D Day June 6, 1944
Imagine you are about 18 years old. You are on a boat, in the ocean, far from your home, in a foreign country. You know that you are about to participate in a world altering event - one that will mean life or death to many people, a number that you cannot even wrap around your brain (you are, after all,18). You are floating in almost silence as you and the people around you think about what is to come. Many are seasick, and the stench of vomit is incessant.
While waiting to embark on your voyage, you have listened to nonstop, unending air raids from an enemy determined to annihilate you. The raids were so frightening that you actually looked forward to embarking into the cold, dark waters to face an event that nothing in life had prepared you for.
The following is an actual description from the memoirs of my father, John McLean. He landed the morning after the first wave of D Day at age 20. It is important to note that he was in the second wave of attack - he and the other soldiers had already learned of the fates of the soldiers in the first wave. The air raids they listened to before their departure, foretold a grim prognostication of their own future:
“We were unassigned at this time, in other words, replacements, some referred to us as cannon fodder. We boarded a ship on the evening of June 6 and sometime during the night, shoved off, and arrived the morning of June 7. We went over the side of the boat, down cargo nets, and into LCTs (as seen in the movie, Saving Private Ryan) and took off towards shore. The sailor operating our unit was somewhat shy (scared), didn’t want to get too close, and dropped the gate and I was first off, having been made a first scout by a Lieutenant, and dropped in over my head. I was loaded with a rifle, shells (bullets) and a full field pack of about 52 lbs.”
What brave men they were. Most left comfortable lives and answered the call, and my father was one of them. He left college, friends, a great job and without a thought to what was ahead, enlisted in the infantry. He had spent a year at West Point and could have enlisted at a higher rank, and not have been “cannon fodder,” but he didn’t. Much to the deep trepidation of my grandmother, he wanted to fight.
I look at 18 year olds today and I see a different picture. Their biggest fears are getting pulled over for speeding, drinking or texting. Their biggest worry is getting a sufficient score on the ACT or SAT test to ensure acceptance at their dream college. At 18, their thoughts are with college applications, college essays and grad parties.
Don’t misunderstand me, I am not criticizing. Their worries are what every parent wishes for their children - because at 18, they are indeed, children. No parent wants their 18 year old to prematurely become an adult. No one wants to see them jump into 10 feet of water carrying 52 pounds - with a rifle, and let’s be honest, very few are eager to see their 18 year old voluntarily head into military service.
As a country, we had never faced this kind of fear and danger. These brave men had no idea of what they would encounter. I doubt they even fully understood the conflict beyond the fact that our soil had been violated. They understood what an enemy was, and that the enemy had dared to attack them, and their way of life, and that was enough. It was that simple…yet it was so complicated.
I recently was going through some old pictures I had collected after my mother died. I was looking for ancestors for my ancestry hobby (ok, obsession). They were not very chronological - photos from high school were mixed with photos of her great grandparents. Each one triggered a different reaction from me, smiles, frowns, laughs and curiosity (everyone, please write names on the back of every picture).
She had several from high school of her boy friends (not her boyfriends). On the back, she listed a name and she also noted that he had died in the war. There were about six perhaps, and it was overwhelming to me. I stared at each picture, and tried to memorize each face. They were just like any 18 year old boy today, with a goofy smile, posing in a comical way - almost like today’s “selfies.” The sacrifice that each had made was so hard for me to fully appreciate.
My mom met my father shortly before he shipped off. It was accidental meeting; he was at her house with a friend picking up her sister to go on a double date. My dad’s date was their next stop. They never picked up his date, instead, they talked and spent the evening playing bridge with my mom and her sister, my aunt. My mom was five years younger and still in high school. During the next several years, and throughout my dad’s military service, they kept up a letter correspondence. Both often said that their letter writing really helped each other get to know each other in a way most couples don’t experience. My dad was injured and shipped stateside to many different hospitals. When he finally returned to Minnesota, my mom met his train and they were married shortly after - she was 20 and he was 25. What a leap of faith that was, and one that yielded 10 children and 60 plus years of marriage.
The war made men out of children and it did it within mere weeks. It was a war that changed their lives in ways we simply can’t fathom; it is impossible to understand and appreciate what they faced and how they processed their fears. Honestly, to consider what they faced and to think of my son facing that, brings tears to me. As a mother, knowing your son, or daughter, faced that imminent and real fear of death, and faced it alone, thousands of miles from home is simply paralyzing. I don’t know how that generation did it. How did they put one foot in front of the other every single day following that telegram from the War Dept.?
It was a generation filled with sacrifice.
Today, D Day, is a day worthy of reflection, and a day worth acknowledging the sacrifices made by the men and women of World War II.
If you see a serviceman or woman, please take time to say thanks.
