The Malmedy Massacre, The Wereth 11, and Dad's meeting with the General

Wednesday, June 11th

After a long and emotional day at the Belgium cemetery, I spent Tuesday night at a small, boutique hotel in Malmedy, Belgium.  Dad always mentioned Malemdy as a town he loved.  So.....Malmedy it was.  It also helped that it was perfectly positioned between the cemetery and a few other sites I needed to see today, my last full day of trekking through Europe (for now).

Besides being known for it's geographic beauty, friendly people and quaint downtown, Malmedy will unfortunately always be linked to a horrific wartime event.  The "Malmedy Massacre" is often referred to as one of the worst atrocities against prisoners of war during WWII.  

On December 17th, during the Battle of the Bulge, approximately 120 Americans were captured by the brutal 1st SS Panzer division of the German army.  They were made to give up their weapons and told to stand together in a field.  For reasons no one knows,  either frustrations with the inevitable outcome of the war, or because they were ordered to do it by superiors, the German soldiers opened fire killing 84 of the unarmed Americans.   When the firing began, the shocked soldiers ran and scattered as best they could.  Some were able to survive with the help of Belgian farmers, and their identical accounts are what make up the history of this sad, yet hallowed ground. 

Today, a small memorial stands on that very spot,  at the junction of the N23 and N32 roads, known to locals as the Baugnez crossroads.  As the crow flies, it's two miles from the small village, but in juxtaposition of the beauty, calm and peaceful village - it is miles apart.

On that same day in 1944, not too far away from the Malmedy massacre, another prisoner of war tragedy occurred. It's less known, but nevertheless, just as tragic.  I heard about it by accident as I was flipping television channels one night in May,  prior to leaving for Europe.  The Military Channel was showing scenes from the Battle of the Bulge, in a story that was highlighting the "Wereth 11".  Wereth refers to the tiny town in Belgium, about 25 kilometers south of Malmedy, where a group of 11 unarmed Americans were also tortured and killed by German soldiers.  

The 333rd Field Artillery Battalion arrived in Normandy in late June of 1944 and saw quite a bit of combat in the lead up to the Battle of the Bulge.  What made this story unique is that these soldiers were part of the then, segregated Army, and were an all African-American battalion.  In reading newspaper reports, this tragedy is sometimes referred to as "The Forgotten Massacre".  

Photo of the 333rd, Courtesy of the US Army

Because of a large enemy advance these 11 men became separated from their unit, and walked for hours in the bitter cold and snow to avoid the Germans.  They came upon the farmhouse of Mathias Langer.  Langer, a supporter of the Allies, welcomed the freezing soldiers into his home.  His son, Hermann, who was 12 years old in 1944, sat in the kitchen as his father gave them coffee and bread.  After a short while, thanks to a tip from a local German sympathizer,  the SS showed up.  The Americans walked out of the farmhouse with their hands up.  After some discussion, the German soldiers made the men run in front of their vehicles and then savagely killed them.  It was Hermann, in 1994, unable to forget these tired, exhausted soldiers, who put up the first small cross on the spot where they were found. I knew before I left for Europe that I was going to drive out to Wereth.  These men and this site, although less celebrated than other WWII monuments, deserve our same recognition and respect.  

Without exaggeration, this small monument was in the middle of NOWHERE.   I mean that, literally.  I actually drove by it before the little woman who lives inside my Google maps said, "make a legal U-turn".  Thanks to her,  I found it.  

The memorial was set up a slight hill with a small fence encircling it. I walked up the grass covered lane to the marker, said a prayer and took all of it in.  I looked around and saw nothing but farmland, wheat fields, hay bales and cattle.  On this overcast, but humid day, I tried to imagine this area snow covered and freezing, like it was on December 17th, 1944.  I thought about what it must have been like to be in a foreign land, and walk for miles in a place you've never been, to avoid an enemy fortified with tanks and more.  I thought about the 11, walking up to a farmhouse door and knocking, not knowing if the person on the other side was friend or foe.  Although I tried to imagine it, I know I didn't even come close.

The Wereth 11 Memorial has been self-funded up until this point, first by the Langer family, then by some other members of the Wereth village.  Family members of the eleven soldiers, remaining members of the 333rd, veterans of the Battle of the Bulge and the general population have also now contributed.  Below you will find a link to some videos and more information on the memorial.

After leaving Wereth, I grabbed a coffee in St. Vith, Belgium on my way to Luxembourg City.  I HAD to visit Luxembourg,  as Dad went there during the war and mentioned more than one time, that he was sure "that town was full of spies".  I don't have a clue WHY he thought that, but he did.  I arrived in  Luxembourg but didn't see a spy in sight.  But then again, how would I know?  I did see a city with beautiful architecture of the past, surrounded by new, modern construction.  It was odd, because at the same time, it seemed both old AND new.  It appeared to be a city very proud of it's history and heritage, but metropolitan and chic as well. 

After lunch I made a stop at the Luxembourg American Cemetery located in Hamm, 10 minutes outside of Luxembourg City. This cemetery, another one wonderfully managed by the American Battlefield Monument Commission, is again a beautiful setting that has become quite familiar to me on this trip. This is my fourth American cemetery visit in Europe, with a visit to the British cemetery in Bayeux to boot.    

Hamm has one grave that is visited more than any other.  The marker is the same white cross as every other soldier, but it's location and the service member it represents, are what gives it prominence.  The grave sits just beneath the large brick entry wall of the cemetery, off by itself.  The location gives the appearance that it is leading or looking out over all of the rest of the troops buried there.  Just like in life.  The grave is that of General George Patton.

As we all know, Patton was the larger-than-life General who led valiantly throughout WWII.  General Patton didn't die in battle, but died in a car accident in Europe, December of 1945.  What was interesting to me is that he still has an almost a "cult-like" following in Europe today.  I met more than one young European who mentioned Patton to me and how they revere him.  While I was at the cemetery four young men from the Czech Republic showed up to pay their respects, one, wearing a General Patton t-shirt. I stood off to the side as they silently stood before his grave for quite some time.  One of them even got down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer.  I ended up talking to them for a few minutes and as expected, they knew every detail about Patton and his leadership.

As I have mentioned before, this trip has given me a new perspective on many things.  These young men and the other three I met, all know who Patton was, and what he did for their continent.  In a weird way the impression I got from all of them independently, is that they kind of look at him like a John Wayne character, who symbolized grit and fortitude and who wasn't going to take any crap.  It was sort of like, "Eisenhower, yeah he was great....but Patton was the MAN".  At least that's the impression I got through  broken English and hand gestures. 

Although Patton WAS the colorful General who made the headlines, growing up in my house the one General that mattered was General Omar Bradley.  Dad served under Bradley's leadership on D-Day, Battle of the Bulge and the Remagen bridge and he loved the man.  One of his favorite memories was of meeting General Bradley one day, 70 years ago, on June 12th.  Or as Dad said, D-Day, Plus 6. 

Private Bob Vocker, who I talked about in previous posts, and who was killed less than three months later, came across a German Luger pistol after the landing at Omaha.  As he was inspecting the gun and attempting to check the chamber, he accidentally fired it in the camp, in the close vicinity of other American soldiers.   Because Dad was his Sargent, they were both called into the officers tent to explain what happened.  Dad and Vocker walked in to speak to their commanding officer and there, standing in the tent, was Omar Bradley.  

