VIVA LA FRANCE
At this point in time, it has become fashionable to bash the French for the stand their government has taken in regards to our country's involvement in Iraq. I think it is grossly unfair to paint the entire French population with the same brush of loathing we feel for their leadership. the French do not hate us, they merely look upon us as uncultured barbarians with a bad attitude which is acceptable since we, as Americans, have for years regarded the rest of the world as inferior in almost every respect. we have also contributed to the animosity they feel towards us with this ill conceived, abortive boycott. I think that as Jacque Chirac's duplicitous involvement in Iraq's internal affairs becomes unraveled, the French will rise up and depose this villainous leader.
during the 50th anniversary celebration of the D - Day invasion, I had the very good fortune to revisit with the French, both provincial and sophisticated and for those of you who have never met the French on their own soil, I offer these observations. this piece was written shortly after my return from France and it appeared in the, "topsali voice', as a feature story. I have made some updates to keep it current.
If you are as fortunate as I, you will, at some point in time, in some inexplicable way, enjoy an incomparable experience that will forever alter the course of your life. my destiny was forged some 50 odd years ago when I was included in a combat team selected to storm that part of Omaha beach designated as, "easy red". however, my reformation was not to become manifest until my revisit to Normandie for the 50th anniversary commeration.
on June 6 1944, the task we were assigned was
brilliantly conceived, ambitious in scope but virtually impossible to execute. we were to assault a portion of beach that had not been previously cleared of strong points, the slope away from the beach was too steeply inclined and the enemy deeply entrenched behind well fortified positions. too much hostile firepower and too few people wrote the script for a potentially disastrous undertaking. and if that weren't enough, the intelligence was woefully inadequate. there was no logical way any of us were to survive that day and yet, we not only survived, we brought the war to the enemy and took the beach.
during the 50th anniversary celebration of the D - Day invasion, I had the very good fortune to revisit with the French, both provincial and sophisticated and for those of you who have never met the French on their own soil, I offer these observations. this piece was written shortly after my return from France and it appeared in the, "topsali voice', as a feature story. I have made some updates to keep it current.
If you are as fortunate as I, you will, at some point in time, in some inexplicable way, enjoy an incomparable experience that will forever alter the course of your life. my destiny was forged some 50 odd years ago when I was included in a combat team selected to storm that part of Omaha beach designated as, "easy red". however, my reformation was not to become manifest until my revisit to Normandie for the 50th anniversary commeration.
on June 6 1944, the task we were assigned was
brilliantly conceived, ambitious in scope but virtually impossible to execute. we were to assault a portion of beach that had not been previously cleared of strong points, the slope away from the beach was too steeply inclined and the enemy deeply entrenched behind well fortified positions. too much hostile firepower and too few people wrote the script for a potentially disastrous undertaking. and if that weren't enough, the intelligence was woefully inadequate. there was no logical way any of us were to survive that day and yet, we not only survived, we brought the war to the enemy and took the beach.
we punched a hole in Rommel's vaunted Atlantic wall and never stopped until Bastogne.
never having been too deeply involved in religious orientation, I gave not too much thought as to how or why we did manage to prevail but, in retrospective contemplation, I must acknowledge that there had to have been a considerable amount of divine intervention. someone or something took us by the hand and showed us the way up that hellacious hill. true, all too many of our comrades fell along the way but enough of us did come through to assure a small if extremely tenuous victory.
today, 50 years later, we are gathered there in the tranquility of a cold spring day but our hearts and memories travel up that foreboding slope and none of us can comprehend the magnitude of what had been accomplished on that fateful day so many years ago.
never having been too deeply involved in religious orientation, I gave not too much thought as to how or why we did manage to prevail but, in retrospective contemplation, I must acknowledge that there had to have been a considerable amount of divine intervention. someone or something took us by the hand and showed us the way up that hellacious hill. true, all too many of our comrades fell along the way but enough of us did come through to assure a small if extremely tenuous victory.
today, 50 years later, we are gathered there in the tranquility of a cold spring day but our hearts and memories travel up that foreboding slope and none of us can comprehend the magnitude of what had been accomplished on that fateful day so many years ago.
