Airman James Timothy O'Neill -- The Last Fourth of July Hero

              

    Each year since 2015, around the Fourth of July, I've posted a tribute to the men who died in Vietnam on Independence Day 50 years earlier. This will be last such post.

    Navy Airman James Timothy O'Neill, 20, of Baltimore, was the last American serviceman to die in Vietnam on a Fourth of July, and he was the only one who perished on July 4, 1973.

 By the summer of 1973 the war was over. At least it was for most American troops, but not for Navy and Marine personnel clearing mines from the coast of North Vietnam under the peace agreement.

 Operation End Sweep as it was known began on February 6 and ended July 18, 1973. With just two weeks to go in the operation, he was killed in an accident aboard the USS Ogden when he was caught in the closing door of a Sea Stallion helicopter. He was an aircraft maintenance technician stationed on the USS Tripoli, but he and other sailors from that ship were dispatched to the Ogden to help with operations there.

 Timmy, as he was known to his family, was the eldest of six children, two boys and four girls. His father, John T. O’Neill, was a Baltimore city police officer, and his mother, Bridgid McMullen O’Neill, was a homemaker. His immediate family also included a cousin, Thomas B. McMullen, who was the same age as Timmy and was like a brother to him. Thomas graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1974.

 One of Timmy’s sisters, Peggy Zulkowski, remembers the day her family learned of his death. Due to the dateline difference, it was still the Fourth of July in the United States when they were notified. “Because our father worked shifts, we never had a cookout on the Fourth of July, but that was the one year we did,” she explained. The family had returned home after watching fireworks when a car pulled into the driveway with a chaplain from the Naval Academy in nearby Annapolis and another Navy officer, bringing the news that Timmy had been killed. July of 1973 was the height of a gasoline shortage. Ms. Zulkowski recalls, “Their car ran out of gas in our driveway, and we had to siphon gas from our cars so they could leave.”

 Ms. Zulkowski was in her early teens when her brother died, and she said her parents talked very little about the circumstances of his death. It was not until she was in her fifties that she learned the entire story by searching the internet. One of the things she discovered on an Operation End Sweep message board was that the pilot of the helicopter on which Timmy died suffered severe guilt the rest of his life due to the accident.

“How sad to think someone would suffer all those years over something that was an accident,” she said. “If that man had come to our door he would have been welcomed. We bore him no animosity.”

Timmy had an aptitude for mechanical and electronic equipment, and he helped his father in his sideline of repairing cars. He was also an avid fisherman and would sometimes take off and walk several miles to his favorite fishing hole.

Ms. Zulkowski said Timmy enlisted when he was 18 and loved being in the Navy. He was not much for writing letters, but he sent his parents detailed tape recordings telling them in great detail about his work and travels.

            One person who never even knew Timmy posted a memorial to him on an online wall. It’s an unusual message and illustrates the wide variety of people who were affected by Vietnam. Dated 2001, the message is signed simply “YN3 McClurkin” (YN3 is the abbreviation for Yeoman Third Class). His message said:

“I never knew you in 1973, but I knew of you. Until this day I never knew your name was on the ‘Wall.’ I remember typing the Captain's letter of condolence to your parents. Processing the letter disturbed me because it all seemed so sad.

“In July of 1973 everything was just about finished, wrapped up, the final curtain for a long involvement and you should have been home in a few months. Occasionally over the past 28 years I have recalled typing that letter, wondering how your family must have felt when they received it.

“I know nothing about the life you lived. I know nothing about the hopes and plans you may have had for the future. This I do know. God never intended for mankind to be in conflict with one another.”

I searched for “YN3 McClurkin” to share with him the information I had learned about Timmy but was never able to find him.

One of Timmy’s high school friends, Bob Lari, posted a message that illustrates the type of person he was. Bob, who knew Timmy since they were nine or ten years old, wrote:

 My memories of Tim include his incredible skill with models and electronics.  I didn’t recognize it at the time, but that skill was evidence of Tim’s awesome analytical intelligence blossoming.  I was 18 years old when Tim was killed while serving off the coast of Vietnam.  Before he enlisted in the Navy, we spent countless nights watching late night horror movies, building models and rockets, and engaging in adventures some of which I am not at liberty to share.

“In 1971 like most juniors I received my high school class ring.  Later that year there was an evening activity night at the school.  Tim joined me and my usual entourage from school.  As the evening was winding down, we went outside and sat on a small hill overlooking the football field.  All was well until an acquaintance from school attacked me from behind.  I was seated at the time and at a significant disadvantage.  We tumbled down the hill and landed on the football field in single combat.  I don’t recall how long the engagement lasted, but it ended in a draw as our respective factions pulled the belligerents apart.  To this day I don’t know what motivated the attack.

“On the drive home, I noticed my class ring had fallen off during the affray.  It was near midnight on a moonless Saturday night, and my ring was somewhere on an unlighted football field.  I decided it was futile to return to the field as the odds of finding the ring were slim even in daylight.  Everyone went home and went to bed, or so I thought.

 “Early Sunday morning my dad followed his usual routine of going outside to retrieve the Sunday paper from the lawn.  When he opened our front door, he noticed something Scotch taped to the outer side.  It was my class ring.  While the rest of the town slept, Tim went to his house, retrieved a rake, hiked back to the school, and in the gloom of night raked the football field until he found my ring.

“I have no words to describe my gratitude or my sense of loss at the passing of the best friend anyone could ever ask for.  Knowing Tim, I can’t help but believe he was probably attempting to help someone when tragedy struck.  The loss of a friend is still heartfelt to this day.”  

 Timmy’s death touched a wide circle of friends and family. He had a large extended family (his  mother was one of 16 children) and the O’Neills lived in a close-knit neighborhood. Timmy’s remains were not returned to the States for more than a week after his death, and during that time there were numerous visits and expressions of sympathy from friends and relatives. Practically the entire neighborhood attended his funeral, held July 13, 1973, at St. Ursula Catholic Church, followed by interment at Baltimore National Cemetery. His mother died in 2013 and his father in 2015. The family obtained special permission from the Veterans Administration for them to be buried in the same plot as their son. Their names are inscribed on the reverse of his tombstone.