After Vocker and Dad explained what happened, the commanding officer verbally reprimanded Vocker and dismissed Bob and Dad to leave.  As Dad told it, when they were walking out, Bradley stopped them and asked, "how was it out there?" meaning the landing on D-Day.  Dad replied, "it was rough sir".   Bradley then went on to say that he knew it was bad and told them at one point, had considered pulling everyone off the beach.  Dad replied, "we wouldn't have gone, sir".  Bradley laughed and said "where are you from, soldier?"  Dad said - "Missouri, sir".  Omar Bradley smiled and said, "me too".  Turns out, Omar Bradley went into the service at the same place my Dad and Vocker did, Jefferson Barracks, Missouri.   That conversation and the fact that he was a Missouri boy too, placed General Omar Bradley at the "top-of-the top" for my Dad.  Bradley ultimately retired a 5-Star general, only four other men have achieved that Army honor.

Omar Bradley - photo courtesy of US Army

I spent most of my time over the past two days visiting cemeteries and memorials dedicated to sad and tragic events.  Although I was teary in Belgium at the graves of Vocker and Farr, for what those men meant personally to my Dad, I think the adjective that best described my overall emotion was reverence.  I saw graves and memorials dedicated to both everyday soldiers and celebrated heroes. Their status during the war may have been different based on the color of their skin or the rank on their uniforms, but they all died for a greater cause.  They died as heroes just the same.

The journalist Francis Walker once said, "we come, not to mourn our dead soldiers, but to praise them." That's what I did.  I praised them, I prayed for them, and I thanked them.   

Related Link:

The Wereth 11 Memorial


A few more upcoming blogs before I sign off:
1.)  Connecting the Past to the Present: Stories of individuals with amazing links to the past.
2.)  Patriotic in another Land
3.)  Travel Observations

The Real Heroes

In a perfect world, I would have followed my Dad's "Tracks Across Europe" as he did them.  Day by day.....from England, to France, to Belgium, Holland and Germany, back to Paris and then to Czechoslovakia (now known as the Czech Republic), where he ran a displaced persons camp after the war, until he was sent home in late 1945.   The real world awaited him when he returned, and the real world awaits me.  I leave Europe the day after tomorrow.  Although I am not going to make it to Germany, where Dad fought for the Remagen bridge, or the border of Belgium and Germany, where he fought in the Hurtgen forest - I will leave here a changed person because of what I experienced.   Today, was nothing short of amazing and honestly, might be one of the very reasons I was supposed to come on this trip.  But I'll get to that in a minute....

Seventy years ago today Dad's unit, the 467th, had already been moved from the area of Omaha Beach to Gruchy, France to defend and hold bridges, and fuel and ammo dumps.  By the end of July, they were further south, defending the 959th Field Artillery Battalion and helping the Allies break through German lines at St. Lo, France.  The 29th Infantry unit, of which the 467th was a part, led the charge. Because of its strategic location, the town of St. Lo was almost completely destroyed during the war.  My visit there on Sunday confirmed that only a few pre-war buildings still exist.
(St. Lo - July 1944 - Photo courtesy of Wikipedia France)

After the victory at St. Lo, the 467th became attached to the 2nd and 1st Army Divisions and fought throughout France, Belgium, Holland and into Germany.   According to a letter on the "Commendation on Performance of Duty" in the Normandy, Northern France, Ardennes, Rhineland and Central European Campaigns - the 467th  had "151 aerial engagements, destroying 14 hostile planes; had over 60 ground engagements, destroying innumerable armored and motor vehicles, killing over 150 enemy troops and capturing 350 supermen", a term given by the German's to describe their soldiers.

But today, I visited the graves of some REAL Supermen....

I started out the morning in Bastogne, Belgium at the WWII Museum there.  It has recently reopened after a year long renovation.  It's not the biggest museum, nor does it have the biggest collection, but it is absolutely one of the best museum experiences I have ever had.  If you are a historian or a WWII history buff, place it near the top of your list.

The museum uses the real life stories of four people to bring different perspectives on the war and give you a narrative as you look through the collections.  The subjects are:  a young boy, who lived in Bastogne during the war and who's father owned the local bike shop.  A twenty-something woman, who was both a teacher during the war and a bike messenger for the resistance;  and two soldiers, one German and one American, from Savannah, Georgia.  You must get the audio tour to experience this completely, but it's worth the extra few dollars.  Additionally, there is a 3D experience and another move that really bring it to life.

For some reason, this is the one museum that I didn't do a lot of research on before I left, so imagine my surprise when I walked outside and saw the massive memorial that the Belgium people had constructed to say "thank you" to their liberators.  It was simply beautiful.

The museum and a few towns that Dad's unit had visited were really all that was on my agenda today. That is, until yesterday, when my sister Melissa, who really spent the most time with Dad visiting and seeing the sights in Europe, reminded me that two men from Dad's unit were buried in the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery north of Malmedy, Belgium.  I knew then I was going to make that trip.

Sitting on top of a hill and overlooking a lush, green, rolling Belgium landscape,  the Henri-Chapelle Cemetery is lesser known than Normandy, but offers a peaceful and beautiful setting nonetheless.  As with all of the American Battlefield Monument Commission cemeteries, it's landscaped perfectly and the familiar rows of crosses and stars of David have an immediate, gut wrenching effect of reverence and silence.  Seeing the almost 8,000 graves of American soldiers buried here, on top of seeing 9,400 graves in Normandy - made me realize once again, the herculean efforts the US went through on behalf of our Allies  It also struck me that each cross represents far more than the name on the front.  It represents the entirety of families back home who never got to say good-bye and who will always remember their loved one as forever young.

Robert (Bob) Vocker and Dad met at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri.  They went through basic training together, landed D-Day together and became friends.  Dad told my sister that Bob was the best fox hole digger in the entire unit.  Leslie Farr was from Michigan and came to the 467th as a replacement after D-Day.  Replacement soldiers were brought in to fill in for another soldier who was killed or wounded.

It was September 10th, 1944.  According to the day reports for that day, the Battalion Headquarters and Headquarters Battery were moved to the vicinity of Houppertingen, Belgium.  They established the Battalion Command Post at 1515 hours (3:15).  Battery "C", which was Dad's battery, was shelled by enemy artillery at 2020 hours (10:20pm).  10-15 rounds were fired.  Two enlisted men were killed, three wounded and one of the wounded was evacuated.   The two men killed were Bob Vocker and Leslie Farr.  According to Dad, they were in a field and artillery was called in on them.  

Today when I arrived at the cemetery, I went inside to ask for help locating Vocker and Farr's graves.   A young, handsome Belgium man jumped up right away and offered vases for the flowers I had brought along.  As he looked in the computer system for the location of the two graves, another man came in from a back door.  His name was Bobby Bell, and he is an American and the Superintendent of the Cemetery.  I told Bobby and Lionel, the young Belgian man, the story of Vocker and Farr, and what I knew of them.  Bobby said, "hold on, let Lionel go with you, you'll see why in a minute".
So off we went to find the graves. Me carrying a paper with the locations, the flowers and vases full of water, and Lionel carrying a bucket of sand, two sponges and four flags.  I had no idea why.

