D-Day Week: Post One

Thursday, June 6, will mark the 80th anniversary of D-Day, a day when American, British, Canadian, and other Allied forces displayed unparalleled courage and ingenuity to begin the liberation of Europe and the end of Hitler’s Nazi regime.

World War II history is both fascinating and moving. Strangely, the more I study it, the less real it seems. The full range and complexity of the human experience are on full display, offering countless lessons. These are lessons we must keep in our hearts, actively share, and apply in our lives. A lot of the issues we face as a country today are because we forget these lessons and take for granted how hard it is to earn and sustain peace and freedom.

I hope everyone watches and re-watches films like Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan and reads and re-reads authors like Stephen Ambrose and Sir Max Hastings. I hope the media fills the airwaves with these stories and everyone – not just children – talk about what it means. This will be the last major anniversary when enough of the veterans are still alive to participate.

Less than two percent of the soldiers who participated in D-Day are still alive. We lose them every day. Soon, they will all be gone, and it is incumbent upon us to ensure that what they represent remains as righteous and vibrant today as it was when they were young.

This week, I will do my best to share what I see and experience as we care for and honor them. I am grateful to be on the ground with some Alder folks volunteering to help these veterans, thanks to the Greatest Generation Foundation. We arrived this morning. As a special treat, we get to support them alongside men and women who served across several generations and conflicts: Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Mogadishu, and Desert Storm.

One of those veterans is George Cross. Now 100 years young, he was a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne, one of the first to go behind enemy lines and liberate Normandy, France, near Sainte Mere Eglise, liberating villages.

Two of the veterans on our plane are double amputees. I watched with pride as my friend, still active-duty special operations, boarded the plane with one on his back. Everyone insisted that George board first.

George’s daughter, Carla, is with him on this visit. They worked tirelessly to raise money to make it here. Local teenagers helped with the fundraising. George said he was giving kids interviews every time he turned around. They were grateful to learn that the Greatest Generations Foundation, with some help from our community, had it all covered.

Carla has never been to Normandy, and she told me that George didn’t talk about the war much until recently. I’ve only been with him for about 12 hours, and he spontaneously shares memories. He can’t hear too well, so it’s usually a welcome (and abrupt) interruption of other conversations. Seeing his energy is heartwarming and stirring.

We asked him when he first met a Nazi. He said his first encounter was on day one, when he ran into 25 of them as they rushed to the frontlines to attempt to repulse the Allies.

“These Nazis acted like they couldn’t speak English. Liars,” George said. He asked them if they wanted to be prisoners of ours or the Soviets. Suddenly, they spoke English. They surrendered. But that’s about as easy as it was. It was hell.”

George has lived one heck of a life. His own son served in Vietnam and passed away too early due to ailments from Agent Orange. His son was named after George’s best friend, who was going to join the army with him. Unfortunately, his friend, along with his friend’s siblings and mother, was murdered by their father.

Throughout the war and their long lives, it’s common for your jaw to drop in reaction to their stories.

For all these reasons and more, it’s heartwarming to see them smile. As we settled into Sainte Marie du Mont, reenactors and children were everywhere. A little parade and ceremony to welcome the veterans took place. French, British, and even German people brought their children, waved American flags, and shook the veterans' hands in gratitude.

"The boys," as we call the WWII veterans, are tired, jet-lagged, and feeble in varying degrees. Still, there’s a spark in their eyes as they remember those they lost and always honor. Seeing people like us still carrying the torch of liberty and in honoring them brings a joy you can still see through their modesty.?

More to come. I need to go help one of the boys.