Hello Everyone,
I returned from what proved to be a momentous journey through the European battlefields of World War 2 nearly 4 months ago. My family, six of us traveled first to Paris then on to Berlin, backtracking from there through Germany and France, and finally settling in a 16th century farm house near the town of Bayeux. This would be our home base while touring Normandy during the 81st anniversary observances of D-Day, June 6, 1944. It appears that a trip such as this requires some time to process events and reflect on the significance of what we as a family experienced earlier this summer. Turns out that is the easier part. Figuring out how I personally was impacted is more difficult. Then of course there is Newton’s First Law of Motion: Inertia- “a body at rest tends to want to stay at rest etc.” It is now clear to me that I have been doing both. No wait. Writer’s block. Yeah. That’s it. I had writers’ block and it took this long to move it aside.
Paul
P.S. Thank you to my wife Deborah and our daughter Natalie for making this trip happen.
Note: Prior to leaving for Europe, I put together a 50+page booklet of my father’s journey through World War 2. He was assigned to the 47th Armored Infantry Battalion, a part of the 5th Armored Division, that answered initially to Omar Bradly then George Patton. I supplied copies to my immediate family. Beginning with his enlistment in October of 1942, it traces his journey from basic training straight through VE Day, August 8,1945. We did a pretty good job visiting many of the towns, villages, and battlefields he and the 5th Armored Division moved through on their way to Berlin. You can in the very near future, view my booklet here or by clicking on the tab titled 5th AD on any page. It also incorporates some unique facts about the war you may find to be of interest.
“There is a mysterious cycle in human events. To some generations much is given. Of other generations much is expected. This generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny.”
We made our way, out and onto the long, wide, gently curving road back to the parking lot a mile and a half from *Mont Saint Michel. Six of us spread out among dozens of other visitors, with me bringing up the rear. Not because I am old or slower, although both seem to be true. but rather to absorb as much as I could of another amazing day in a two-week adventure second to none in my life’s journey.
In the distance, off to our right I spotted them. Four large, black touring buses. Having seen them before at the Normandy American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer, just above Omaha Beach, they were unmistakable, and they were making their way toward us. We all stopped in our tracks marveling at the sight, individually pondering our next move. Adrenaline rushed through my body igniting quite an emotional high. But I couldn’t just stand there and watch… action was required. What to do?
I could not salute. I never served in any capacity that would have given me that privilege. Placing my hand over my heart seemed like not enough, at least not for me, although many around me were doing just that. So, at the last second, when the 4 buses were 50 yards away, I began to applaud. Hands held high above my head, tears welling…big steady claps. Others around me joined in as the lead bus began blowing its horn, followed by the other buses until the entire area transformed into a marvelous celebration. Then suddenly as if to punctuate the significance of the moment, the clouds parted as 2 huge C-130 Hercules screamed overhead adding their welcome.
*A magical, castle-like city in Normandy. It is an island, twice a day. Also a sandy oasis, albeit quite damp twice a day. Thanks to having the highest tidal range in all of Europe, nearly 50 feet. The tides are also quite fast moving at around 6 mph. (Consider adults walk at a speed of 3-4 mph).
Timing is everything
Three days earlier on June 2nd, we (my wife Deborah, our daughter Natalie, her husband Cameron and our two grandsons Graydon and Owen) were visiting the Normandy American Cemetery above Omaha beach. The deadliest of the 5 beaches (Utah, Gold, Juno, and Sword being the other four), invaded by over 150,000 allied forces on June 6, 1944…D-Day, the largest amphibious operation in history and the culmination of Operation Overlord. We were on a guided tour of Normandy that began here, the final resting place of 9,387 American soldiers.
We quietly walked into this somber, impeccably maintained expanse defined by perfectly aligned white crosses and evenly spaced trees emanating out from a semicircular colonnade containing a tall bronze statue titled: Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves.