We arrived at Plot E and found Bob Vocker's grave.  Lionel said to me, "you said he landed D-Day, right?"  I shook my head yes, and Lionel promptly took the sponge, covered it with some wet sand and began to fill Bob Vocker's etched name with sand.  He then took the sponge and carefully wiped off all of the sand but what filled his name. The result was a much more defined name on the marble cross.  I looked at him inquisitively, and he said, "this sand is from Normandy."  Tears welled up in my eyes. He then took the American and Belgium flags and put them next to the flowers I brought.  I took some photos and he removed the flags and said, "could you please give these to his family.  Please let them know that they flew at his grave in Belgium, and we are thankful for him." Tears welled up again, but I accepted the flags.

We did the same routine at Farr's grave, although I'm not certain one way or the other if Farr actually landed on D-Day.  As I mentioned above, he came as a replacement, but it doesn't mean that he didn't land with another unit.  Sand aside,  Lionel asked me to give the flags to Farr's family as well.  I happily accepted.  It was Lionel's idea to turn one set around so I wouldn't confuse which one flew on which grave.  That was all good....but there was one problem.  I actually didn't KNOW either the Vocker or Farr family.  I had NO idea where they were, who they were or if they were even findable.  But I knew I would do whatever it took to find them and bring them those flags.  Turns out, it didn't take long.

About an hour later, when I got back to Malmedy, I sat down on a park bench across from my hotel.  I pulled out my iPhone and used Google to search Vocker's name with the phrase "KIA".  I pulled up his military records and it showed not only his parents names, but his siblings as well.  Using my old radio producer brain, I started at the first logical place.  Facebook.  Ok, go ahead and laugh, but it worked.  I went to the Facebook search bar and just typed in the last name.  About half way down there was an organization titled "Vocker Family".  It was set up for a family reunion for relatives of Bob.  I reached out and within 10 minutes I received a reply from Bob Vocker's nephew (by marriage), John.  It turns out that only one sister is still living, and the information they have on Bob's time in the service is basic and pretty limited.  I told him what I knew from Dad and encouraged him to check out this blog to find out what Bob was doing on D-Day, etc.  As I mentioned, Dad and Bob were together the whole way from basic and were still together on the day he died.  (As a matter of fact, Bob Vocker also played a role when Dad met Omar Bradley.  That was D-Day plus 6, so that is tomorrow's blog)

I have also started the hunt for Leslie Farr's family, but as of yet haven't been able to find them.  It's only been a few hours, so I'm hopeful that tomorrow might lead me to them.  I want them to have their flags and photos as well.

The part of the story that I didn't tell the Vocker family is the connection that my Dad has had with Bob over the years.  You see, for many years Dad was a State of Illinois Road Scholar as part of the Illinois Humanities Council.  He would travel all over the Midwest speaking and teaching about his war experiences.  On one of his trips back to Europe, I think it was for the 59th Anniversary, my sister brought my Dad and Mom to the Henri-Chappel cemetery to see Vocker and Farr's graves.  Dad used a pencil and took a charcoal etching of the names.  From that moment on, in every subsequent speech, he would hold up those etchings and say "Do you see these two names?  These two guys, who were paid $35.00 per month are real heroes, not some overpaid football or baseball player or high priced actor. These two fine men died for their country. THEY are heroes."

Dad was right.

DDAY Plus one

I have to apologize for this blog being two days late.  I really should have posted it on "D-Day Plus One", June 7th, but between spotty internet, the emotions of the week and now the driving from France to Belgium, I couldn't seem to make it work.  Hopefully my tardiness won't take away from this amazing description of the day after D-Day from my Dad's manuscript.  It's a long one, but I promise - when you get into it, you won't want to stop reading.

(Dal Estes - Tracks Across Europe)
Almost immediately the next morning (June 7), Walt Allen and Jim Shelton, after checking that we were in good shape - went reconnoitering for live food.  K-rations and C-rations were OK, but soldiers want the real thing when they can get it....such as eggs, potatoes, chickens, rabbits and greens.  Tommy Milos, of course, was more interested in a woman, and it did not take him too long to locate something to his liking.  Corporal Louie Worocek, in charge of the second squad, and I discussed our position and we made improvements.  Corporal Ralph Davis of my squad, checked and rechecked our 40 millimeter anti-aircraft gun and also our twin mount 150 caliber machine guns, to be damn certain they would be ready for anything that might come along.  We were sniped at a few times as we moved around from a neighboring farm house.  We returned the fire with our M-I rifles and the firing stopped.

We stayed in the orchard most of the day until my captain came up about 4:30pm and advised me to move my two squads up to a field overlooking the beach at Vierville sur Mer.  I inquired what was up there and he said, "not much - but it's possible a few machine gun nests or snipers".  We moved out of the apple orchard and encountered no problem on the short trip to our assigned area.  About all of the fields right above the beach were mined, or at least the Germans had stuck the "Achtung Mines" signs in every field to please their inspecting officer - General Rommel.  

(Photo below of General Rommel found in the film Dad retrieved on D-Day, now on display at the Musee Memorial D'Omaha Beach - Normandy)

When we reached our assigned area, which was just off the main intersection in Vierville, we started probing for mines with our bayonets.  Two soldiers in an adjoining field stepped on a German "Bouncing Betsy" mine, and it mangled them.  These were personnel mines consisting of a can of shrapnel set inside another can, and armed with five spider like trip arms which when tripped, blow at shoulder height.

About this time, someone yelled "gas"!  There were a lot of worried faces as many of us had dumped our gas masks in England and had loaded the carrying cases with candy and cigarettes.  Thankfully it proved to be a false alarm as someone down the beach had lit a large smoke bomb.

We continued to probe our way in the field, getting down on our hands and knees and using our bayonets to see if we hit a mine.  We expected both anti-tank as well as personnel mines so we had to be extra careful.  If you hit a "Bouncing Betsy" mine you had a good chance to survive if you were on your knees or hit the ground right away when you tripped it, as it was set to blow out sideways at about shoulder height.

We were about halfway into the field on our knees with the half-track inching along behind us when the German artillery starting hitting our field - direct fire was being called down on us from a spotter they had somewhere in Vierville Sur Mer.  The artillery was intense and hit right at the crossroads, also killing and mangling screaming French civilians.  The first shell missed our half-track, hitting on the right.  The next salvo landed on the left and the third hit the rear of the vehicle and caught it on fire.

Since we were off our half-track and had no fox holes to drop into to wait out the salvos of artillery, and with shells continuing to come in on us, we had no time to dig.  The half-track was burning and we were stuck in the middle of a mine field.  The Tech Sargent (Dawdle) who had joined our group on D-Day, asked me what we should do.  Knowing there was only one thing to do - to keep my men alive, I advised everyone to follow behind me.  Risking stepping on personnel mines, I led our number one squad to the top of the cliff and over the top to get away from the artillery fire.  Just as we reached the crest, a Sgt. Kessen from St. Louis, and from another squad, was hit by artillery in the shoulder.  Several others were hit in that same field.  We took Sgt. Kessen down the base of the bluff where a First Aid station was set up.  Many injured men were there being treated to go back to their units, or waiting to take a landing craft back to a hospital in England.

With my half-track gone and my second squad in good shape, I elected to return to our platoon headquarters, which was in the apple orchard where we had stayed on D-Day.

