The mortar round blew Bob Valentino off Mother Earth, and when he landed, blood spurted from his leg.

Bob, a twenty-two-year-old infantry squad leader, was atop a hill in Vietnam. It was during the Tet Offensive on Feb. 11th, 1968. His squad, although receiving incoming mortar, were reluctant to dig foxholes. Bob said, “So I yelled at them that they had to dig to survive.” That’s when the mortar round took Bob—up—then down.

After the explosion, his men dug foxholes furiously. Bob’s memory of that digging made me recall my boating days and the saying, “The most efficient bilge pump is a frightened man with a bucket.” 

Bob was treated at the bottom of his foxhole in—relative—safety.

Shrapnel had torn through Bob’s leg, but he didn’t get choppered out till the following day. A tourniquet and morphine helped him survive, but a four-inch difference in the shrapnel’s tearing penetration would have been fatal. Bob called his wound “superficial,” but it took him four months to recover. That’s not superficial.

Bob Valentino’s survival was lucky for him and many others.

Speaking with Bob, one sees a man of soft-spoken charisma. When one gets to know him and sees how he gets stuff done, you know why he’s known as the go-to guy.

Bob worked many jobs: truck driver, forklift operator, and coffee plant worker. Finally, Bob said, “My stepfather told me to take the walk-in Transit Police test.” Bob followed his advice but said, “I got off at the wrong stop in Manhattan. I had to walk about 15 to 16 blocks for the test. It was snowing, and I wasn’t properly dressed.” Bob said, “I almost turned around and went home.” But he kept going and took the test. 

Bob said, “It’s funny how things work out, huh? That decision made my whole life different.”

Another challenge he overcame made Bob’s life different, too.

At the hiring interview, Bob said, “A Lieutenant told me, ‘Since you were wounded in Vietnam, I don’t know if we can hire you.’” Bob replied, “I was a track guy. You get ten people, and I’ll race them down this hall and beat every one of them.” The Lieutenant relented, and Bob became a NYC Transit Police officer. Did that Lieutenant sense a drive in Bob that overcame his reluctance to hire him? Did others see that same drive in the course of Bob’s life?

But I think other events, too, affected Bob Valentino’s life.

Bob served in Vietnam with Sergeant York, no relation to the famous Sgt York of old films. 

This York, Sgt Emmett York, was from Corpus Christi, Texas, and he was, Bob said, “a wonderful man. The funny thing about him was that he hated fruit cocktail,” Every boot-wearing human in Vietnam loved fruit cocktail, of course, so Bob was fortunate that Emmet chose him for the cherished cocktails.

I wasn’t surprised

One day, he said, they were in ditches, because they were so close to the enemy, that rifle fire was backed up with fusillades of grenades hurled from both sides.

Sgt. York went down in that hail of fire. Bob and two others helped load him onto a chopper. Bob recalls, “My hands were dripping with his blood.” Sgt. York, 23, died from his injuries.

Bob went through basic training with Sgt. Bill Jurza, and now both were in Vietnam. Bill was 6″ 3″ about 240 lbs. He was supposed to go home in June, but he died in April. He was 26, an only child. Bob said, “I go to his grave site when I can, he’s buried near my grandmother.”

Bob survived other firefights, but to him, more importantly, was that he never got captured. Bob said that being with only 24 men and surrounded by a hundred or more of the enemy, meant he could be captured. He said, “If I’m gonna die, you don’t even know you’re dead, but I didn’t want to be captured. That’s one scenario I didn’t want to have.”

Bob survived Vietnam, but I think his close calls, friends dying, and blood dripping from his hands made an impression on him.

Sometimes, war experiences cause people to have serious difficulties in civilian life. Still, sometimes, others gain a sense of purpose to try to make the world a better place by helping others have better lives. I guess that applies to all of us. We can’t avoid life’s horrors. So much illness, injury, injustice—and death come to us. But what do we do with that pain? Do we let it take us down? Or do we use the energy from it to give us purpose and add joy to others’ lives? To bring some balance to life on planet Earth?

Bob’s charisma, combined with a desire to improve life for others and a singular aptitude for organization and networking, resulted in a life of success.

Born in Hoboken, NJ, in 1945, Bob had an Uncle Shoey, so named because his dad was a shoemaker. Bob said, “This was about 1955, and Uncle Shooey would say, ‘Did you help your neighbor? Did you help your grandmother? Did you help your fellow man? Don’t lie to me.’” With the correct answer, Uncle Shoey would reward Bob with a dollar bill. 