Just ahead, some sort of ceremony was taking place near the steps leading to the colonnade. A group of perhaps 200 or so were listening to the words of what came to be the final speaker. A young soldier whose words will remain with me and hopefully all who heard them: “may we live our lives in a way worthy of their sacrifices.” As I gazed at the first few rows of soldiers, in full uniform, seated in wheelchairs, I realized they were the subject of the speaker’s tribute.
Twenty-three soldiers. Not just any soldiers, but actual World War 2 Combat Veterans. All in neatly pressed, dress uniforms, medals firmly attached, faces beaming with pride and smiles that hinted at a gratitude for being here this day. In a nation that has never forgotten the gift they returned to them over 81 years ago…freedom. I was somewhat confused and speechless. How could this be. These veterans would have to be 100 years old more or less. Surely at that age they would be living in a nursing home. How did they get here?
Courtesy of the Best Defense Foundation, an organization dedicated to “taking care of the ones that took care of us.” Founded in 2018 by former NFL linebacker Donnie Edwards they honor and celebrate our veterans from past conflicts. This foundation partnering with Delta airlines transported 23 World War II veterans back to Normandy to celebrate the 81st anniversary of D-Day. And in Mr. Edwards own words: “not just to honor the past but to remind the world what honor truly looks like.”
If you want to feel some of the emotions I did that day, check out this video on YouTube. Delta link as well as the BDF links above. Whew. Here’s a tissue.
Just like that, the ceremony concluded and it was off to the races for the 23 Vets. Propelled by their young volunteer aides, they made their way away from the stage and out toward the gleaming white crosses and presumedly the graves of comrades, friends, or relatives. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were headed. Many exited their wheelchairs, snapped to attention, and saluted. I noticed at least one soldier rubbing what looked like dirt over the difficult to read white on white names of-the-deceased-occupant, making it easier to read. Brilliant, I thought. Also, possibly a no-no. But then again who was going to stop him? Further research showed this to be a common practice. Among centenarian soldiers anyway.
Most exited their wheelchairs while paying their respects. I heard a few of them talking nearby and then suddenly one veteran was passing in my direction. Owen my 14-year-old grandson was at my side. He and his older brother Grady have watched many of the same war movies I have. The age-appropriate ones of course, if my daughter is listening. If you count Star Wars, Star Trek-The Next Generation, Call of Duty, and a plethora of video games as war movies, then they win hands down in terms of exposure to warfare, real or imagined. Factor in the award-winning television series The Band of Brothers and their knowledge of certain aspects of World War 2 is second to none. Band of Brothers serves as a framework for how they view that war: A blend of the horrors of war coupled with the bonds forged by those with whom they fought and died. Perhaps because of this, Owen appeared calm and collected even if experiencing a sense of awe. Unlike his grandpa, who at least on the inside was far from at ease. Both boys demonstrated adult level honor and respect at every turn, on every battlefield and several cemeteries.
I instinctively extended my arm and shook hands with Jack Stowe. He returned it with a firm grip. I told him it was an honor to meet him and thanked him for his service. I then informed him that my father was a World War II veteran and part of the 5th Armored Division. His outfit was the first to cross the Sigfrid line and enter Germany, eventually forced to ‘cool their heels’ two hours from Berlin on the Rhône River, allowing the Russians to take the German capitol without our help. Jack mentioned, with a signature Texas drawl, that he had fought in the Pacific and lived in Fort Worth, Texas, “Gods’ country” he said. “Dallas is one of our suburbs.”
We said goodbye and wished him the best. I wandered off, a bit stunned but very grateful for my encounter.
SC2c Jack E. Stowe- U.S. Navy
Jack Stowe was born in Denton, Texas on September 28, 1926 and was working at a grocery store when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. Jack knew this was a life changing event and wanted to fight for his country, but at 15 years old, he was too young. Jack quit high school, altered his birthdate on some documents and joined the Navy at fifteen years old.
After basic training in San Diego, Jack was assigned to Halavo Seaplane Base on Florida Island, just across from Tulagi, where President John F. Kennedy was stationed as a PT Boat commander. Jack witnessed them frequently patrolling the water around the Solomon Islands and watched the large naval battles in Iron Bottom Sound.