I was questioned later about this decision, but we could not fight direct artillery fire and our half track was gone.  If we tried to dig fox holes in the field we would have been chopped up badly.  We figured a strategic retreat at this point would allow us to fight another day.  Which proved out to be true.

That evening, D-Day Plus 1, we went the entire distance from Vierville Sur Mer exit to the St. Laurent sur Mer exit, an estimated distance of two miles.  After turning Sgt. Kessen over to the Medics operating at the base of the bluff, my squad plus Tech Sgt. Dawdle, walked the entire distance.  Many wounded from D-Day and D-Day plus 1 were sitting up against the protection of the bluff.  Several thousand bodies were being lined up by collecting companies, and other helpers.  Some bodies were still covered where they fell.  Most were American GI's, although some were Navy personnel plus German soldiers and French civilians.  There were also Canadian and British personnel who got mixed up down in our area and were killed.

The beach was still a mess with burned out landing craft, tanks and all other types of vehicles.  By  this time the barrage balloons were up and covering the landing zone.

We went back up the St. Laurent exit and reported to our captain.  He could readily understand our position and our decision, and asked us to stay with battery headquarters that night and help in setting up a tighter defense of our particular area.

Our group went on to fight through France, Belgium, Holland, Luxembourg and deep into the heart of Germany.  None of the battles were as intense as the landing on D-Day.

There were many heroes that day, but none stuck out more in my memory than the actions of Sgt. Herman "Red" Greenlee - the calm, cool and collected Tennessee hill country leader who had taken our battery from raw inductees,  to finished soldiers that were ready to land and fight on D-Day.  HE was a hero.

Although Red was hit D-Day, he encouraged all of us to "keep going" - "keep moving" up the beach and hang together so we continued to fight as a unit.  He was in terrific pain from his injury but he was still in command until the Medics took over.  Even then he did not want to leave us, but the wound was too serious to do a patch job.  I can still remember him now - motioning us on....to victory on D-Day.
(Dal Estes - Tracks Across Europe)


Present Day:
I've read Dad's manuscript many times, but now having seen these locations with my own eyes, although different from 70 years ago, it's easier for me to understand the distances, and the terrain. One thing I never understood about this entry of his book was how all of this could happen after 4:30 in the afternoon and Dad never mentioned night fall.  I get it now.  At this time of year it stays light in Normandy until well after 10pm.   On this trip to Normandy, we would start dinner at 8pm, finish up at 10:30 and it was still light.  I don't know how the French do it!

On the night before D-Day we were invited to a concert given by the Alphretta, Georgia High School Concert Choir and Orchestra.  It was a lovely event with both the French and American National Anthems, some classical pieces played and sung, and of course - American patriotic tunes.  Although there were far more French citizens in attendance than Americans, they too, clapped and sang along with the songs they knew.

The event was held in the church of Eglise St. Andre, located in Vierville Sur Mer.  If you look closely at the steeple of this church, you can tell where the stone has been redone -  about half way up. (It's a bit lighter than the other stone).

The story (legend?) behind this particular steeple is that an American Captain, who happened to be Catholic, tried to save it from the fate of destruction.  An order was given to destroy all of the steeples and buildings that were high enough to give the Germans look out points, and a French civilian had confirmed a spotter in the location.   The Captain, bothered by the dismantling of the churches,  asked to be able to go up there and try and take out the spotter first.  He made his way to Vierville but was killed in the attempt.

St. Laurent sur Mer,  Vierville sur Mer and the entire Omaha Beach area have a quality about them that is hard to describe. Most everyone has a D-Day story, or knows someone who does.   Homes and buildings  that survived, or homes and buildings that didn't.  Personal memories of the day, or handed down through family generations. Stories of survival, bravery and fortitude that defy logic.  Normandy isn't just for history buffs, beach lovers or calvados drinkers.  Normandy is for anyone who can appreciate all of those magical things but who realize that under the surface, it's the personal stories that give Normandy a soul.

The Night of June 6, 1944

(Tracks Across Europe - Dal Estes)

My Captain Gryzbek came to me at about 7pm asking me to set up the defense of our area that night. Luckily, I decided to place a guard under the training table after it turned dark.  The table set under a large apple tree and helped to shadow a man hiding there.  Firing of all types continued.

Captain Gryzbek had lost all of his equipment so I gave him my sleeping bag, knowing full well that I would not be able to sleep anyway.  His driver asked if he could stay with our unit, which I consented to.

We set up our guard watch at two hour periods starting at 10pm.  All of our men dug fox holes.  This placed our 12 men at two different positions to cover the orchard that night.  Pvt. Mahlon Tressler went on guard at midnight under the table, and I found a small depression under a tree to lie down in.  At 1am there was a shot from under the table and I immediately crawled up to see what had happened. Mahlon said, "I got one coming in."  We crawled up to the arch entrance and found a dead German.  He had a sniper rifle and had clearly intended to get into the house to kill our officers.

All evening and all night long we were under constant enemy fire of various types.  About 10:30pm or so, a lone plane came over the beach but it was too dark to fire on.  We dubbed it "Bed Check Charlie" from then on.  And as far as we could learn, he did no harm.

(Tracks Across Europe - Dal Estes)
(Full Disclosure - Dad had remembered the wrong man in the original manuscript - he had the wild man Tommy Milos.  He changed it later.  I was writing from an original document.  I edited it to be Orville Munson but was lovingly corrected by my sister, that it was Mahlon Tressler.

Present Day:
I spent the evening of June 6th at an event in a small village near St. Laurent Sur Mer.  It was a gathering held in a community center to honor two WWII Veterans with a unique connection, and to honor 50 people from Bedford, Virginia who flew in to remember the Bedford Boys.

Bedford, Virginia is unfortunately known as having the most losses per capita of any other US town during WWII.  In 1944, Bedford had a population of just over 3,000.  Today it's just over 6,000.  In the first minutes of D-Day, Bedford lost 19 of it's boys.  Later in the war, three more were killed.  These were young men who had joined the National Guard and ended up in the very first wave of D-Day while serving in the 116th Regiment of the 29th Division.  The same division as my Dad.  The entire division and the Bedford Boys were honored at a wreath laying ceremony at Vierville sur Mer, the afternoon of D-Day.  (Photo below. (Gentlemen saluting was 29th Veteran from WWII)

Two of the traveling Bedford contingent stayed in the same home with us on Omaha Beach.  Linda and Alec Daniel from Bedford are members of the Bedford International Alliance, a group that maintains the National DDay Memorial in Bedford, as well as a "sister city" relationship with St. Laurent Sur Mer, France.  The two towns have visited each other frequently, have student exchanges and have developed great relationships over the years.  During the dinner, they exchanged gifts and each organization gave short speeches.  Beyond the formality of the presentations, it was clear that on both sides there is a familiarity and friendship between them.  Which is funny, given the language barrier.  The travelers from Virginia SOUND like they are from southern Virginia.  Let me be blunt - you would never mistake them for northerners.  Contrast that with the very proper French accents in the room.  It was like the United Nations of linguistics.  It was fascinating and a couple of times, very funny. Imagine a group game of Pictionary (hands flailing about trying to explain what they meant) with the audio backdrop of a Southern drawl and French.  I just sat back and watched.  But beyond the humor,  it was moving to see that people of such different backgrounds were brought together by such a tragedy.  People who would have no other reason to know each other or attempt to know each other.  An example of good, coming from bad.

