Today, Sunday, April 27, 2025, marks the 50th Anniversary of the Fall of Saigon.

In 1975, I was a student at what we then called a Voc-Tech school. I grew up during the Vietnam Era. Boys just a little older than me served in Vietnam. I wrote letters to soldiers stationed there. My uncle, who served in the Air Force, flew missions over Vietnam, reaching the rank of Colonel.

I remember standing on the courthouse lawn, watching the protests. I took part in debates about the war. I vividly recall watching the heartbreaking footage: people breaking down fences, desperate to board the last departing planes. I remember the plane crash just five miles from the runway it had taken off from, and seeing the images of orphan babies who were aboard that flight.

Throughout it all, I wrote faithfully to my Uncle Herb every week. I filled my letters with everyday details, what I was learning at school, my babysitting jobs, and what we were having for supper. Ordinary things. But as my Aunt Sally once told me, those simple notes meant the world to him.

She said, “Sometimes Uncle Herb has a hard time figuring out what you’re trying to spell, but he keeps every letter. Letters from home mean a lot.”

Her comment didn’t surprise me. Anyone who knows me knows spelling has never been my strongest suit, even today.

After the war, Aunt Sally, Uncle Herb, and their three kids came home to Minnesota for a summer visit from their home in Massachusetts. We were all a little nervous about meeting Uncle Herb. He was from Syracuse, New York, and my grandma must have had a few preconceived ideas about New Yorkers. But Uncle Herb quickly proved to be a kind, well-educated, and polite gentleman, worldly, for sure.

Uncle Herb filled any doorway, both with his personality and his physical presence. Now, as an adult, I can say he looked exactly like officer material from any branch of the military.

He did have some different ideas from us Midwesterners. I was probably about 14 or 15 years old at the time, and I remember hearing that he liked his meat rare. I didn’t even know hamburgers or steaks could be cooked any other way than done. My dad was a good griller, and all seven of us kids loved a bit of a char around the edges.

I learned what “rare” meant the day Uncle Herb used the bloody drippings from his steak as gravy for his mashed potatoes. The conversation around the picnic table grew quiet as we all watched him take the first spoonful. Later, after everyone had gone home, my dad, the forever farm boy, swore he could still hear the cow mooing!

I do remember one recipe Aunt Sally brought to that picnic, a casserole she learned to make from her mother-in-law. It was a mix of tomatoes, bread cubes, and cheese. My grandma corrected her, reminding her that here in Minnesota, we call them hotdish. Casserole or hotdish, it didn’t matter, it was something none of us had ever seen or tasted before.

Just last week, we received word that Uncle Herb had passed on, flying once again into the wild blue yonder he had known so well. His final months were spent in memory care and hospice. His three grown children and his grandchildren were all able to make it home to say their goodbyes.

One of Uncle Herb’s last comments was that he couldn’t wait to see Sally again. He was sure she was waiting for him in Heaven. And I believe he was right.

Fly high, Good Sir. We have the watch now.
Well done, good and faithful servant.
You are a true hero to a young girl who, even today, is proud to say she knew you, a real New Yorker.

In Honor of Uncle Herb, I took a bag of frozen tomatoes out of our freezer and made a hotdish of tomatoes, bread cubes, and cheese. In my research, I learned the official name of this hotdish is Panzanella Salad. I am sure my grandma would roll over in her grave, “salad.”

I served it with hamburgers on the grill. I had mine well done, but still thinking of you, Uncle Herb!

Panzanella Salad

Ingredients

5 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups of bread (a sourdough or day-old garlic bread)

2 to 3 tsp of butter to butter bread before cubing

16 fresh tomatoes diced into 2 to 2 ½ inches chunks (about 2 1/2 pounds)

2 to 3 tsp. minced garlic (to taste)

2 teaspoons sugar

1 tsp onion powder

2 teaspoons kosher salt (to taste)

1 teaspoon pepper (to taste)

¾ cup basil leaves, julienned

1 cup parmesan cheese, freshly grated

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a large 12–14-inch frying pan, heat 3 Tbsp of olive oil over medium heat.

Cut off the crusts of bread, buttered slices of bread, and cut into cubes. Add the bread cubes and stir to coat with the oil. Cook over medium heat for 5- 6 minutes, stirring often, until the cubes are evenly toasty browned.

In a 3 to 4-quart mixing bowl, add the tomatoes, garlic, sugar, salt, and pepper, and stir several stirs.

Add the tomato mixture to the browned bread and cook for another 4-5 minutes. Be sure to stir frequently so as not to burn.

Remove from the heat and stir in the basil.

Pour the whole mixture into a 1.5- 2-quart baking dish.

Sprinkle evenly with the Parmesan cheese.

Bake for 35 to 40 minutes until the top is browned and the tomatoes are bubbly. Serve hot or warm.