Recent emails indicate many people don't know I am a WWII veteran. I seldom mention it because I respect those who fought and won the war, and I'm not one of them. However, I do have very deep feelings about WWII and now realize I'm not being honest by withholding them.
My recent boat trip -- Paris to the D-Day Beaches -- was my first international trip since occupying Japan in WWII. I wanted to experience Europe, but I went primarily to honor those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the greatest military operation in history.
WWII America profoundly influenced my life.
I grew up during the depression, when we all learned to do without, while being constantly reassured by an optimistic Franklin Roosevelt. I didn't know it then, but for me, America's greatness began when I was age 14 and raced home to tell my family I heard Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor.
The stark reality was two very powerful enemies who could defeat us and take over the world. During 1942 and 1943, Japan's forces were advancing throughout the Pacific, capturing the Philippines and our troops. Rommel, "The Desert Fox," seemed to be gaining North Africa. My brother Tom left high school in 1942 for duty aboard a destroyer escorting convoys to supply troops fighting Rommel. Even in 1943, after being attacked by German subs in the Atlantic and then by JU88 dive bombers in the Mediterranean, only 10-20 percent of his convoys might get through.
But our depression-hard nation was used to odds stacked against us. America's mobilization was absolutely incredible in its unity and scope. The draft was dwarfed by the eagerness to enlist. Every family sacrificed -- food, gas, cigarettes, booze, etc. were rationed. Gold stars in windows proudly indicated the ultimate sacrifice. "Rosie the riveter" became one of our heroes. Our daily production of war supplies was beyond belief.
Blanche, my high school sweetheart -- and ultimately my wife -- had two brothers who as pilots survived the Pearl Harbor attack, one seriously wounded. Tragically, neither brother, nor her father, came home from the war. Blanche always tried to maintain a "stiff upper lip" in these trying times. I always felt this exceptional lady needed to give herself more room to grieve.
I enlisted in the Navy several months before graduating from high school, but by the time I finished "boot camp," both wars were over. So I was stateside for V-E and V-J days and remember the intense joy, the surreal feeling of not living with war hanging over our heads.
I ended up in Japan as a navigator/signalman to bring the ships back home. Once our LCI-m (Landing Craft Infantry-mortars) made it all the way back to Boston, MA (it took nearly five months,) the LCI-m was decommissioned and I was discharged.
While I had not participated in the magnificent effort to rid the world of these two terrible tyrannies, those who did made me proud to be an American and a serviceman.
More important was the opportunity they afforded my life. Now it was my job to live a life that honored their sacrifices.
I didn't start out that way. I was a playboy in college; Blanche had to ask me, "Are we going to get married?" Even then I was a salesman for six months intent on becoming rich and famous before I realized my calling was teaching.
I've had many great experiences since. I treasure the day I asked my wife, who knew my inner self -- both strengths and faults -- "Blanche, why did you marry me?" She said directly, "Because I knew you'd do something fine."
That was years ago. This year I felt ready to go the D-Day Beaches.
I walked on Omaha Beach, looked up at the landscape and visualized that horrendous scene in "Saving Private Ryan" in which only 10 percent of our first wave of invading troops survived. This hit the pit of my stomach.
In the beautiful cemetery, where 9,400 Americans rest in graves marked by simple white granite stakes arranged in perfect symmetry on a huge rolling green lawn, the French meticulously care for, and truly love and respect, these warriors who brought back their freedom.
Daily ceremonies honor their sacrifice and make you proud to be an American. For me, observing and touching some of the gravestones was a gesture to thank those who had given me the opportunity to do something with my life; and now perhaps I had honored them by doing "something fine" with that opportunity.