The other two people who were honored were Jean and Ed Tierney, both veterans of WWII.  They met aboard a C47 and married a year later.  Ed was the pilot, Jean was a nurse.  They are 92 and 93, respectively and charming, both of them.  Jean stood up and talked about the reason they had returned to Normandy so many times since the war, "because it felt like home" she said. Ed stood up slowly, leaned on the table for support and spoke to the audience in French. It was amazing.  They were presented medals by the city. As I sat and watched them throughout the evening, I wondered how many more times they would make it back.  Of the over 16 million veterans who served our country in WWII, less than 1 million remain.

(Photo of Ed and Jean, older couple seated at the table.)

Later in the Day - June 6th, 1944

(From Tracks Across Europe - Dal Estes)

It must be stated here that even though there was great confusion during the landing and also all over Omaha Beach, man of our objectives were met.  However,  it was expected that we would be dug in, camouflaged and ready to fire on enemy aircraft or troops over the beach by noon that day - but we were delayed.  It was almost 7:30pm that evening before our two squads were ready.

Later that afternoon, near the town of St. Laurent Sur Mer we moved into an apple orchard surrounded by a hedge row.  The house was set on the main street and had its usual arched entrance.  It was pretty clear that the area had been used as a training place for the Germans as there was a large table with replicas of the sand beaches shown, plus various buildings and churches - apparently used to depict their expected defense of this area against us.

The hedgerow presented both a plus and a minus.  In the dark of a moonlight night you were not exactly sure if the sudden appearance of a head was a friendly soldier relieving himself, an enemy trooper or a cow or horse that decided to nibble on some of the hedges.  Several friendly troops were accidentally shot in the first few days in these orchard hedgerows.  Also, several French farmers lost livestock this way.

Not wanting to blow up our half tracks, the writer grabbed a French farmer.  (we did not know if we could trust them or not) and with a bayonet, demanded to know if the field where we were to stay that first night was mined.  We learned a quick lesson from the farmer, not pointed out to us in training. The Frenchman quietly told us whenever there were cows, sheep or horses in a field - it was NOT mined! He happily slipped into his house and brought us out a bottle of Cognac and a bottle of Calvados - he drank first.  We still didn't know if we could trust them.

(Dal Estes, Tracks Across Europe)

Present Day:
On Dad's three return trips, he searched high and low for that apple orchard with the arched entrance. He thought he found it in 2004, but then decided after looking at it for a bit of time, that it wasn't quite right.  Prior to leaving the States I was bound and determined we were going to find it this time, and had convinced myself that there was no way anyone would have changed it in the past 70 years.  We made several circuitous routes up the hills around the city looking for it. (Some planned and some, because we made a wrong turn or were detoured, but enough about THAT comedy of errors.) Like Dad, I too left without seeing it.  My sister is convinced that it no longer exists and despite my desired fairytale ending, indeed, someone destroyed the entrance leaving only Dad's description behind.

As for the hedge rows in Normandy that were so prevalent in stories about the DDay landings, there were more than the eye could see.  They dotted the landscape and ran the gamut from short and manicured, to tall and wildly out of control.  Some stood on their own as an aesthetic break in front of a Norman home and others looked plopped in the middle of a field for no apparent reason. Those were usually older ones whose purpose in times past was to signify property lines. The ones that sat upon brick or stone walls were used as an old (very old),  functional livestock gate. The ones that stood on their own and whose thickness made of criss-crossed branches made it impossible to see through, were the ones that were problematic for soldiers 70 years ago. Although you can't see through to the other side It would be very easy to slide a rifle through one of the small openings and take aim.  

Last evening we were guests at an event at a newly constructed community building in a small French village.   The dinner was to honor 50 visitors from Bedford, Virginia - the town with the highest per capita loss on DDay than any other town in the United States.  In addition to the table wine poured from carafes on the long white tables, men from the town were walking around what appeared to be Calvados.   As the man approached our table, our wonderful hostess, Martine Lebrec got a stern look on her face, put her hand over her head, waved her arm back and forth and said emphatically "no, no, no"!   Although I have no idea what she said, it was something in French that made it clear that he was to pour NONE for her guests.  My sister looked and her and asked her in French what the issue was.  It turns out there is REAL Calvados from Normandy and then there is something between wine and calvados that is a bit cheaper, and from Martine's description, tastes horrible and gives you bad headaches.  The way she described it,  it was like the  French equivilent of a strong Boone's Farm.  (The cheap wine we used to drink as kids).

On the way home last night, I chuckled thinking about how much has changed in the past 70 decades.  I thought about Dad not trusting that farmer offering a drink,  to me staying with a French family who  I have only heard of for years, having meal after meal and by the end, laughing like old friends.  That French farmer protected Dad and his men from the mines in the field, Martine protected us from bad Calvados.  Life is funny, isn't it.  

The Landing at Omaha - Part 3

(From: Tracks Across Europe - Dal Estes) (Part 3)

It was about 300 yards from the water to the cliff bottom.  We made the first strand of protective shale, dismounted there and looked for cover.  We made it to the next ridge of shale rock on the beach and took cover behind it to see how or where we would proceed.  Several of us took cover under a disabled tank to keep from being hit by mortar fire.  About the time we got under the tank, the men in it got it re-started and we were forced to located other cover.

About our personal feelings, yes we were scared - but so much was going on that survival and staying together was our utmost thought.  That, and pushing on to beat the Germans.

It much be understood that there were no atheists on the beach that day.  We all looked to a God for help.  When you are under fire, it is surprising how large the steel helmet is.  Believe it or not, it feels as big as a steel roof over your head, especially when they are dropping mortars down on you.

At noon we were still pinned down on the beach and shells of all types continued to hit our area.  Men continued to land behind us but could find no place to go.  Many took the same route we had.  By this time the smoke was heavy.  Some semblance of order was taking place by this time and the exit allowing us to get the bluff and up was finally opened between 12:30 and 1pm.

We were delayed at the crest of the exit, and we turned around and viewed the landing beaches with awe, as it really was a mess - bombed out buildings, vehicles burning, barges sunk at the shore and bodies lying sprawled in the sand. During the brief delay, Shelton and I decided to look inside the largest concrete bunker overlooking Omaha Beach at the St. Laurent exit.  It was equipped with large caliber guns.  Inside were a couple of dead German soldiers.  On the floor was a large Nazi flag, which I picked up.  

(Dal Estes - Tracks Across Europe)

Background:
That bunker is now a historical landmark in St. Laurent sur Mer, France, about a quarter of a mile from Musee Memorial d' Omaha Beach. The flag he picked up off that floor, has been displayed in the Museum since 1994. Dad retuned it on his first trip back to France for the 50th Anniversary celebration. As he was preparing for that trip, my sister asked him why he didn't just keep it. Dad responded, "I've had it for 50 years - its time it goes back to where it came from...Omaha Beach."

I was able to see the bunker yesterday for the first time. Just from a pure historical perspective it was really cool. It was much smaller than I envisioned.  The top has a huge chunk missing where our bombers missed the mark on the first few shots.  When you get inside however, it's pretty clear we hit it perfectly on subsequent tries.  There is a huge gaping hole in the metal that protected the gunner as he was firing.  He was one of the dead soldiers Dad referred to above. 

