Vietnam-era bracelets worn by sisters serve as magnet for odds-defying tales

TCPalm: Vietnam-era bracelets worn by sisters serve as magnet for odds-defying tales

I wanted to see Renee Piazza's reaction when she read the e-mails, so I hand-delivered them to her.

She reacted just as I had hoped.

She softly gasped, and then her jaw dropped.

"I'm getting goose pimples," she said as we stood in the lobby of her business, On Site Window Tinting.

The e-mails were from Indian River County residents Pat Lavins (who wrote on behalf of her husband, Dick) and Bob Brewer. Each wrote in response to Thursday's column about a POW/MIA bracelet that had been in Piazza's jewelry box for about 30 years.

The name on her Vietnam War-era bracelet: Capt. Vincent Scungio. He was declared missing in action on Nov. 4, 1966.

Dick Lavins, 73, served in the Air Force with Scungio and knew him well. For two years in the 1950s, they played together in the Air Force band. Scungio was a trumpet player, and Lavins played saxophone and clarinet.

"He was the greatest guy in the world," Lavins said. "He would do anything for you."

What are the odds, eh?

In Thursday's column, I also mentioned that Piazza's sister, Cindy Bryant, wore a POW/MIA bracelet for about 10 years. Like her sister, she kept it all these years — the name on it is Cmdr. David Cooley. He was declared missing in action on April 22, 1968.

"WOW," Brewer wrote in an e-mail. "Dave 'Spade' Cooley and I were good friends when we served in the same Navy photo reconnaissance squadron in 1962-63. We flew together regularly on training missions throughout the Western Pacific for the better part of a year."

Brewer, 74, added: "Please pass on my heartfelt appreciation for her honoring the memory of David Cooley."

Done.

Can you believe it? Two odds-defying coincidences from the same column.

Well, we're not done.

The following morning, Bill Mills, 62, who served in the Marine Corps, contacted me with his connection to the POW/MIA bracelet.

Like the stories of Lavin and Brewer, the one by Mills — who served in Vietnam for parts of 1969 and '70 — left me shaking my head.

"When I returned (to the United States), I went through San Diego," he wrote in an e-mail. "As I was going through the airport, a lady gave me a (POW/MIA) bracelet.

"After all these years, I lost almost everything to do with Vietnam, but I kept this bracelet. After reading Mrs. Piazza's story, I went into my safe and put out the bracelet with the name on it of Lt. Col. Robert Brinckmann and went on the computer to do some research.

"This is where it gets interesting. Lt. Col. Robert Brinckmann was missing in action Nov. 4, 1966 — and he was the pilot of the plane that (Capt. Vincent Scungio) was in."

Mills, who is a lifelong Vero Beach resident, e-mailed me a photo of his bracelet.

Simply incredible. Not only that he kept the bracelet, but there would be a connection to something he read in his local newspaper more than 40 years later.

The original POW/MIA bracelets during the Vietnam War were made and distributed by a student organization called Voices In Vital America (or VIVA). Millions of bracelets were distributed, but many years have passed, too.

Piazza made contact with the son of Scungio. She plans to mail him the bracelet.

Likewise, Mills is trying to contact the daughter of Brinckmann so he can send her the bracelet.

Lavins recalled hearing about Scungio's MIA status in 1996, at a reunion of the Air Force band. He and his wife did the math and realized Scungio was only 32 when he died.

Shortly after the Air Force band played in California for Mel Torme in 1958, Scungio had some health issues involving his gums, Pat Lavins said in her e-mail.

"As a result, he 'lost his chops' and was no longer able to be a musician," she wrote. "At this point, Vince applied for OCS (Officer Candidate School) and later earned his certification as a navigator. My husband left the military and returned to his hometown, Washington, D.C., at about the time that Vince was sent off to Vietnam."

Scungio was promoted to major posthumously.

"It really is a small world, isn't it?" Brewer said.