Remembering a Veteran: Immigrant Doughboy Antonio Pierro, 82nd Division

Antonio Pierro (1896–2007) was born in the Italian town of Forenza, the son of Rocco and Nunzia (Dell'Aquilla) Pierro. His birth date was recorded as 22 February 1896 in the baptismal records. Pierro immigrated to the United States in 1914, and lived in Marblehead and Swampscott, Massachusetts. In 1917 he enlisted in the army, and trained at Fort Dix before being sent off to combat. Pierro saw action in the Battle of Saint-Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Pierro served in France with the 82nd Division's 320th Field Artillery. Returning to the U.S. in 1919, he married Mary Pierre in 1920. She died in 1967. 

In civilian life, Pierro managed a Boston Pontiac body shop for many years and retired from the General Electric jet engine plant in Lynn in 1961. He was a member of the V.F.W. Post 2005 in Marblehead and IUE Local 21. He was a former member of the American Legion "Redmen" in Swampscott. Antonio Pierro died on 8 February 2007, just a couple weeks shy of his 111th birthday.

New American Soldier
Tony Pierro of Forenza, Italy

Just before he passed away, the author of The Long Way Home: An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War, David Laskin, interviewed Tony Pierro and later gave our historical organizations permissions to reprint it:

Here in Seattle, Veterans Day coincides with the height of the rainy season, which seems fitting given the wretched weather that the soldiers endured in France in the weeks leading up to the 1918 Armistice that Veterans Day commemorates. "During the night, a cold penetrating rain began," one soldier wrote of conditions on the first day of the Argonne offensive that ended the Great War. "We couldn't build any fires. We had no overcoats, and had left our blanket rolls in the Bois de Sivry. Some found overcoats and blankets left by the Boche, and rolled up in those. The army slicker is as good as nothing, as far as heat goes, and as to turning water—well, we who wore them in the Argonne, knew what they were worth. The moisture from one's body collects on the inside of the coat, and as soon as the wind strikes you, you are cold for the rest of the day."

French  75 Similar to Those Fired by Tony's Regiment

Such was life in France in the fall of 1918. The rain and wind outside my window seem blessedly benign by comparison. But I really wasn't intending to devote this blog to the weather, rather to the back story of one of the 12 immigrant soldiers featured in my book. When I started researching in earnest in the summer of 2006, two foreign-born World War I veterans were still, miraculously, alive—106-year-old Sam Goldberg and 110-year-old Antonio Pierro. Naturally, I wanted to meet both of them as soon as possible.

I don't recall exactly how I tracked down Tony Pierro, but I do remember that a radio producer named Will Everett was extremely helpful in the process. At the time, Will was taping interviews with the surviving World War I veterans for a radio program called The World War I Living History Project that he was putting together, and he had just spent a long, productive, if sometimes frustrating, day taping an interview with Tony at the Pierro residence in Swampscott, Massachusetts.

The Old Soldier with His Decorations, Including a
Recently Awarded French Legion of Honor

I have learned over years of research and writing that some people jealously guard everything they know about a subject, while others share freely, even with perfect strangers. Will was one of the latter. When I called to pick his brain, he told me that the best way to set up an interview with Tony was to contact his nephew Rick, he advised me to use a loud clear voice in asking questions, and he warned me that I shouldn't expect too many combat stories—after all the guy was 110. Will added that my best chance of getting Tony to talk freely was to bring a pretty young girl along to the interview.

This last bit of advice amused me—110 and still an eye for the ladies!—but Will was insistent, so I pressed my oldest daughter Emily, who fits the bill nicely, into service. I can't say that Tony opened up much—he seemed to be dwelling peacefully deep inside himself and far back in the past. But, with Emily sitting beside him and intercepting the occasional shy courtly smile, Tony talked some about the snakes in his family's vineyard back in Forenza in the south of Italy, the dangers of dodging exploding shells in combat, and a French girl named Magdalena he had loved nine decades ago. When we got up to leave, Tony took Emily's 21-year-old hand in his 110-year-old hand, leaned over, and kissed it.

David Laskin's volume on America's new
immigrants who served in the AEF is still
 in print and can be ordered HERE.