On our visit to the bunker in Normandy yesterday, there was a Swiss tour guide leading a group of people who happened to be visiting from Kentucky.  They came to Omaha Beach with their Dad, a DDay Veteran. I smiled to myself when I heard the guide explain the origin and history of the bunker.  I looked over and realized that my sister was listening and smiling too.   We looked at each other and laughed.  We could have recited the story of that bunker in our sleep.  We had heard it for years. Hearing the guide give it was fun, and somehow made it even more real. However, he didn't have the benefit of growing up with one of the main characters of the story, so we had to restrain ourself from adding bits and pieces to his version of events.  For example, Dad told us that when he went in - the blast from the bomb was so powerful that it knocked the door of the hinges and he had to step over it to get inside.  Today there is no door on that bunker.  

(My family and me at the Bunker today for a remembrance ceremony:

Once inside, I stood there for a bit and just took it all in. I looked at the floor trying to imagine where Dad first saw that flag. The flag has certainly been the topic of much discussion and desire (from museums)  over the years, but lesser known is that Dad also picked up film canisters and some photos.  Years after the war he had the film developed.  Not surprising, since he took it from a German bunker, the photos were of German officers, German women and one amazing one of Field Marshal Rommel directing the troops.  We have the originals at home but several copies can be seen at Musee Memorial d' Omaha Beach.  I have always thought it would be neat to scan the photos, create a website and use the power of the internet to try and put some names and stories with the men and women in the photos.  Time is an enemy in a project like that, as the further removed you become from the main subject, the harder it is to fill in the blanks.

 I have no idea what possessed my Dad to pick up that flag, shove it the back of his jacket and fight with it the next few weeks.  Same with the film.  He had untold weight on the pack on his back, but stopped, picked them up and continued to fight through the apple orchards and hedgerows of France.  "History never looks like history when you are living through it", said John Gardner.  I'd like to think my Dad knew this was a historic day and that these artifacts, and the stories of how they were acquired, would be worth discussing someday, if for no other reason than to ensure that history didn't repeat itself.

Flag Display at Musee DDay Memorial Omaha Beach

 Musee DDay Memorial Omaha Beach website:

http://www.musee-memorial-omaha.com/index.php

Next Blog Up : The Night Of DDay

Waiting to Go - Times 2

The Following Is an Excerpt From The National WWII Museum/Education Center

Waiting To Go:

"The waiting for history to be made was the most difficult.  I spent much time in prayer.  Being cooped up made it worse.  Like everyone else, I was seasick and the stench of vomit permeated our craft." --Pvt. Clair Galdonik, 359th Infantry Regiment, US 90th Division

D-Day was scheduled for June 5, 1944.  But on the eve of the invasion, as the air and sea armada began to assemble, a storm arose in the English Channel.  It threatened the success of the operation.

At 6:00am on June 4, Eisenhower decided to postpone the invasion for at least one day, hoping for better weather on June 6.

For the next 24 hours the men of the Allied invasion force remained sealed aboard their ships. Cramped and tense, they waited.  At their bases in England, the pilots and airborne troops also marked time. Everything depended on the weather and the decision of the man in charge of Overload, General Eisenhower.

On the Continent the Germans were confident that the storm in the Channel would postpone any planned Allied invasion.  Rommel took the opportunity to return to his home in Germany to visit his family.

In the early hours of June 5, Eisenhower pondered the weather reports and the conflicting advice of his inner circle of advisers.  

(National WWII Museum/Education Center)

As a history buff, I have always loved hearing General Eisenhower's speech to the troops on the eve of DDay.  If you have never heard it, and are so inclined....check out the link below. When I listen to it I try to imagine what that message, delivered at that hour to troops waiting to cross the English channel.  I want to believe it was received with great pride and provided even a modicum more of motivation, (as if they needed it).   Our Dad never mentioned hearing or seeing Eisenhower's words as he waited, sealed on the ship with his men.  They spent a lot of time resting in, on top of and under the jeeps and halftracks.  Because Dad was a student of history and was so detailed with everything else related to that day, the general consensus in my family is that he never actually heard or saw Eisenhower's message.  Because we never thought to ask, we will never know for sure.

Present Day: June 3, 2014
Although we enjoyed our few days in Paris, I too, feel like I was waiting to get to Normandy, albeit in a very different, simple and easy manner.  Unlike the troops must have felt, I have been looking forward to this experience for decades; a chance to experience Omaha Beach, a place that uniquely defined our Dad and collectively defined our world.  I remember growing up and hearing his stories. At a younger age I didn't understand the significance.  During puberty, I'm sure I didn't care.  Later, in my 20's or so, I "got it" and understood what it all meant. Since then, I have really wanted to be here, in Normandy, on June 6th.

As we made the drive west from Paris today, I couldn't help but think about how similar, but very different the terrain must have looked back then.  Obviously there was no interstate highway between Paris and Normandy, no road signs, no petrol stations.  Just small towns and fields of wheat and hay, which still survive today. The rolling landscape is green and lush.  A look out into the distance provided views of small French villages with charming remnants of old buildings, contrasted with new construction. Time has clearly moved on.   If there was any question of why we are here, flashing road signs warned us multiple times that roads in Normandy (or Normandie, as it's written in French) would be shut down on D-Day.

Our drive today brought us to Honfleur, Normandy. Honfleur sits in the Calvados region and is known for its cidre and the picturesque port, which was the subject of many famous French painters.  It turns out that  Honfleur has s a bit of DDay history too.  On June 6, 1944, all of the boats in the beautiful Honfleur harbor were destroyed by the Germans.  This boat below, the "Sainte Bernadette" is the only one that survived, although extensive rebuilding had to be done.

Tomorrow, June 4th, we leave for Omaha Beach.  Ironically just like 70 years ago, the forecast calls for rain and wind. The weather notwithstanding, I know we will receive a warm welcome when we arrive. For the past 20 years I have heard about the family Lebrec.  Tomorrow, I get to meet them.

Daniel and Martine Lebrec hosted Dad, and my brother Dave the first time in 1994, for the 50th anniversary of D-Day. Since then, they have invited our family as their guests for the 59th and 60th anniversaries and a few times in between.  The Lebrecs have a long history in Normandy, beginning in 1925.  Their property sits right ON Omaha beach, halfway between St. Laurent sur Mer and Vierville sur Mer, France.   Their family home was destroyed by the Germans in 1944.  In 1961 they rebuilt three identical villas on the family plot.  As it's been described to me, their home is a large, with three stories of living space and has a picture window overlooking the English channel, where in previous celebrations my Dad watched the ships gather for the celebrations.  I can only imagine how different THAT perspective was for him.

Dad made several great friends on those return trips to Normandy.  Friendships that have extended to our whole family.  The Lebrec's, Musee D'Day Omaha Owners - Daniel and Catherine Chartier and the Mayor of St. Laurent sur Mer.  Dad had a deep respect and gratitude towards all of them.  The feeling was clearly mutual.  

