Families Remember Vietnam War MIAs 'H by Stella Kapetan
There are 29 Vietnam War servicemen from Illinois classified Missing in Action. In honor of POW/MIA Recognition Day on Sept. 17, the families of two local Vietnam MIAs shared memories of them and the effect their absence has had on those who love them. Joan Tomoff asked her brother David if she could drive him to the military base where he would ship off for Vietnam. “He said, 'You can drive me, but you can’t cry,'" she recalled recently from her Arizona home. “My mom and his fianceé cried. I told him ‘I’ll take you, and I won’t cry.’ And I didn’t cry until he left.” It was the last time she saw him.
FROM THE STREETS
2nd Lt. David William Skibbe was born on Oct. 22, 1946, and raised in northwest suburban Mount Prospect. He and Joan, three years his senior, lived with their parents William and Ruth and younger siblings Janet and Bill. “He always wanted to be a soldier,” Joan said of David. “He always played like he was a soldier. My mother said, ‘He was only 4 years old, but you can tell he’s the leader of the neighborhood.’”
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On March 2, 1970, David was 23 and leading a seven-man reconnaissance patrol in in Quang Thoung Duc Province, South Vietnam, when they engaged in battle with the enemy. He was shot in the leg, and a medevac helicopter was called to pick him up. A jungle penetrator – a cable device – was lowered from the helicopter, and David’s comrades strapped him to it to be hoisted onboard. He reached about 100 feet and had cleared the trees when the cable snapped, and he fell to the ground. Miscommunication between the helicopter crew and ground troops resulted in each thinking he was safe with the other. After the rest of the men were evacuated, it was discovered David was not with them. A crew was sent to try to locate him, but heavy enemy fire prevented them from landing. Later, an intensive ground search involving hundreds of men was conducted, but neither David nor his remains were found. He was classified Missing in Action. His status was later changed to Killed in Action - Body Not Recovered after it had been determined he could not have survived the 100-foot fall and that personnel aboard the helicopter did not see his body move after he landed on the ground, according to a military document in the Library of Congress. “I remember going out in the backyard and wailing,” Joan said of her reaction upon learning that her brother was missing. “I couldn’t stand it.” She said they were “happy, optimistic” kids who often spent time together, both with neighborhood children and just the two of them, despite their personality differences – he was assertive, she was shy. They joined in games of ball in the street, basketball in a neighbor’s driveway and went sledding. One of her favorite memories is when she was 7, and 4-year-old David kept her company going door to door selling the 20 Chicago Daily Newspaper subscriptions she needed to receive a free bicycle and they stopped in one home for a cup of hot
The Skibbe Family Above: David Skibbe's Prospect High School senior photo (courtesy of Joan Tomoff ). David Skibbe as a Marine (Michael W. Preston photo). Right: David (L) and Joan Skibbe (R) with their parents and baby sister. (courtesy of Joan Tomoff ) Joan Tomoff, David Skibbe's sister (courtesy photo).
chocolate. She often babysat and always let him stay up past his bedtime to play cards with her. They engaged in typical sibling rivalry she calls “recreational fighting” except when they were alone. “We never fought when our parents weren’t around,” she said. Their mother, who is 99, and their father believed for a while that David could be alive but came to accept that their son died, and his body will not be found. Joan has always thought he died when he fell in the jungle. The day after hearing the news that David was missing, Joan was feeling unwell due to her pregnancy. "I couldn’t feel sorry for myself,” she said. "I went to the park. I enjoyed being in nature. I enjoyed being alive. If he had to die, I was going to live my life. That is a gift he gave me.” Leonard “Lonnie” Lewandowski Jr. grew up with his parents Leonard Sr. and Virginia, his older brothers Steven and Dennis and younger sister Irene at 1612 W. Beach Ave., near Ashland avenue and Division street, in a three-flat where his aunts, uncles and cousins also lived. Lonnie’s family lived in the coach house since they were the largest. Connie Kraly is Lonnie’s younger cousin by 11 months and lived near the family. “Lonnie and I were close,” she said. “We got along really well.” She said that her brown-haired, hazel eyed, athletically
