John Lawrence Dilallo

Nicholas Vrooman

I just read John's death notice (9.2.14). It had to have been right around '72. It couldn't have been very much before John went back to Viet Nam. I was home (down from Plattsburgh) for who knows why. I was walking down Lennox Road. Just as I was approaching Tina Ladd's corner (maybe that's what I was doing there), this fella in uniform moving quickly, with confidence, came toward me from the opposite direction. It was John. He'd seen me from a distance and wanted to say "hi!" We hadn't seen each other since Linton. It was obvious we'd both grown up fast. He was home on leave from Viet Nam, told me how thrilled he was being a Warrant Officer and heliocopter pilot. He knew the risks. I can yet see him so clearly and recall that at the time I felt strongly he'd become such a confident, expert, and justly proud man. Here I was, very much appearing as a Movement Era student leader, part of a different kind of troops on the other side of that crazy war, and John in uniform playing out his destiny in one of the most dangerous occupations in the world at that time. It made no difference. We knew who we were and where we came from. We talked our passion for flying (I had been in the Civil Air Patrol), friends (Schenectady would ever remain our home town), and the girls we'd always love (albeit, I never made it to Tina's house; there's an apology in here somewhere). There was nothing boyish, timid, or reserved about John there and then. Our post-Linton adult identities were at that time being forged. I sensed he was already fully formed, and certainly a sight to behold. I've thought of him over the years, because that encounter has always meant a lot. It sums up and symbolizes a valuable knowing, a kind of belief: that formative sharing of community heritage and friendship is stronger than and transcends the fickle vississitudes of nation, politics, ethnicity, and class. While I was still in the crucible, I felt John's mettle was already tested in a different fire, his alloy proven complete. 

Laraine Pacelli (Desmond)

I have never forgotten John.  I always remember dancing with him at the Oneida dances and will forever remember the notice of his death in the newspaper.  I am Program Director of a psychiatric residential treatment facility in Saratoga Springs, NY.  Each year the agency hosts a staff retreat that is basically a picnic held in the State Park.  2 years ago, when leaving the picnic I found myself in conversation with one of my newer staff, Ian Vonie.  We were chitchatting and one of us mentioned Schenectady which led to his asking, "Did you know John DiLallo?"  If my foot didn't hit the brake literally, my brain certainly did.  "John DiLallo?  Yes.  How do you know John DiLallo?" I asked with tears immediately forming in my eyes.  "That was my uncle," said Ian.  Katie bar the door!  Wow!  Funny how life does a thing like that to you.  Ian just left the agency in pursuit of a new life in Atlanta, Ga.  What a wonderful, respectful, witty, honest, sincere man he is and I enjoyed every moment of teaching him the ins and outs of a career in community mental health treatment.  He absolutely did John proud.  I love you, John.  I love you, Ian.  Rain 

Charles Clifford Dumas Jr.

JOHN WA IN MY HOMEROOM WITH MR. O'NEIL FOR 3 YEARS. I SAT NEXT TO HIM. QUIET GUY , WE BECAME FRIENDS, A FRIEND FOR THREE YEARS, I WAS A CENTRAL PARKER. I REMEMBER WHEN I CAME HOME FROM OVERSEAS IN 73 OF MARCH, I HAD TALKED TO SOMEONE FROM SCHOOL WHO TOLD ME ABOUT JOHN. I WAS IN THE MAIN SECURITY AREA ON WATCH THAT NIGHT, I WAS WITH NATO SECURITY, SEARGENT SUPERVISOR. I WENT BACK TO SEE IF MR O'NEIL WAS STILL AT LINTON, WE TALKED ABOUT, VERY SAD. EACH TIME YOU LOOSE A CLASS MATE AND A FELLOW BROTHER OR SISTER.  IN SERVICE, IT'S EVEN MORE SAD. I WENT TO WASHINGTON DC AND I FOUND HIS NAME ON THE WALL. GOOD BE WITH YOU JOHN AND TO HI FANILY. SFC CC DUMAS  JR RETIRED.