On the night before Dad's visitation, late December of 2005, there was a knock on my Mom's front door.  As you would expect, our whole family was together, having a cocktail and no doubt laughing through our tears - as Dad would have wanted.  My sister answered the door and yelled for Mom. Standing there was a local florist delivery man who knew our family well.  He was holding a white metal stand from which hung the BIGGEST floral wreath I have ever seen in my entire life.  Seriously, it had the circumference of a large tire.  "Betty", he said, "I know it is unusual bringing this to the house, but the person who ordered it insisted I deliver it here before taking it to the church.  He said it was customary in their culture."  I remember my Mom responding inquisitively, "their culture??".  Just then I looked and saw the gold letters adhered to the red ribbon on the front of the wreath.   They were in French.  Thankfully I have two siblings who are fluent and although I don't remember which one translated it, I will never forget what they said.  The card read - "To Our Liberator and Dear Friend, We Will Never Forget".  It was from Daniel and Martin Lebrec, Daniel and Catherine Chartier and the people of St. Laurent sur Mer France.  I can't wait to thank them in person.

Postscript:
That ribbon and card are now on exhibit at the Livingston County War Museum.  The Museum is located in Pontiac, Illinois and is "A living hands on museum founded to recognize the sacrifice and service of all US Military Veterans from Livingston County and Central Illinois.  It was founded by my Dad, Dal Estes and Neil Bach, another WWII Vet.
More information on the Livingston County War Museum can be found at:
www.livingstoncountywarmuseum.com


General Eisenhower's Speech To The Troops:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J_FoO--Z-c

NEXT UP: Dal Estes's Memories and Manuscript of the D-Day Landing in Three Parts.  Tomorrow, D-Day Part 1.  

Crossing the Channel

Let us now return to the channel crossing.  It was storming on the 4th and 5th of June so the invasion was held up one day by General Eisenhower.  We spent an extra day aboard the LCT where I was in charge of two squads.  Our anti-aircraft half tracks had been well-waterproofed so we had no doubt we would make it fine.  Some of us slept, some of us talked and some of us got seasick crossing the English Channel in the open landing craft.  (Dal Estes - Tracks Across Europe)

My "crossing" was a bit easier, thanks to the power of United Airlines and the Boeing 777 I flew upon. My "landing" was a bit easier thanks to the graciousness and kindness of a stranger. Although seventy years has gone by since the invasion, I was reminded that many Europeans will never forget what the Allies did.

This past New Year's Eve day (2013)  I was searching on the internet for a place for my siblings and I to stay in Paris, prior to our journey to Normandy.  I've had good luck using apartments in Europe in the past, so decided with four of us it might be good to go that route.  I was online and found this beautiful two bedroom, two bath apartment in the 6th Arrondisment in Paris, near St. Germain.   I reached out to the owner via email and said something along the lines of, "My siblings and I are coming to France for the 70th anniversary of DDay (our Dad landed on Omaha), we would like to stay in Paris a few days before, and are interested in your apartment.  Can you please let me know if it's available. Thank you!"

Within 30 minutes, I received the response below:

Not to be overly dramatic, but I teared up and had goosebumps at the same time.  I was flabbergasted. Who does that?   It turns out that Manuela and her husband are both students of history and have been to Normandy several times. She is absolutely sincere in her appreciation towards the men who liberated Europe.  In return, I am sincere in my gratitude back to her, not just for the savings on the lodging (which was very generous), but mostly for acknowledging our Dad in such a kind and unexpected way.

We, the Estes kids, have always been the beneficiaries of the authentic and giving lives our parents led.  As I sit here in this beautiful, quaint apartment in the center of Paris, I'm reminded again of how lucky we are.  Thanks, Dad.

Next Blog Up:  467th Day Report - Lead up to DDay.  

After that, Dal Estes' Manuscript of DDay, in 3 parts.  (It's amazing)

The German 352nd and Life's Coincidences

It is well to point out now that the terrain we landed in was not, in essence, strange to us.  During our training in England we were privileged to do mock landings at Slatpton Sands, a beach not much different than Easy Red at Omaha Beach.  The only difference was that now we were being shot at with real bullets, mortars, etc - someone was trying to kill us.

One thing that must be stated here is that our intelligence did not know the location of the German 352nd Infantry Division, and we soon discovered that they were well-entrenched above us back behind the entire length of Omaha Beach.  This unit was made up of the well-trained troops from the North African campaign.  They were well disciplined soldiers, but too, made mistakes. 

Perhaps if we had known all of these things prior to our landing we would have said, "A landing here is impossible."  But then again you must realize that we were backed up by the bombers who hit these beaches the night before the landing.  Now that I look back, I must commend the Navy for blowing away some of the cliff fortifications and also some of the camouflaged resort buildings on the beach itself.  It was encouraging to watch the rocket ships operating behind us, saturating certain particular areas to clear a way for us.  Fighter planes were not in use along the beach that day but we were busy inland, softening up the enemy by strafing their columns, etc. 
 (Dal Estes- Tracks Across Europe)

I've had some "wow" moments in my life, but one of the most memorable ones happened 10 years ago in late May, 2004.  I was at a birthday party in San Diego, CA for a friend of mine and was discussing an upcoming trip I had planned with my Mom, Betty.  It was a lifetime dream of Mom's to see Alaska, so along with two of my sisters, some cousins and some friends - we had a trip in the works for the beginning of June.

My friend's Dad, Karl, overheard me discussing the trip and said "is your Dad going to Alaska too?" I explained that my Dad was heading to Normandy for the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, so wasn't going to be able to go.  Karl then crinkled his nose and somewhat sternly said,  "bah - that's ancient history." Perplexed at his reaction, I replied to him that yes, 60 years was a long time but my Dad had fought in the war and landed Omaha, so the trip had special meaning for him.  "I was there" Karl shared, in a quiet yet matter-of-fact way.  Having been friends with his daughter for several years, and having been with Karl several times, I was surprised ...I didn't know he had been in the military.

He then got a far away look in his eyes and said "I looked out early that morning and all was calm. Then two hours later I looked out - saw the armada coming towards us and knew our world was coming to an end."  With my jaw on the counter I realized that Karl wasn't part of the invading force, he was on the opposite side of the war AND the beach that day.

The radio journalist in me kicked in, and I had an overwhelming desire to ask a million questions.   I didn't though as I quickly realized a conversation with him would be vastly different than any I had with my own Dad, for many reasons.  Karl was German to the core - kept things very tight to his chest, didn't suffer fools, and was proud and stubborn without apology.  Also, I could tell by looking at him that he was conflicted in telling me.  Showing restraint, I asked what beach he was on during the invasion. He curtly responded "I told you, I was THERE....on Omaha."  I only thought he meant he fought D-Day, not that he was actually at the SAME beach.  It sunk in quickly that  not only was he on the opposite side, he was on the very beach my Dad landed on.  In reality he could have been shooting at my Dad, and my Dad at him.

If I would have responded at that moment, I'm pretty sure my reaction would have been, "holy sh**". but I was quiet for a few seconds and then said, "What unit were you in?"  His eyes lit up a bit when he responded "the 352nd." He then added, "We were disbanded in the summer of 1944, but were reorganized and fought the Battle of the Bulge."  My restraint had gone to the wind and I DID respond, "Holy sh**! My Dad fought the Battle of the Bulge too!"  Karl grinned and said, "Well, he and I were both lucky to make it out alive, weren't we?"

I would have called home that night, but Illinois was two hours ahead and I didn't want to wake up my parents.  At first light the next morning I called Dad and said, "You aren't going to believe this, my friend's Dad fought in the German army on Omaha beach and THEN the Battle of the Bulge!"  My Dad quickly asked, "Was he in the 352nd?"  I retold the story from the night before and my Dad said, "They were tough as hell."  I then asked Dad if he would like to meet Karl.  I will never forget Dad's response.  He said, "I would meet him, and I would shake his hand.  We were just doing what we were told to do."

