Families Remember Vietnam War MIAs 'He Always Wanted to be a Soldier'

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.

The Skibbe Family

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.

David Skibbe's Prospect High School senior photo

Courtesy of Joan Tomoff

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.’”

David (L) and Joan Skibbe (R) with their parents and baby sister.

Courtesy of Joan Tomoff

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.

David Skibbe as a Marine

Courtesy of Michael W. Preston

“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 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.”

Joan Tomoff, David Skibbe's sister

Courtesy photo

The Lewandowski Family

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 built cousin was popular in the neighborhood. “He was a good-looking kid. All my girlfriends wanted to date him. He loved to laugh and do things to make other people laugh,” by telling jokes, fake tripping and performing silly dives into the lake.

Leonard "Lonnie" Lewandowski Jr. - High School senior photo

Lonnie was a 20-year-old Marine rifleman when on Oct. 19, 1966, he and two others were participating in a rest and relaxation program at the Cua Viet River in South Vietnam and received permission to go swimming at a nearby beach. They then disappeared. Although their clothes and shoes were found on the riverbank, no one saw them swim, drown or be captured. Despite a three-day search and rescue operation, neither they nor their remains were found. No information on their fates has ever been discovered. The government told the family the men drowned.

“When they said he drowned, I didn’t believe it,” Connie said, adding that no one in the family did. She said he was an excellent swimmer and spent many days in the water near her home in Round Lake where her family eventually moved. “He was very athletic, always moving.” He shared this penchant for sports with his brothers. “Lonnie wanted to do everything his brothers did,” Connie said. “Lonnie’s mom said, ‘He thinks he can do everything they do.’ There were many baseball games on the corner lot. They could throw a football over the house.” Lonnie used his football skills as guard and captain of his Gordon Technical High School football team. He was also close with his sister and made sure she was always included in activities. “He was very protective of her,” Connie said. “She always looked up to him.”

Leonard "Lonnie" Lewandowski Jr. - Guard and captain of high school football team

After Lonnie went missing, Connie’s grandmother discouraged her from mentioning him to his family, especially his mother, for fear it would upset them. “She said, ‘Don’t talk too much about it and make her cry. It’s very hard for them.’ You didn’t know what to say or what you could do.” The regular visits from the Marines were so upsetting that Lonnie’s father had to ask them to not return unless they had definite news. Connie said stress caused his hair to go from sandy brown to white within one year.

Lonnie’s mother died on his birthday, having always held out hope he would one day return to her alive. “Now she’ll know for sure where he is,” Connie heard someone say at her wake. She said when Lonnie’s father was asked if he if thought his son was alive, he responded: “I doubt it. Knowing him he wouldn’t be cooperative,” believing his son was captured by the Viet Cong, then killed when he refused to divulge information. Connie agrees with his theory.

Fifty-four years after her cousin went missing, Connie shared how she would like him to be remembered: “He believed in God, his family and his country and being of service to people and being a nice guy. I think he would have been everybody’s brother.”

Connie Kraly, Lewandowski's cousin, with her husband Russ.

Courtesy of Connie Kraly