Bob came to the Transit Police well armed, not with an M-14 or a Smith and Wesson—but with a bowling ball.

Bob always wanted to be a pro bowler, but Vietnam put a hold on that. He loved to bowl; he’s bowled seventy sanctioned 300 games. He was on a pro bowling tour. Bob said, “When I was a boy, I hoped I’d bowl one 300 game someday.” He’s also won several regional tournaments and is in the Long Island Bowling Hall of Fame.

As a rookie cop, Bob worked 8:00 P.M. to 4:00 A.M., But one day at the pistol range, Bob fell asleep during a class. Furious, the range officer, Rudy Zubikowski, hauled Bob into his office. Bob said, “He started yelling at me, but what do I see in his office—bowling trophies.”

Bob said to the Range Officer, “You bowl? I was going to be a pro bowler but the military…” The range officer, Zubikowsky, stopped him and said. “Whoa, you’re bowling with me.”

They later went to Maple Lanes in Brooklyn where they met newly made Lt. Joe Scutaro. Bob said, “Joe didn’t know how to bowl at all so I taught him.”

A year later, Bob told Joe Scutaro he’d have to quit bowling because the 8:00 P.M to 4:00 A.M. tours were killing him. 

Long Story short outcome: Bob gets transferred to stakeouts with Saturday and Sunday off.

The C.O. of Stakeouts, after a hard start, took a liking to Bob and later had him assigned to Transit Police Headquarters, Jay St. Bklyn. Since that day Bob worked in administrative capacities for the Court Unit and the Tactical Patrol Force—headed by Captain Joe Scutaro. Bob made Sergeant, then Lieutenant. He never went back to patrolling the subways of New York.

After Bob’s wife, Jessica, gave birth to his son, Bob needed more income and wanted to work a second job. Phil Rizzuto’s nephew was a Transit cop, and worked in security for David Rockefeller; he helped Bob get a job there. 

Bob and other off-duty Transit Police officers worked their second front securing Rockefeller’s Manhattan home, a double townhouse with about 25 rooms. 65th between Third and Madison. Bob worked for David Rockefeller for forty years.

Bob said the Rockefellers loved that Transit cops were their security. He said, “Mrs. Rockefeller was hard to get along with, but she liked us.” One day, Bob said, “She sent the butler to buy cassette tapes. So he returned with 12 tapes for $36, $3 a tape.
 So big mouth, I said, ‘Mrs. Rockefeller, I’m sorry I should have told you. I can get them for $24. dollars, two dollars apiece.’ 
Now, they are billionaires. She sent the Butler back to get the money back and got me to get her 12 cassettes for $24. Oh my God.”

One day, the Rockefeller Head of Security asked Bob, “So you’re from Hoboken?” Bob said, “Yes.” When Frank Sinatra, also from Hoboken, came to New York, Bob was assigned to be his bodyguard.

In 1982, while at the Waldorf with Sinatra, Frank asked Bob to find him a phone. Bob found a private one in a closet-like area. Frank went in but left the door ajar. In the hallway, Bob heard Frank Sinatra sing Happy Birthday to his granddaughter. 

Bob said, “Later, Frank said to me, ‘Bob, would you like to come up to the penthouse? We’re having a party.'” Bob said, “Yes,” and soon found himself on an elevator with Gregory Peck and his wife, Cary Grant and his wife, and Frank Sinatra and his wife.

With raised eyebrows, Bob said to me, “ Lee, holy jeez. And we get up to the penthouse, the doors open, and there’s all these people, Mohammed Ali, George Burns, Eddie Fisher, Janet Leigh, I mean, all these celebrities, and everybody was wondering who I was, you know, ‘Who are you? Who are you?’”

Frank Sinatra had come a long way from Hoboken, where, in the 1930s, and he was twenty years old, he sang at Uncle Shoey’s Cozy Corner for three dollars a night. So had Shoey’s nephew—Bob Valentino—come a long way. 

Bob, a prolific organizer, said, “I ran retirement parties, bowling leagues, softball leagues. I ran the police Olympics.” Al O’Leary, the Transit Police Communications Director, knew talent when he saw it and told Bob, “You’re my guy.” Bob became O’Leary’s assistant and public relations spokesperson.

Bob retired in 1995. In 2023, Bob was asked to become president of the NYC Transit Police Retirees organization; he agreed, although he was still heavily involved with other organizations. Since taking the position, over one hundred more members have joined.

Bob was always the guy who knew a guy.