Right after that experience, I had this grand plan to do a documentary called "Daughters of D-Day." My creative vision was to show my friend and me walking on the beach in San Diego.  Two women that really, statistically speaking - should never have been born.  I wanted to shoot it in Del Mar, CA - where the beach is one of the most beautiful in the country.  The scene I rehearsed in my mind a million times was of our Dads -  these two, elderly men meeting at the edge of the water and shaking hands. History reconciled, decades later.  Can you imagine the perspective that one would have given the other?

I never made that documentary because life and reality got in the way.  I couldn't get everyone's schedule together, I wasn't sure where to begin.  Additionally,  I convinced myself that because I knew NOTHING about making a documentary, it was a dumb idea.  I let perfect be the enemy of good.

Although Dad passed away in 2005, Karl is still going strong, living in California.  He emigrated to the US decades ago, raised a family here and is a good and decent man.   These two former military foes -- were at the core very similar men.  They each did what they were asked by their countries, they both survived two of the toughest battles of the war and they loved their families above all else.   If they were to meet in Normandy for this, the 70th Anniversary, I have no doubt my Dad would extend a hand and pat him on the back.  As General MacArthur said "The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war."


The German 352nd:

Next Blog Up:  Crossing the Channel in 1944 and 2014.

The Landing at Omaha - Part 2

From Tracks Across Europe- Dal Estes

Time was lost for all of us and certainly all who were seasick forgot it as we headed for shore about 7:45am that morning.  There was much disorder all along the beach - landing crafts were landing too far off shore, some were landing in the wrong zones, men were being separated from their units, many men were hit in the water and either died of the wounds or drowned.

Other men were trying to help the wounded only to get hit themselves.  Salvos of artillery, rocket fire, machine gun, mortar and rifle fire continued from the Germans above us down onto the beach, and it was simple to see we had to make the shelter of the cliffs as soon as possible....and then up on top as soon as the exit was cleared of mines, etc.

Our two squads hung together as much as possible but our medic was killed almost three minutes after we hit the beach - mortar fire from the bluffs above got him.  Our radio man had both legs shot off and although our dentist attempted to stop the flow of blood, he died a little later that day.  Wounded that day was Staff. Sgt. Greenlee, who had raised many of us green privates into a fighting family, through his back country Tennessee wisdom.  He later returned to our unit.

Needless to say, we were pinned down on the beach and, although we kept moving our half-tracks always toward the beach exit, we had to find cover under burned-out tanks, under a load of airport landing strip metal matting.

(Dal Estes, Tracks Across Europe)

Present Day photo below of the bluffs from which the Germans watched the Allies land.

Next Up: DDay Memories, Part 3

The Landing at Omaha - Part 1

(The following is from Dad's Manuscript)

At dawn on the morning of June 6, 1944, we could see the French shore as we circled, prior to making our run for the beach.  I watched through binoculars as engineer troops ahead of us ran from obstacle to obstacle attempting to blow them up.

I watched as men were mowed down by machine gun and rifle fire.  I watched as many landing crafts were hit in the water and either sank or listed to one side or the other.  I watched as one landing craft full of tanks stopped too far out, and when the tanks disembarked they sank.  I watched as my Captain's jeep took off the ramp and kept going down in the water so all that could be seen was his head and the driver's head; they ultimately had to desert the vehicle.

I watched as several listing landing craft with wounded men aboard headed away from the shore.  I watched as men from landing craft floundered in the deep water, trying to reach the shore before they drowned.  I watched as problems occurred, such as English lorries landing our zone only to get stuck in the beach sand.  I watched as tanks that did make it to shore were knocked out and burned, with men pouring out of the turrets.

Our beach, rather than being cleared, was becoming a mess due to wrecked vehicles, injured and dead men and discarded equipment.

(Dal Estes, Tracks Across Europe)

Present Day: 

We arrived at the Lebrec's home around 4pm. They were hosting a bus tour from St. Michael's College in Burlington, Vermont. It was pretty funny to arrive in Normandy and be greeted by 25 Americans. 

The Lebrec's were just as I expected. Martine is a thin, beautiful French woman.  You can tell by her warmth and caring that she was a Mom of five and a grandmother of sixteen. She is simply lovely. Daniel looks much younger than his 75 years. He was very glad to see us and opened his arms wide to hug my sister. The location of their home is spectacular. You walk out the front door, walk 10 yards across a road and you are standing on Omaha Beach.  

Not surprisingly, the beach looked a bit different than it did 70 years ago. It was peaceful and serene. A world away from the carnage Dad described above.

The Lebrec's invited some friends for dinner and together we enjoyed a proper French meal, with more food and wine than a person should probably consume.

One of the guests at dinner, a man named Bertrand, was a child living in Normandy during the invasion. His story was remarkable and provided yet another perspective of the D-Day landing. 

Bert was five years old and his brother was nine. They were with their mother and grandparents at the family home in Normandy. Their father was in the French Navy, stationed on a submarine. At the time, the French sent the submarines to North Africa in order to stop the Germans from taking them and using them in the war effort against the Allies. Bert laughed when he recounted the story of his father  insisting that the family get out of their home in Paris and stay on the beaches of Normandy, where he was convinced it would be safer.  "There is no way the war will get to Normandy, my Dad said." Bert laughed and went on, "Dad was listening to a radio on the sub on June 7, 1944 and heard the Allies invaded Normandy", Bert said. He then threw his hands up to his head, imitating what he thought his Father must have done and said in broken English, "my father said, WHAT HAVE I DONE?". It wasn't for weeks his "Pere" found out the family and family home were safe. Bert said the home was saved because it was built the "right way". My sister asked him if it was old and he responded, "well, it was remodeled in 1898". Yes, 1898. Turns out it was built in the 16th century. 

Bert then went on to share his memories from 70 years prior.  Obviously not knowing the invasion was happening, the family was awakened early in the morning of June 6th by bombs going off all around them. His brother hid under the kitchen table and Bert sat on the lap of the family maid, not really understanding what was going on. (He also threw in that she was the first of many maids he fell in love with. "I'm French after all", he exclaimed.) But I digress. Burt went on, "we stayed in our home all through June 6th and the morning of June 7th. The afternoon of the 7th, soldiers came. I remember they had a big patch with a red line, on their shoulder. They pointed a large gun at my Grandfather and asked him if we were German". At this point, Bert stopped and shook his head from side to side.  We were all staring at him waiting for him to go on.  He then stood up straight and in a proud voice he said, "my Grandfather said, I am FRENCH and I have been helping the Allies." It turns out, the red patch was for the US Army, Big Red One division who landed in the first wave on Omaha.

The family wasn't allowed to leave their home or go to the beach until the 10th of June.  He said he had two vivid memories of that day. The first was that the boats, men and vehicles were so numerous that "you couldn't even see the water." Having seen the expanse of the beach, it's hard to comprehend.  

I asked him what his other favorite memory was and his response lit up his face. You could almost imagine the 5 year old in him. "Chocolate", he said. "The American troops gave us chocolate and bananas. To my grandparents, the liberation was the gift. To a five year old, it was chocolate."

Next blog up: Dal's Memories, Day, Part 2