The 64th Anniversary of D-Day

64-years ago, June 6, 1944, Allied Forces began the operation that came to be known as D-Day. A little more than 2 ½ years after the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor plunged the US into that great European struggle, many of what some have called “the greatest generation” paid the ultimate price for freedom and liberty.

Franklin D. Roosevelt, speaking – no that is not right, he was praying out loud on a radio broadcast to the nation, said, “Almighty God. Our sons, pride of our nations, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor. A struggle to preserve our republic, our religion and our civilization and to set free a suffering humanity. They will be sore tried by night and by day without rest until the victory is won. Some will never return. Embrace these Father and receive them, the heroic servants, into Thy Kingdom."

This morning on the radio, I heard a D-Day survivor describing what it was like see the front of those “Higgins Boats” drop, to push out into the sea through the bodies of those dead and dying, then to reach the beach and simultaneously work to avoid tumbling over the dead in the sand while trying to take the beach from those who fought like lions to keep it.

I’ve been on those beaches. As a mere child living just outside of Paris my parents took me to see those places. They didn’t think the enormity and sacredness of it got through to me, but it did. I will never forget my horror at learning that the Nazi soldiers would shoot down a paratrooper while he helplessly hung there, the cords of his parachute dangling him in front of deadly guns like a duck sitting on a pond during hunting season.

I’ve also visited Pearl Harbor twice, and with my own daughters met and talked with a survivor of that small holocaust. The horror of that event never ceases to move me to tears. On these days of anniversary, the sacrifice that so few made for the rest of us causes me to stop, to ponder the terrible loss, and to feel a gratitude for men and women I mostly never met.

My own military service during peacetime is no comparison for what these men and women did. My own service is no match for the sacrifices my own Father and Uncle made during Vietnam. Neither is it the equivalent of the service of my own brother Brandt in countless “skirmishes,” over twenty years, or of my son-in-law Jake, who has served three tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan.

But I’ve never bought that whole “greatest generation” thing. I grew up on military bases – they were MY home town! I’ve met real heroes from every war or conflict of my lifetime. They were not all of that one generation. And none of those who fought at Anzio also fought at Valley Forge or Gettysburg. How can we forget those sacrifices?

I tend to believe that if those of the current generation were faced with a similar need they would step into the sea and fight their way onto the beach just like the soldiers of that generation.

But I don’t need to view any generation as “greatest” or “best” or “finest-kind” to feel deep gratitude for those who made places like Omaha, Normandy, Ford Island, Guadalcanal or Anzio sacred places.

Today I say, as I often do, to all who have worn any of the uniforms of the US Armed Forces in wartime; thank you for your service and sacrifice.

And I add, to all of those who wore those uniforms at any time, who trained and prepared, and even expected to be called upon; thank you for your preparation and your readiness.

Without all of you, there would be no freedom and liberty in this nation.