Written by FTW
My father was a WWII vet that ended up having to wear metal braces on both legs, from his ankles to his hips, as a result of getting hit by shrapnel from artillery during the war.
Unfortunately, from the time I could talk, until I turned 18, I never had a chance to see or speak with my father, so I was not able to learn much about his war experiences.
When I was in my 40’s, I finally got to meet and correspond with his two younger brothers that retired from the Army, and they told me that he didn’t even talk to them much about what happened during the war.
So, the sketchy information I do have about his war experiences come from government records.
Along those lines of obtaining copies of his military records, I discovered there was a fire in St. Louis at the building where many of the military records were stored, so their copies of his records were destroyed.
Luckily, I was able to drive 600 miles to the town where he enlisted and was able to obtain a few minor records.
According to his military discharge papers, prior to his time in the Army, he was a “Soda Dispenser” commonly called a Soda Jerk because they “mixed” flavored syrup, carbonated water and sometimes malt powder, directly in front of the customers that wanted cold drinks.
He only had a 7thgrade education and stood 5’ 4 ½“ tall when he was inducted into the Army in April 1943 at the age of 18.
His basic training was at Fort Knox where they trained him as a cook.
I have no idea where he was stationed during the next year, but on May 21, 1944 he departed the U.S.A. heading for Europe and arrived in London on June 2, 1944.
He was 19 years old now and arriving in a foreign country for the first time in his life. Europe was at war with Germany and he knew that he was sent there to fight.
So, I can not help but wonder what that 19 year old kid was thinking.
I can relate to some small degree by reflecting on certain events and situations that I was in, back when I was around 19 and facing a new terrifying event.
The biggest fear for me, was NOT KNOWING what would happen the next day, or the next few days. It was almost like a form of torture, wondering if I could survive the situation that I was in.
Being kept in darkness, by not having enough information about what, who, when, why or how, will cause a lot of internal stress and fears.
I am sure my father must have known something big was about to happen. But due to the delays of the attack being put on hold because of weather conditions, all of the soldiers must have been anxious and wanting to get started, while at the same time, afraid or concerned about surviving the next few days or years.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what unit he was attached to during the D-day invasion, so I have been unable to find out which beach he would have used.
Looking at his discharge records, only give me a glimpse of the unit he was attached to just prior to him being sent to a hospital ship the following year.
Looking at his uniform, I know he received a Purple Heart after he became the sole survivor of his unit during the Battle of the Bulge in 1945.
I also know that his uniform contains a Presidential Unit Citation from the 10thArmored Division along with 3 bronze Bronze Service Stars for various battles he was involve in, plus 1 Bronze Star Medal for meritorious service or acts of valor while serving in combat, which is the fourth-highest combat award of the U.S. Armed Forces.
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While I personally would never commit Suicide, due to my religious beliefs, I am a firm believer there are some things worse then death.
The proof of that statement is the fact that so many men have committed suicide after fighting in our Civil War, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, etc.
I am old enough to have attended more funerals then I can count. I have also physically witnessed people fight to take their last breath after succumbing to a violent ending of their life.
But knowing the massive number of deaths that occurred on both sides during the D-day invasion, I can not fathom the images, sounds and thoughts of the BOYS that were still alive as June 6th, 1944 turned into June 7th, 1944 and again on June 8th, 1944.
I have spent decades communicating with WWII vets and can personally testify to the fact that some scars, the mental ones, that lived within those boys as they became men, were so horrific that most people in society are better off not knowing what these boys saw, felt, heard or did.
May God have mercy on their souls, for they have clearly been through Hell on this earth.
Consider this a tribute to every boy that survived the D-day invasion and fought the demons inside their own memory banks long enough to become caring fathers, uncles and grandparents.
They were truly the Greatest Generation.
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