I have difficulty with the term, "born again" because it implies that until that transformation occurred, one's life was meaningless and without direction or purpose. I have lived a full and productive life with rewards well beyond my expectations. but something did happen to me during that commemorative week in France that has altered my perspective on the quality of life. It was an epiphany of enlightenment almost like an eccliastical revelation that allowed me to look into my soul and affirm my true identity. I can only hope that this experience will enhance my contribution to the welfare of humanity.
so many people have asked me to chronicle the events and emotions consistent with that commemorative week. It might have been more realistic to ask me to rewrite the bible for the definitive adjectives have not yet been paraphrased that could possibly describe the emotional peaks and valleys experienced during that fantastic week. originally, I thought I would catalogue event in chronological order but I will not repeat what you all have probably read many times over. instead, I will direct my comments towards the people who have made this such a wonderful experience.
my love affair with the French people began with our arrival at orly field. after an exhaustive trip of seven hours of flight time, through six time zones, cranky, with little sleep and needing a bath. happy to be off the plane, we stumbled through the main concourse, where much to our astonishment, a great host of people started cheering and applauding. we looked around hoping to see what celebrity might have come in behind us but there were no other people around so it appeared we were the guests of honor. this was to be the first of many pleasant surprises in our encounters with the local citizenry. we were further greeted by a French version of a dixieland jazz band that serenaded us while extraordinarily pretty young hostesses distributed souvenirs and other memorabilia. I was immediately transported back 50 years to the first time I had ever seen Paris, three days after it had been liberated and the response today, was almost as enthusiastic. since we were on a tight schedule with many miles yet to travel, we were reluctantly compelled to break away from the festivities and board our buses. throughout the countryside, as we traveled to what would be our home for the next seven days, there were signs, flags, banners and billboards proclaiming the friendship and gratitude towards the, "liberators".
our first stop along the way was the provincial town of Bayeux, in the British sector. this town was most notable as being the ancestral home of William the conqueror, first of the Norman kings of england and the repository of the Bayeux tapestry. during the early stages of the war, this tapestry, measuring over 200 feet in length, was cut into two pieces ,each of which was secreted in separate monasteries in France to prevent it falling into enemy hands. towards evening, we motored to the coastal city of caen where a very pivotal battle was fought. over 700 veterans were assembled in a great hall, where we received commerative medals from the grateful people of caen. this was the first mass gathering of old soldiers with any real opportunity to seek out familiar faces we somehow knew we would not find. standing around in undisciplined rows, it was difficult to visualize those old and bent frames as the hard, young bodies that stormed ashore so many years ago. the ravages of time have taken their toll upon these tired old men but we should all bear in mind that had it not been for their selfless sacrifices and unwavering devotion to duty, we would not now be here celebrating that glorious victory.
we visited the American cemetery at Omaha beach where I tried to find, with limited success, the graves of some of my very close associates.
so many people have asked me to chronicle the events and emotions consistent with that commemorative week. It might have been more realistic to ask me to rewrite the bible for the definitive adjectives have not yet been paraphrased that could possibly describe the emotional peaks and valleys experienced during that fantastic week. originally, I thought I would catalogue event in chronological order but I will not repeat what you all have probably read many times over. instead, I will direct my comments towards the people who have made this such a wonderful experience.
my love affair with the French people began with our arrival at orly field. after an exhaustive trip of seven hours of flight time, through six time zones, cranky, with little sleep and needing a bath. happy to be off the plane, we stumbled through the main concourse, where much to our astonishment, a great host of people started cheering and applauding. we looked around hoping to see what celebrity might have come in behind us but there were no other people around so it appeared we were the guests of honor. this was to be the first of many pleasant surprises in our encounters with the local citizenry. we were further greeted by a French version of a dixieland jazz band that serenaded us while extraordinarily pretty young hostesses distributed souvenirs and other memorabilia. I was immediately transported back 50 years to the first time I had ever seen Paris, three days after it had been liberated and the response today, was almost as enthusiastic. since we were on a tight schedule with many miles yet to travel, we were reluctantly compelled to break away from the festivities and board our buses. throughout the countryside, as we traveled to what would be our home for the next seven days, there were signs, flags, banners and billboards proclaiming the friendship and gratitude towards the, "liberators".
our first stop along the way was the provincial town of Bayeux, in the British sector. this town was most notable as being the ancestral home of William the conqueror, first of the Norman kings of england and the repository of the Bayeux tapestry. during the early stages of the war, this tapestry, measuring over 200 feet in length, was cut into two pieces ,each of which was secreted in separate monasteries in France to prevent it falling into enemy hands. towards evening, we motored to the coastal city of caen where a very pivotal battle was fought. over 700 veterans were assembled in a great hall, where we received commerative medals from the grateful people of caen. this was the first mass gathering of old soldiers with any real opportunity to seek out familiar faces we somehow knew we would not find. standing around in undisciplined rows, it was difficult to visualize those old and bent frames as the hard, young bodies that stormed ashore so many years ago. the ravages of time have taken their toll upon these tired old men but we should all bear in mind that had it not been for their selfless sacrifices and unwavering devotion to duty, we would not now be here celebrating that glorious victory.
we visited the American cemetery at Omaha beach where I tried to find, with limited success, the graves of some of my very close associates.
