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by Dean Glorso
$26.00
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Our Bella / Canvas v-neck t-shirts are made from a 50% cotton / 50% polyester blend and are available in five different sizes. All v-necks are machine washable.
Design Details
This is an oil painting of a Vietnam War Hero: Then Major Lono, XO of Marine All Weather Attack Squadron 242, Marine Air Group 11, First Marine Air... more
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This is an oil painting of a Vietnam War Hero: Then Major Lono, XO of Marine All Weather Attack Squadron 242, Marine Air Group 11, First Marine Air Wing. Major Lono was listed Missing in Action over Laos in September 1969. Artist Dean Glorso served with the Major as the Squadron Mail Clerk.
(BIO PHOTO CREDIT: Adrienne Summers) Dean Glorso grew up in the 1950s and '60s on a 4-lane highway just outside Chicago. On a typical summer afternoon, he and his brother Sam would sit on the front porch and watch the cars go by. For hours they played a game of, "Who could name the make and model first". The love for classic cars caused him to begin painting the details of their uniqueness. Retired at age 72 Dean now works full time building his fine art image. CREDITS / AWARDS: 2016 First Place National Veteran's Arts Festival: Poem "The Major's Mail Call" 2018 First Place Oil on Canvas Eastern Colorado Regional Veteran's Arts Festival "1958 Chevy Reflections" 2020 First Place Oil on Canvas Eastern Colorado Regional Veteran's Arts...
$26.00
Dean Glorso
The Major's Mail Call - by d. glorso Like santa claus I drop the sack letters from the world I sort and stack some familar, some new as i flip through the mass some special for Marines Missing or killed in the act Vietnam my job the mail takes care then I see the letter scent fills the air the hand writing so perfect the black ink so clear the blue - green envelope smells sweet and dear she dosen't know, the word just around the Major's mission must have met ground he's the EX-0, I look up to, all give him respect, i stare long and hard at the letter, and cock my neck, and reflect on the times I handed him the stack, blue-green, in his chair he'd lean back, his feet found their way to the crate called his desk, with a smile he'd thank me, I'd deliver the rest, leaving him to read the letter scented so sweet, now I wonder how many years she will weep, the cross on the wall not yet removed, the major's mail call, death not proved.