned round to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.
She said, “Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?”
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.
“Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.

She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…”
“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.
After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up. At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.”

As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.
We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it! There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change.

Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets. ”She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.” She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died
peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.   in loving memory of ROSE.

REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

Thomas Robert Kyle Jr. was born December 10, 1946 at St. Mary Hospital in Hoboken, New Jersey. His parents, Thomas Sr. and Edith had two more boys: Kevin in 1949 and Dennis in 1954. Tom attended Our Lady of Grace Grammar school and graduated from Hoboken Senior High School in June 1963.

Both Tom and his mother were avid Bowlers and played in the Hudson County ABC League for many years. He attended Fairleigh Dickinson University for one year and was working at Becton Dickinson & Co. when he received his Order to Report for Induction into the US Army at Hackensack, NJ on January 26, 1966. That morning, the US Marines were also looking for a few good men and Tom’s six years of weightlifting / body building paid off when he was taken out of the Army line and inducted into the US Marine Corps.

After basic training at Parris Island, NC, and additional training at Camp Pendleton, CA, Tom was assigned as Rifleman to the 3rd Marine Division, Major General W.B. Kyle (no relation) Commanding, stationed near Danang in the Republic of Vietnam. In a letter dated July 23, 1966, Tom noted he had arrived at M Company, Captain J.G. Cooper Commanding, to find the guys very friendly but the company strength was down to 80 men from 150. His platoon (1st platoon) had 21 men, only six with combat experience.

On August 20, while on patrol, 1st platoon was ordered to fix bayonets and assault a large number of Viet Cong insurgents well entrenched in a tree line. During the assault Tom Kyle was mortally wounded. He was 19 years old.

Thomas R Kyle Jr. was awarded the Purple Heart, the Vietnam Service Award and the Vietnam Campaign Ribbon bar from the US Government. The Republic of Vietnam awarded him the Military Merit Medal and Gallantry Cross with Palm.

Tom’s body was accompanied home by PFC Tim Jennings representing the United States Marine Corps. He was buried at Maryrest Cemetery in Mahwah, NJ on August 31, 1966. His parents, Tom and Edith never recovered.