In passing among the markers, I came upon an old veteran who was openly weeping as he knelt beside a grave. I asked him if he knew this particular soldier. he looked at me with pain filled eyes ad replied, "no, I was not personally acquainted with this young man, but are we not all his brothers?". To which I added a silent "amen" and left him with his grief.>
I located the grave of Lt Carter with no difficulty. the remains of Sgt Maresca and pvt Frankln could not be found. I assume their bodies have been repatriated. the cemetery overlooks that portion of beach where the heaviest D-Day fighting occurred. It is fitting tribute to those who died trying to seize this infinitesimal piece of bloody sand be interred in this hallowed ground accentuated by thousands of antiseptically sterile white markers laid out in precise geometrical patterns. despite the throngs of visitors moving about these graves, there is a sepulchral stillness that imparts an ethereal sanctity to this sacred ground. as you look across this unbroken vista of white, you realize that behind each individual cross and star lies a broken heart and a story that will forever remain untold. who can foretell the contributions these brave young men might have made in the pursuit of a more positive effort than to have been sacrificed to the insanity of war. I don't think any of these men would have considered himself a hero, and yet, each man who lies here, assured us, through his sacrifice a share of tomorrow, free from the oppressive yoke of tyranny.
from this holy place, we walked down the steep slope over carefully sculpted paths to the place where it all began.
I located the grave of Lt Carter with no difficulty. the remains of Sgt Maresca and pvt Frankln could not be found. I assume their bodies have been repatriated. the cemetery overlooks that portion of beach where the heaviest D-Day fighting occurred. It is fitting tribute to those who died trying to seize this infinitesimal piece of bloody sand be interred in this hallowed ground accentuated by thousands of antiseptically sterile white markers laid out in precise geometrical patterns. despite the throngs of visitors moving about these graves, there is a sepulchral stillness that imparts an ethereal sanctity to this sacred ground. as you look across this unbroken vista of white, you realize that behind each individual cross and star lies a broken heart and a story that will forever remain untold. who can foretell the contributions these brave young men might have made in the pursuit of a more positive effort than to have been sacrificed to the insanity of war. I don't think any of these men would have considered himself a hero, and yet, each man who lies here, assured us, through his sacrifice a share of tomorrow, free from the oppressive yoke of tyranny.
from this holy place, we walked down the steep slope over carefully sculpted paths to the place where it all began.
"easy red" beach is quiet now and I suffer a nostalgic solitude with the memories of a bygone day. the pervasive stillness is broken now only by the soft roll of the unrelenting surf but if you listen carefully, the surf beats a melancholy cadence to a hundred thousand pounding boots from a far distant past, echoing across a now desolate beach. those of us who were there will not have too many tomorrows but each, in his own way, will remember that sound and keep it echoing around the world until the last of us joins that heavenly host. we must constantly bear in mind what happened there on that historic day so long ago, for the torch of freedom very nearly failed. we owe so much to those brave men, up there, watching over this beach. this memory must become self perpetuating through our children and theirs and future generations as yet unborn so that this catastrophe is never again visited upon humanity. as a reminder, I carried home a few handfuls of that costly sand and would be proud to share it with anyone who really cares. what remains will be added to my ashes and spread out over the ocean and I will once again, join my "band of brothers".
the one irritating thread that wove itself throughout those seven days was that we had so little time to do all the things each of us felt was so important to our being there. It seemed so ironically cruel that we were being limited by the very factor that was running out for all of us. TIME.
on June 6 1994, the day dawned cold and gray with a chilling mist that permeated the air, not unlike that day 50 years prior. there was an uncomfortable atmosphere of, "deja vue" as we prepared for the day's activities and I will admit to a strong spine tingling sensation that just would not go away. the highlight of that days
ceremonies featured the excellent presentation of the official commemorative services. I will not dwell upon this exercise except to say that it was done in typically French good taste and in relatively low key. the French hosts insured that preferred seating with special consideration for the incapacitated went to the veterans and not visiting dignitaries. politicians were subjected to the same tight security surveillance as we and were seated wherever they could except for veterans such as Glenn, Biden, Kerry, Heflin and Dole with his wife Elizabeth who sat among us and seemed to be having a wonderful time.
the one irritating thread that wove itself throughout those seven days was that we had so little time to do all the things each of us felt was so important to our being there. It seemed so ironically cruel that we were being limited by the very factor that was running out for all of us. TIME.
on June 6 1994, the day dawned cold and gray with a chilling mist that permeated the air, not unlike that day 50 years prior. there was an uncomfortable atmosphere of, "deja vue" as we prepared for the day's activities and I will admit to a strong spine tingling sensation that just would not go away. the highlight of that days
ceremonies featured the excellent presentation of the official commemorative services. I will not dwell upon this exercise except to say that it was done in typically French good taste and in relatively low key. the French hosts insured that preferred seating with special consideration for the incapacitated went to the veterans and not visiting dignitaries. politicians were subjected to the same tight security surveillance as we and were seated wherever they could except for veterans such as Glenn, Biden, Kerry, Heflin and Dole with his wife Elizabeth who sat among us and seemed to be having a wonderful time.
