| USMA 1964 - Stars in Store for 64 |
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Died 25 January 1973 in Chelsea, Massachusetts, aged 30 years. Interment: Clairmont, New Hampshire. JIM "MOOSE" MOZDEN was born on 17 March 1942, was raised and has his final resting place in New Hampshire. Many thoughts come to mind of the friend and Beast Barracks roommate who kept in touch throughout our four years at West Point; of the young lieutenant and captain who stayed at our home prior to shipping out three times to Vietnam; of our talks till the early morning hours.... Jim was set to enter Notre Dame when he got the unexpected appointment to the school of his dreams. He had no problem with academics. He flirted with regulations but never with the Honor Code. He loved his alma mater and served his country with valor and distinction, receiving the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart while serving with the 173rd Airborne Brigade and the 1st Cavalry Division. He was one of the few members of ’64, if not the only one, to make a live combat jump. Marty Michlik recalls: “I really got to know Jim during Airborne and Ranger schools at Fort Benning. As I look back, the stresses and challenges have become blurred by time. but Moose's smile remains bright and clear." We went our separate ways in December 1964 but met again in 1968 at Fort Benning, where I was a student and he was on the staff. Moose’s spirit was indomitable. He worked hard and played hard. Happy Hour at the Club was one of the social hubs of the young bachelor
officers at the time. I remember Moose getting out of a sick bed late one
Friday afternoon, putting an overcoat over his pajamas and staying long
enough to have a beer and catch up on the week's activities. Then he returned
to bed to get well.”
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Tom Curran recalls in a similar vein: "Moose was very quick-witted
and always could be counted on to put a humorous and sometimes outrageous
spin on events. but sometimes so subtly that you had to be alert to his
application of wit. At Fort Benning on business, I had a date to meet Moose
at Happy Hour at the Club. We were captains and had already been to Vietnam.
We met a group of USMA lieutenants who remembered us as firsties when they
were plebes. They were in awe of our status as real live Infantry veterans.
Acting very seasoned and adult. they offered to buy us a pitcher of beer.
‘Watch this,' Moose whispered to me, then responded to their offer by saying
that beer was for boys and promptly ordering a pitcher of martinis containing
a dozen olives. Needless to say, the request created a hush of respect
around the table. The pitcher was brought and the lieutenants had to take
up a collection to pay for it."
John Otjen recalls: “Although not close friends during cadet days, Moose and I came to spend times of great sadness and joy together in years to come, knowing thai death might come suddenly. We 'rangered' and chased golf balls, women and beer together in the early days. Moose was a saber bearer at my wedding, and I was an usher at his. Among my most treasured memories is the visit he and Mary Jo made to Fort Campbell in 1972. After a most delicious dinner, Moose suggested that he and I retire alone to the back porch for a good cigar and a shot or more, of cognac that he had brought for the occasion. I did not know then, while we were talking about the old days and the future, that his days were short. I am told that he paid similar visits to other friends during those last days. It was his final gesture, as if he were checking up on us one last time to assure himself that we were prepared to make it through life's trials without him by our side We have, but not without him in our thoughts. Hartley, Dooley and the rest of us smoked cigars. drank cognac and played poker in his memory far into that cold January night before we buried him in a blinding snowstorm – blinding not so much because of the raging snow as because of the tears welling in our eyes. The storm ceased soon after the service ended; his soul apparently lifted to its final home.- |
Dick Chilcoat observes: “He was the right stuff in many ways. and he
was in his element when he coached many classmates through academics. He
was a natural teacher and endured many 'all-nighters’ with his troops.
For Jim Mozden. there was no sacrifice too great on behalf of a classmate
– because he cared. It is how he made history."
Jim's Mom continues: “He crammed so much into his short life, and, fortunately. We were able to share much of it with him. So many memories come to mind, such as watching him dutifully taking his sister, twelve years younger, to the movies on Saturday. On leaving for West Point, he worried about his father working longer hours at the meat store without his help (later Jim thanked him for making Jim the only ranger who knew how to cut up a chicken). He was always the champion of the underdog, remaining faithful to his Boston Red Sox even though they could not win a pennant. After his first tour in Vietnam, he came all the way to Boston to see them play. They lost. After West Point, with each trip home, we could see him developing from an adolescent to a man in charge. He wrote us faithfully; I still have all his letters. As I reread them, I can see how much he loved his fellow man and the challenges of daily living.” Tom Curran adds: “When Jim died, we went to New Hampshire for the funeral and got there before Mary Jo's family. It gave her someone to lean on. By having this opportunity to support Mary Jo, whom Jim loved so, we felt that we were given a chance to repay him, in some small way, for all the great times and for being our friend.” Jim had a quiet sense of dignity, friendship, and service. Everything he did was low-key but with conviction. He loved, he fought, he served – all honor and glory. Jim escorted the remains of many fallen classmates back home to their families. His devotion was returned, for when he died, many classmates came to pay their final respects. Nick Loukianoff, Ex-'64
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