D-Day Week: Post Two

 “About themselves, the most important thing a majority of the GIs discovered was that they were not cowards. They hadn’t thought so, they had fervently hoped it would not be so, but they couldn’t be sure until tested. After a few days in combat, most of them knew they were good soldiers. They had neither run away nor collapsed into a pathetic mass of quivering Jell-O (their worst fear, even greater than the fear of being afraid). They were learning about others. A common experience: the guy who talked toughest, bragged most, excelled in maneuvers, everyone’s pick to be the top soldier in the company, was the first to break, while the soft-talking kid who was hardly noticed in camp was the standout in combat. These are the clichés of war novels precisely because they are true. They also learned that while combat brought out the best in some men, it unleashed the worst in others—and a further lesson, that the distinction between best and worst wasn’t clear.” – Stephen Ambrose, Citizen Soldiers

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Yesterday was a reminder of the cumulative power of small acts of duty and kindness juxtaposed with the grand expanse of war.

I spent time with female veterans: one from WWII and several who were medics in Vietnam. I can only imagine the violence and macabre scenes these strong and gentle women confronted and overcame.

The spiritual leader of the women’s delegation is Marie Rosburg West, now 101. She served in the Women’s Reserve (WAVES), built pistons and blimps, and was previously an aide to Eleanor Roosevelt. She insisted that she didn’t deserve this trip or the attention. I respectfully disagreed. I loved seeing how the other veterans cared for her. The female Vietnam veterans coached me on how to properly lift her and help her into the car. They were clear, firm, and directive. From them, I felt a unique combination of strength and warmth.

My first morning assignment came from Siegfried "Ziggy" Weinthal. The Nazis cut short his childhood. Being Jewish, he faced imminent threats. Shortly after the German blitzkrieg, his entire family was killed, and he fled to the United States. He eventually enlisted in the U.S. Army and returned to Europe to fight. After the Germans surrendered, he oversaw American and Russian prisoners of war at a stockade in Germany.

He needed help with his jacket’s zipper. It was frayed, and his shaky hands couldn’t manage it. I was summoned, and I felt real pressure. I needed to get that man zipped up and warm! Then we helped him get into the car. It was a privilege.

We started early this morning to take a boat ride to Utah Beach. The veterans wanted to see it from the sea, as many of them had approached 80 years ago—albeit under drastically different circumstances.

From the sea, I was reminded of the immense battle landscape. The scenes often narrow to the story of one person, a walk through small towns, the idyllic countryside before you, and movie scenes of charging a single beach. It’s hard to fully appreciate the expanse and range of activity that brought death and carnage.

We’re talking about 70 miles of coastline full of bloodshed. Pont du Hoc, five large beaches with hundreds of yards at low tide, several towns, countless hedgerows, and more. As rows of planes were reaching Normandy, the back of the same row was leaving Britain. One veteran told me about patrolling for U-Boats and another story about picking up Senegalese soldiers. Another Australian veteran, Jim, fought in the Pacific. He’s here with his gracious adult granddaughter. He seems like a classic man: quiet, tough, loving. I almost cried when he gifted me a pin with a rising sun for the Australian Armed Forces. Somehow, he kept his heart intact after such brutal fighting in the jungles.

We spread rose petals out to sea in honor of Joe Reilly, whom we cared for during the 75th anniversary. Joe was in the 101st Airborne and was dropped behind enemy lines and fought to liberate St. Marie du Mont. He liked to joke about liberating Pouppeville, because of the way it’s pronounced. We have since lost him. But I’m beyond grateful that my family got to meet him before he passed.

Amid all the tragedy of the war, myriad hearts broken, millions liberated, the course of history forever changed. The little tearful and playful moments, the individual stories, and processing how big and tragic the war leave me in a strange, inspired fog of both joy and sadness.