They said the LST could ride higher in the water when landing in trim. She hit the sloping beach, and the bow door fell and disgorged jeeps and tanks and finally men with hands to work. It was gray all round, the water, the sky, ship after ship beside, around, and behind as far as he could see, if he dared to look back.
He looked forward only. German mortar and artillery shells exploded, but he looked forward only—wreckage, strewn wreckage of metal, of flipped, ripped jeeps, of wire, of bodies, whole and fallen, of twitching pieces, arms here and legs there, of detached trunks spilling guts, of oozing, foaming blood.
His automatic-motion hands dragged and patched the broken living and passed them to other hands that stretchered them up the ramp.
The day thundered, but he distanced the noise. He heard nothing but the whir in his brain, punctuated by hoarse yelling or screaming. His hands, now practiced, moved with machine-like precision.
He paused once. Why Omaha? A city in a golden prairie sea. Why Utah? A land-locked state and a salt lake? But this Omaha, this Utah, opened to a dead sea.
My parents and I traveled to the beaches in September 1994. Low clouds hung dully. My father glanced at the tourists wandering about. “It’s so empty,” he said. “The sea, the sea—it’s so empty.”
A Frenchman in his fifties approached. “Are you a veteran?” he asked.
My father nodded. “Then we thank you,” the stranger said. “I am part of a group who makes pilgrimages to such places. I look out to that water and thank all those lost boys—all those innocent souls who lost their lives ahead—and say a prayer.”
A perfect day to release this one Storyteller. How sad that the younger generations are not made aware of the sacrifices these great folks made for all of us. They gave up their lives for us, yet our children are not being taught of their significant achievement. This is all over the world. The Educational systems can certainly do with some reforms.
Dr M, I suppose we must educate at home–literature and history. You set a good example as a parent! Thanks for reading. Best, C
Reblogged this on Dr Mustapha Tahir and commented:
A perfect day & Storyteller honoured it well with this blog by Catherine Hamrick.
So powerful, Catherine. Thank you for this potent reminder of the incredible bravery these soldiers evinced and for the sacrifices they made that we cannot begin to fathom. This gives me lump in my throat….
Thank you for your kind comment. Remembering does matter.
I passed this link to my friend, Janet Fogg (one of my sisters of the quill) who wrote this book: http://janetfogg.com/non-fiction.html
She blogs here about the book and the 359th fighter group: http://fogginthecockpit.blogspot.com/p/359th-fighter-group.html
She regularly blogs about WWII and the 359th fighter group.
Thanks for sharing Janet’s links. I’ll check out the book!
Remembering does matter. I had a bi-cultural childhood: German mother and US Army GI father. We grew up with war stories from both sides around our dining room table. We, as children, were not sheltered from the impact of war on our parents’ and grandparents’ lives and made us value our freedom. Bedford, VA is about an hour away from me and is a remarkably moving tribute. Sorry for such a long comment (Army brat pride!)
Thanks for sharing. I feel fortunate that my father did not remain silent about his war years. You could write a book about both sides of your family!
I forgot to say in my earlier message how much I appreciate your post. Immensely well done and moving.
Since my high school years were the WW2 years, I remember them well. I remember Roosevelt’s Fireside Talks on the radio and his speech about Pearl Harbor and my schoolmates who enlisted right after graduation and fought in Europe and the South Pacific. I lived on both coasts…New York from 194l to l943 and California for the rest of the war. Ernie Pyle kept us aware of what was happening. When Roosevelt died, it was startling and everyone was wary of what kind of leadership Truman would provide.As horrendous as his decision was, it ended the war and the killing of many more of our servicemen. Yes, today is a day to remember and to honor the brave men who fought on that shore.
Such a rich life you have–and great stories you share with us.
” Are history courses just as pointless?”
When we forget – we’re doomed to repeat.
My visit to Dr Tahir’s blog brought me here, Catherine.
Thanks for taking time to stop by, Eric. You’re a busy fellow! It’s a pleasure to share a connection to Dr. Tahir–a wonderful across-the-pond neighbor. Yes, peace.
Thank you, Vets, for keeping me safe!
Thanks for stopping by, John. Yes, we owe each eternal gratitude.
“He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow, and with much wisdom comes much grief.” If we study history, we are doomed to watch ourselves repeat it. Sorry, but I’m having one of those days when all seems vain. I need a trip to the mountains.
“Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called the Masai ‘Ngaje Ngai’, the House of God.
Kilimanjaro is far from me, literally. I will try western North Carolina.
My financial adviser had a client in his office, who mentioned as he was about to leave that he “was going to Kilimanjaro.” The receptionist looked at him in a puzzled way, and asked, “How to you kill a manjaro?” True story, that has probably happened many times around the world.
The Masai reference causes me to remember the three Masai warriors crossing the plain in “Out of Africa.” If only I could have been a Masai warrior! Yes, I know: Call me Walter.