D-Day Through French Eyes

There is hardly an American alive today who has not seen “The Longest Day,” Darrell Zanuck’s 1962 epic film of the invasion of France in June 1944. This star-studded, dramatic film and other movies about World War II center on the actions and activities, usually heroic, of Allied forces on the long march to Berlin to end the Nazi reign in Europe. Recall the moment in Patton when the General, standing in his jeep as it sped down the road, replied to a common soldier’s “Where are you going General? “I’m going to Berlin. I'm going to personally shoot that paper-hanging son of a bitch.” 

Lost in all of these tales of derring-do and allied competence is an intimate picture of what D-Day was like for the ordinary French men and women living, some for decades, on the Normandy peninsula. 

Those who lived in the Normandy countryside where the landings and fighting took place were average every day people. They were farmers and villagers. They had cows to milk, bread to bake, crops to harvest, children to educate, babies to be born, old and sick people to be nursed and buried.

 

Ms. Roberts

Mary Louise Roberts', professor of history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, second book,  D-Day through French Eyes - Memoirs of Normandy 1944, brings to life the personal stories of some of the French men and women who were the first Europeans to be touched for good or bad by the greatest sea and air armada in history on the night of June 5- 6, 1944. The Allied plan was to conquer the Normandy peninsula in three weeks. It took three months.

The tales of joy, merriment, love, respect, admiration, sorrow, loss and anger are from diaries kept at the time and recollection put down on paper years later. To make an omelet you have to crack eggs, was certainly on the mind of the Normans. From the moments the paras (Allied paratroopers) began dropping from the sky to the early morning shelling from the ships off-shore that destroyed homes, churches, schools, businesses, and killed people and animals, death and destruction were all around.

Roberts says in her introduction to this easily read book, “I have chosen temoignages (testimony)  that revolve around the rich sensory details of D-Day --- the sound of artillery, the first glimpse of an American, the stench of death, and the taste of chocolate. The result is a vision of both hell at the hands of the occupiers and joy at being liberated.” In most instances testimony is prefaced with an explanation and perspective by Roberts to help the reader become enmeshed as if living in the day.

Perhaps for the first time, D-Day through French Eyes offers readers the opportunity to balance the stirring events of those dramatic, impacting days as portrayed by Hollywood, and what it was like to live in the path of D-Day.

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Where the tour began.

In South Carolina it is: "Bu fort," but in North Carolina it is "Bo fort," and that is where Joyce and I traveled last week to be with some friends in the Carolinas & Georgia chapter of CIRA (Central Intelligence Retirees Association.) (The group has graciously made me an honorary member.) We stayed in Atlantic Beach in the Outer Banks and a day trip to Beaufort was a pleasant outing and one of the annual reunion activities. 




The tour around the historic city was in a double decker bus imported from London. Sitting up top in the open air provided a great view of the city but required riders to duck low occasionally as we passed under large oaks with hanging branches.

A London Import

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beaufort is replete with historic homes which are well maintained and many still occupied. A courthouse, jail and apothecary have been re-located to a common site and a docent led us through all of these. Punishment 200 years ago included jail time, floggings, hanging and the stocks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 It was not all touring, golf and socializing. Joyce and I took time to walk on the long pier behind out hotel and take in the beach, people fishing and seagulls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Complete blog here.

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Equal Opportunity, voters and polling

On this day in 1948, July 26, President Harry S Truman
signed Executive Order 9981, desegregating the military of the United States. This bold stroke accomplished two major feats: it opened the door for African-Americans to advance in the military in multiple new ways and it helped President Truman at the polls in November. The desegregation order and later the civil rights platform adopted at the 1948 Democratic convention helped Truman win large majorities among black voters in the populous Northern and Midwestern states and may well have made the difference for Truman in states such as Illinois and Ohio.

This bold stroke was taken by President Truman because he believed desegregation was a moral issue. His chances of winning the 1948 election were considered by practically everyone - except the President himself - to be less than nil.  Many officials in his administration had already lined up new jobs and it is said that even Mrs. Truman doubted her husband would win. So certain were they that the race was over by September, the polling services stopped polling. They would never make that mistake again.

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My visit to Normandy

In 2012, I visited France and Germany. The main purpose in visiting France was to go to Normandy where D-Day had taken place almost 70 years earlier. For many years I wanted to show a sign of respect to the the fighting men who sacrificed everything for us on that fateful day in history. These are some pictures from that visit. The American Cemetery and Memorial is a World War II cemetery and memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy, France, that honors American troops. It is slightly East of what in June 1944 was known as Omaha Beach.

Directional sign, simple and understated.