Halavo Base was frequently attacked with one raid resulting in a large explosion causing many casualties. As the war moved closer to Japan, Jack stayed at the base to maintain security.
When the war ended, Jack and two of his navy buddies hitched a ride on a Dutch freighter back to the US.
After serving for over three years, Jack was discharged in January, 1946 at 18.5 years old!
After all the research I did for this trip, how did I not know there would be actual World War 2 Veterans at the various ceremonies, held across northern France every year commemorating D-Day? It was sort of like visiting Gettysburg and suddenly General Robert E. Lee shows up. Well, not quite the same but this best describes the magnitude of the moment from my perspective. Ok. Get over it I told myself and I did but not until I returned home. Two realities jolted me back into balance. The first was the fact that there are approximately 66,000 living World War 2 Veterans in the United States today and perhaps 220,000 worldwide. A small fraction of those making up America’s “greatest generation” more than I imagined. The second was my sister Tina. She has been looking in on a woman in my home town of Batavia, NY. Home care if you will. Her charge is 103 years old and clearly remembers my father who would have been the same age if he were still alive. Both were born in 1922 and went to Lincoln Elementary School on the south side of town and later Batavia High School. Thank you, Tina. I wasn’t seeing ghosts after all.
There is also the issue of my intense emotional reaction to seeing World War 2 veterans in Normandy or watching the videos produced about their return, during the 81st anniversary of D-Day. I get choked up and teary. What is that all about? The best I can figure out is that two things are at play. The first is my huge respect for my parents’ generation for doing the heavy lifting and confronting the evil Nazi juggernaut all those years ago. They and their parents navigated the Great Depression only to be rewarded with Pearl Harbor and all that followed. Their sacrifices have enabled me to enjoy the life I have today. Never in history have so many of us had so much and lived so well. Even if everyone has not benefited equally, as a whole, by nearly every measure, we live better, happier, healthier lives than nearly everyone who came before. So, the gratitude I feel could have been triggered by their physical presence and knowing that some are still with us. Perhaps making me feel safe? Comforted? Connected? I really can’t say.
The second possible catalyst for my exaggerated emotional state may very well be associated with my childhood. It is generally agreed upon that most World War 2 veterans did not talk a lot about their experiences. My father was no exception, although I do have a few stories and “opinions” I may share with you at a later date. Like many of his fellow soldiers who had witnessed unimaginable horrors, my dad self-medicated.
I carried a degree of resentment around with me for many years, never once considering what demons must have resided in my father’s psyche because of his combat experiences.
The closest I came to understanding what may have affected him during the war was an envelope containing photographs he took in a German town called Gardelegen. The sight of an infamous massacre near the end of the war. His division came upon the scene most likely the next day. I came upon these images snooping around in the attic as a boy. I of course never said a word about them nor did my father ever bring up their existence. I also have vague memories of family members demonstrating their understanding and compassion for my dad when in my mind, harsh words and a reprimand would have been more appropriate. Perhaps they knew something I didn’t. It appeared they were cutting him slack. Something I was unable or unwilling to do for many years.
I have since come to terms with my feelings toward my father and harbor no anger or animosity. Unfortunately, I never shared this with him. Today, looking back it is clear my father’s combat experiences contributed greatly to his behavior during my childhood. My memories of that time must now be playing some part in my strong emotional reactions to all that I witnessed during my trip to Normandy this summer. I don’t know. Emotions seem to have their own life and schedule.
Note: In the event you do not view any of the video’s I linked to above, I offer up a quote by World War 2 Veteran Jake Larson. He was at all the 81st Anniversary Services at the American National Cemetery. I remember his souvenir, button adorned hat and smiling face. Jake’s attitude for me, is emblematic of America’s Greatest Generation. Selfless, giving, brave and tough.
“This is where the heroes are. The people that never made it home. The people that gave their life. They can’t speak. So, we have to speak a few words for them. They didn’t get a chance to raise a family like I did. Thank you, guys. Thank you all that gave your life. So that I could come back. I am the luckiest man in the world. I am not a hero. I walked in the company of heroes.”