Bob spoke of the many times his intervention helped others. Once, a waiter for Marina Del Ray catering hall, where Bob had many parties, failed his Transit Police hiring evaluation. The owner of Marina Del Ray called Bob. Bob made a call; the man was reevaluated and hired. Bob said the guy “had a wonderful career with the Transit Police. It changed his whole life.”

Bob said, “Just the other day, a guy called me up and said the dosage on his wife’s medication was increased, and the insurance would not cover it. I made two phone calls and it was taken care of for them.”

I spoke with Vincent Salerno, who recalled his days as a Transit cop when Sgt. Bob Valentino took him to lunch and asked him what he wanted out of his career. Vincent said Bob sat with him for an hour, gave him advice, and paid for his lunch.

Retired Deputy Inspector Vincent Salerno said, “That made a big impression on me. Now, thirty to thirty-five years later, I remember it.”

Vincent Salerno was still with the Transit Police when they merged with the NYPD, so he’s worked in both departments. He said he loved working with Transit; they were a real brotherhood. About Bob Valentino, he said, “Bottom line, if you needed anything, Bob was always there to help you.” Vincent said Bob was soft-spoken. He said, “You know, I never heard him raise his voice.”

Bob said, “People who know me well said I would have succeeded no matter what I did. But I was so happy to be a transit cop. We stood tall (in so many areas.) I’m so proud of them. I love the Transit Police, I really do.”

“My mother just loved to help people,” Bob said. “That’s all she wanted to do.” In one memory of Bob’s mom, he said, “She was an incredible baker. She would make these beautiful cakes for people, which was her enjoyment. Those people would have this cake with their Christmas Eve food, all the fish, and everything else.” Bob said, “If I’m half the person my mother was, I’ll be happy when I go to my grave.” 

Yes, Bob Valentino helped so many people in so many ways.

Bob said, “I love to help people.” He said, “So many people have inspired me, like Uncle Shoey.” He also mentioned many revered Transit cops: Patty Townsand, Lou Consentino, and Joe McGarry. He said, “I’ve always loved to help people. Just a smile on their faces is good enough for me.” He said, “As they say in the movie, I’ve had a wonderful life.”

Bob’s feeling of a wonderful life is based on a sense of purpose. When one feels a sense of purpose in their everyday life—that’s pretty damn wonderful.

Bob said he feels he has to help people when they come to him for help, even people he might dislike. He said he would regret it if something happened to them, something which he could have prevented if he had interceded but didn’t.

Again, I heard a life of purpose. Where did it come from? Some of it is innate, much of it nourished by his mom, his Uncle Shoey, those legendary Transit cops, and maybe some friends he lost in a far-off country.

Those words Bob said sound like a rare, honest leader who is there—for all of the people.

So, maybe on that snowy day when Bob got off the train at the wrong stop, wouldn’t it have been fantastic if he had gotten off at the City Hall stop. Would he have made a difference in the Big Apple? Ya think?

I asked Bob about his Army discharge and if he had to endure all the vile attacks from people that so many others did. He said he did not but a few years ago was seated on a plane next to a vet who did have people spit at him when he came home.

In June 2023, Bob was honored for his service at Yankee Stadium and Citifield. He said the honors at both locations were very exciting.

But, Bob said, as exciting as both events were, “The thing that got me the most was when I’m walking back to my seat into the stands, maybe seventy-five feet (to his seat) and thousands of people are screaming, ‘thank you for your service, thank you for your service.'” He said, ” That really got to me as opposed to being on the field; that really shook me up, you know?”

The stadium’s jumbo screen salute to Bob was an honor to receive. But he was more touched by the climb back to his seat because he was much closer to the shouts. It was a more personal “Thank you for your service.” So much of life is about distance, whether it’s inches on a bowling pin, for a strike, or in a shard of shrapnel inches from an artery —and an end to life.

When Bob spoke of the thank yous, I said, “I’m feeling your moment as you speak. I can visualize you going up those steps.”

In Bob’s voice, I could hear everyone shouting to him, “Thank you.” Those Vietnam days of spitting at veterans are long gone, but to some, they are not forgotten. Maybe these heartfelt thank-yous can lessen some of the pain of those days.
 

“Thank you for your service.”Such a simple yet powerful message. We’ve seen it, we’ve heard it, and we need to keep saying it.

Some people say it whenever they can…

…however they can.

In so many ways.

Less than one percent of Americans serve in America’s military. Don’t they all deserve—a thank you?

The video of Bob Valentino being honored at Yankee Stadium

Be well,

Lee,

shedding a little light wherethesundontshine

See my sunny side blog, Leebythesea.mehttps://leebythesea.me/