In the Memorial, one of the remembrances of the men who came and fought.

Carved in stone for generations to remember.

The Pointe Du Hoc. Germans on top fired down on American Rangers.

Final resting place for 9,387Americans.

A child's retirement says you are old!

At dinner on March 17, 2014, the first anniversary of my marriage to Joyce, I told her, two of my sons and a daughter and daughter-in-law, that I was experiencing signs of getting old: Walking has slowed down, I've given up bike riding, hearing is less than what it used to be, and a few other things (best left un-described) are a bit slow in responding. “But what really makes me feel old,” I said, “is having a child retire.”

A retirement ceremony, scheduled at the CIA where my second son, James, an attorney, had completed 27 years of service in various legal positions, had been cancelled because snow shut down the entire federal government in Washington, D.C., on St. Patrick’s Day. Talk about the luck of the Irish. We had the retirement dinner anyway and told James how much we loved him and how proud we were of his service to our country (in addition to an earlier four years as an officer in the USAF.) Three of the agency's leaders passed along laudatory comments about James and his service. I only wish we could have heard them in person.

My wife and I drove to Washington from Hilton Head, S.C., and the trip was uneventful until we got about 90 miles south of the nation’s capital where, for no explicable reason other than density, traffic slowed down to a crawl. We beat the snow, however, but it started to come down and stick on the ground around 7 p.m. on March 16. 

The most notable event of the return trip heading south on March 18, was passing a multiple vehicle accident in the north bound lanes. It looked like a car had been on fire. As we came up on the scene, there were too many vehicles (cars, 18 wheelers, and emergency vehicles) stopped and jammed together to figure out what happened. Not being involved and unable to assist we kept on going. Joyce was at the wheel and measured the traffic back up as stretching two miles from the accident site. It was less than a stellar day for a lot of people.

Our car (BMW) on the left.

One year married and already out in the cold (LOL)

Birds puffing out their chests to keep warm

The retiree with his shovel and friend.

 

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Frank Seabrook Hay, Jr., 1926-2013,R.I.P.

(Note: The following are remarks I planned to make at the celebration of Frank's life on Saturday, September 21, 2013, at Rodenberg Chapel, Franke at Seaside, Mt. Pleasant, SC. Speaking, however, was limited to three members of his large extended family.)

   It is a happy feeling to be back at Franke at Seaside among so many friends, even though the occasion is also a sad one.

   We come together to celebrate the life of our friend Frank Hay and at the same time extend to his beloved wife Frances and all the family members our condolences and love.

   I had been at Franke for over three years when Frank and Frances came to live here. I was a regular participant in “The Week That Was,” a discussion group dealing with current events, most of them political in nature. The weekly group attendance was 25 to 30 residents, male and female. The group was led in a most capable manner by Jeff Erickson, a volunteer coordinator, who is with us today.

   The group was essentially divided into two camps. There were conservatives and liberals. Each camp held views peculiar to their own persuasion. Some of the attendees spoke up frequently and wanted to share their opinion, and hopefully convert others. A number of attendees listened silently, sometimes smiling or nodding their heads one way or the other.

  Then one day a new face was in the crowd. It was Frank Hay. Initially, Frank was somewhat of an enigma.  He didn’t seem to have any of the prejudices that dominated the participants. He could not be said to be in one camp or another.

   After a few weeks I began to recognize Frank as a free-thinker. He formed his own opinions about important subjects instead of accepting what others were saying.

   It slowly dawned on me that Frank would have been right at home during the birthing years of our great country. He would have enjoyed the company of Washington, Jefferson and Franklin. He would have believed in the separation of church and state and the freedom of man to make his own choices in all matters.

   Like Galileo, Frank did not feel obliged to believe that the same God who endowed us with sense, reason and intellect had intended for us to fore-go their use.

   In 1790, George Washington urged congress to promote science and literature. He said that in every country knowledge is the surest basis of public happiness.

   Frank was like this. He came every week to The Week That Was armed with six or seven supporting documents in a folder with which to urge thought and discussion. His arguments were spoken with intelligence and moderation. He did not believe that speaking loudly made anyone’s argument any more persuasive.

   I sought out and enjoyed Frank’s company and that of Frances. They amazed many of us on several social occasions with elegant demonstrations of ball-room dancing. Frank’s skills on the dance floor made him the envy of more than one man here at Franke. Especially, when wives said, “See!”

   We served together on the Active Lifestyle Residents’ Council here at Franke and for a year Frank was our recording secretary. He carried out his duties with determination and skill and everyone benefited from his accurate rendition of what happened at the meetings.