Papa Jake, as he was fondly known, died a little over a month after returning home from Normandy this summer.
Many if not all of you have your own connections to World War 2. Either personal ones through your fathers, mothers, or grandparents. If you are younger, your connections might feel more distant and less impactful. Growing up, however, every student has studies World War 2, be it through American History or World History classes, Philosophy, Geography, perhaps even Art, and Science. Our entire world has been shaped to a large degree by the war and its aftermath. Geo-Politically, economically, socially, and culturally. There is no escaping this reality. Nor is there any way to avoid looking at the conditions leading up to World War 2, even if we would rather forget. But remember, we must if we have any hope of avoiding a repeat.
I take comfort in knowing my two young grandsons and likely millions of others like them will carry the torch for freedom, justice, equality, and democracy far into the future. America will be okay because we will make it so. No matter what.
Paul
I left my home in the small Western New York city of Batavia in March 1977 vowing never to shovel snow again. Never say never. Settling for 38 years in what was for me the "promised land" of Santa Barbara, California. I married, helped raise a family, started a business, traveled and live a wonderful life. We spent the last 10 years of our west coast journey in the small, quiet, picturesque town of Ojai. My oldest friends call me TJ.
My wife Deborah and I moved to Colorado in 2015 to be near our daughter, her husband and 2 growing grand-boys. Add 2 bulldogs (French & English) to the mix and our hands and hearts are full. We all reside in Niwot, a small quaint town 15 minutes north of Boulder. The mighty Rocky Mountains are at our doorstep.
I am a man, son, brother, cousin, friend, husband, father, uncle, grand father, in-law and mostly retired Coloradan. You can read more about me on the About Page. If you are curious about my professional life you can visit my Career at Venture Horizon.
Your information is secure and private. You can cancel at any time.
What a beautiful, emotional account, Paul. You express the deep emotions and humanity of the experience so vividly and eloquently. This had to have been a profound, unforgettable experience for all your family.
Paul
This is one of the finest pieces of writing I have ever had the honor to read. You are a brilliant writer on so many levels. Most of all the transparency that allows you to open your heart and share.
Thank you for opening my eyes to what I never considered about my Dad who served in the Navy and finished his deployment as a Marine in Okinawa. I was brought up to believer he was the strong silent type. Now, with your guidance, I can think of him as someone who carried the burdens of his experiences who protected my sister and me from what he saw and did.
Thank you Paul
Bob
Bob,
I just read your comment on my last Blog. I don’t know what to say except to say thank you…from the bottom of my heart.
Such praise from an actual author is humbling. Thanks for raising me to a higher level of duty and responsibility.
Paul
A beautiful tribute to the young men (many your grandsons age) who felt compelled to join the fight against their ancestors invaders in Europe, Africa and the Pacific (my Dad joined the Navy at 16 and retired a CPO)
“We were attacked by a clear enemy army at Pearl Harbor!” My father said this when he supported my opposition to the Vietnam war. (I realize many WWII vets did not share his clarity if conflict.
Thanks for reminding us Paul!
Your welcome Sandy. My father would have nothing to do with any conflicting attitudes I had at the time. He made sure I maintained my student deferment. Then the 1st Lottery settled everything when my number came up…343.
What a moving account of your sojourn to the battlefields of Europe. Thanks so much for sharing! In these tines when the sacrifices you so eloquently describe are repudiated by current leadership, it is important to be reminded of the tens of thousands who died so that we could enjoy freedoms that are the envy of the world. Keep up the good work! — Gratefully, Cousin Jeffrey
Thank you Jeffrey for your kind words. Let’s keep the fires of freedom burning.
Beautifully written like all of your blogs. I am so happy you got to do this amazing trip. And, most importantly coming to terms of why our Dad “was the way he was.” We turned out pretty awesome despite all the drama.❤️
Thanks Dawn. What a trip indeed. The journey continues.
Paul, you write so well and are able to articulate so many things including your emotions and the facts as you find them. Keep up the good work.
Thank you as always Peter. I will try to do my best.