   Frank came to my apartment one day and took away an idea of how to re-arrange his living space to make it more livable. He told me about this later and I felt good about it. Who doesn’t like a bit of praise now and then?

   We sat together and enjoyed dinner at the counter in the Bistro on many occasions and it was a pleasure to share our thoughts.

   My wife, Joyce, and I came to visit Frank in late August and enjoyed again his company and our discussion. He was his usual optimistic self and we left with joy in our hearts at how well he seemed to be getting along. Alas, that was only temporary and the Master of the Universe had other plans. I would like to think He will enjoy Frank, the free-thinker, for all eternity as much as we enjoyed him for the three years he was with us at Franke.

   Frank was my friend and I will miss him very much.

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(Complete blog here.)

Massachusets - Memories Abound

I had my pacemaker checked on Tuesday, all was well, thank you, packed my bag and took off on Wednesday with my wife, Joyce, to drive to Massachusetts. Before our return to South Carolina a week later we would log 2,794 miles, the last fifty or so in a driving rain storm that at times almost wiped out road visibility.
We visited Joyce's family and I met her oldest son and his wife and son (in Douglas, MA) for the first time since our marriage in March. The second son and I met earlier in the year while he was visiting in South Carolina. Joyce's brother and his wife welcomed us to their home in Andover, MA., and this was another first meeting. A visit with my sister and her friend (No. Chelmsford, MA) was a reunion as we had all been together in The Villages in Florida over Christmas.
Joyce and I took turns showing each other where we had been raised, went to school and worked in our early years. We had lived about an hour's drive from each other (me in Lowell and Joyce in and around Douglas) but never knew each other until we met on-line last year. In my case, I showed Joyce parking spaces where two of the houses I grew up in once stood. I wanted to take her inside St. Patrick's church in Lowell where I had been an altar server for several years but the church was locked tight. Thievery is so common churches are locked except when in use. A sad commentarry on the times in which we live.
Joyce's house of many years in Rehoboth, MA, was sold when she moved permanently to Moss Creek about 12 years ago. It has been rental property for several years and sad to say, shows it. A pool cover was in place and according to the current tenant had not been removed in years.
For many people driving up the East coast on I-95 is a nightmare of congestion, road construction and repairs, heavy truck traffic and boring landscape. We tried to temper this by going up I-95 to Columbia, then to Charlotte on I-77 and eventually all the way through North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut to the Mass Turnpike, using I-81 and 84. The scenery was much improved and although there were some minor delays for construction, the road traffic was lighter. We returned using most of the same roads, except we detoured into the Washington, D.C., area to visit one of my sons. We completed our return via I-95 picking it up South of Washington.
We had planned a couple of tourist type stops on the return trip (Natural Bridge in Virginia, Hyde Park - family home of FDR, and Croton Dam in New York - a recent beautiful Bing screen saver on my computer) but rain dampened our enthusiasm and we had to leave these side trips on our bucket list. While we were in Massachusetts we visited Fall River and viewed the heritage harbor and World War II era ships moored there. The USS Massachusetts and USS Joseph P. Kennedy are the among the vessels in the harbor.
It is good to get away occasionally, to see relatives and even better to return home.
Pictures are a part of every trip. Some out of whimsey, some because we could and some because we wanted to record the happy moments. 
Complete blog here.
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The River Jordan

A friend sent along some pictures taken of a baptismal site on the River Jordan on the border between Jordan and Israel. The pictures were taken on the Jordan side and the baptisms are taking place in Israel.  (Click on the link above.)
This is the same river (not the actual spot obviously) where Jesus was baptized by John.

Baptism of Christ by John.

(Complete blog here.)

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The road "less traveled by"

Robert Frost created a tale (The Road Not Taken) of the diverging roads encountered on the travel through life. One is well-worn and exudes feelings of safety and security. The other is equally inviting, although “less traveled by” and to take it is to step into the unknown.

Five years ago, after almost 50 years in Hanahan, SC, I took a road “less traveled by” and came to Franke at Seaside, Mt. Pleasant, SC. It has turned out well.

Now, I am at another fork in the road of life and once again will take the road “less traveled by.” I am moving to Moss Creek Plantation, Hilton Head, SC, to marry and live with the woman, Joyce Wahlrab, I love and who loves me.   

Throughout my life I have come to many forks in the road and had to choose which road to take. Somehow the choice always worked out and life has been very good to me. I could remain at Franke; it is the easy, the safe, the well-worn path, but I would always wonder what if I had taken the other road?

I am called to recite as did the narrator in The Road Not Taken:

“And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

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( Complete blog at archibaldinsc.blogspot.com )

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