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

The Beach

We were told there would be approximately 175,0000 total troops making the invasion, which would include D-Day and D Plus 1.  This included paratroopers, glider troops, navy personnel, rangers, engineers, anti-aircraft units and infantry.  We were to land with the British and Canadian forces at designated beaches.  Our beach was Omaha and our sector was Easy Red - this was later spoken of as the "Bloody Beach".  We must understand that although the total figure of 175,000 looks impressive, many of these troops never touched shore as many of the landing crafts and men were shot down by enemy defense guns.  Snafus are bound to happen in such a large operation.  Several of the glider troops landed in marshlands off their targets; many of the paratroopers landed away from their drop zone or were shot in the air by the defending troops and some of the vehicles and men were let off in water too deep to make it to shore.

We understood we were to land on an open beach heavily fortified by submarine mines, underwater hedgehogs to stop landing crafts, steel railways pointed out to sea, many with mines on top of a "can opener" on top,  to slice open a boat hitting it.  Concrete tetrahedrons were in our way - wooden telephone poles slanted out to sea with flat mines on them to stop us.  There were steel obstacles to stop tanks and half tracks, plus many of the roads exiting the beach, as well as certain areas of the beach, were well mined and all were barb wired.  Besides this, there were countless tank traps along the way.

On top of that, major bunker positions were built with concrete overlooking our (Omaha) entire beach.  Even the small beach resort buildings had been fortified and hid artillery to knock us out.  German fortified bunkers lined the crest of the bluffs.  And besides this, on our sector of Omaha Beach (Easy Red), we were confronted by Pointe de la Percee sitting out and setting on our right flank exposing us to the fire of mortars down from its bluff.  These bluffs or cliffs were over a hundred feet high and the defenders were well dug in and heavily armed.    Along the bluffs we were faced with tremendous fire power from the Germans - 75mm guns, German 88's, 37MM automatic weapons, artillery positions, anti-tank guns, rocket throwers, and many machine gun posts. We were also plagued that day with devastating mortar attacks and infantry men with rifles.  (Dal Estes - Tracks Across Europe)

In 1998, Steven Spielberg released his film, Saving Private Ryan.  At the time I was hosting a radio show in Central Illinois and thought it would be interesting for my listeners to get a movie review from my Dad, a guy who was actually there on D-Day.  I figured he could either vouch for the movie's authenticity or call BS. To do it, I was required to do something I had only done one time previous in my life.....go to a movie theatre with my Dad.  (The first move we ever saw, The Other Side of the Mountain still ranks as the WORST movie I have ever seen in my life.  I was hopeful this experience would be much better.)  We decided to go to a weekday matinee.  Dad couldn't believe the cost of the movie going experience then (can you imagine what he would think now?).  During the movie, I tried to keep an eye on him,  in order to get a sense for what he was thinking.  For the most part we were both riveted to the screen, but there were a couple of times, after particularly climactic parts, that he bowed his head and shut his eyes.  I wondered......was he thinking of his men, remembering the real version or just trying to take it all in?

After the movie we went for a late lunch and discussed it.  Per usual, my Dad was entertaining, real and insightful.  Overall, he thought the movie was well done.  He thought the opening scene of the movie was very realistic and commented more than once about the sounds being very close to what he remembered.  "I will never forget the sounds of bullets whizzing by my head, or bullets hitting metal", he said.  "The sounds in that move were scary close to the real thing".    One thing he found that wasn't accurate with his experience, were the barrage balloons tied to the ships post D-Day.  Although there are plenty of historical photos showing the balloons on the ships (see above from later, after the invasion), Dad said that their commanding officer made some men cut theirs down as to not give the Germans any more help in seeing the ships from afar.

There were two things that my Dad took great exception to in the movie, however.  The first, was the scene where the US troops shot the unarmed German soldier.  "Neither I, nor any of my men, or any of the men I knew would have shot an unarmed German in our custody.  It just wouldn't have happened."  I asked him whether he thought that happened often in the war or whether it was for creative license within the movie.  "I don't know, but I need to believe it was for the sake of the movie".

As we sat there and drank our iced tea, I asked him what else he saw that wasn't accurate.  His answer still makes me laugh to this day.  He sat his glass down, looked right at me and said "we didn't use the F-Word".  (He was referring to the number of times "Fu**" was said in the movie, Saving Private Ryan.)  I just absolutely cracked up.  "Dad, you are telling me that no soldier used the "F" word during the entirety of WWII?"  He smiled at me and said "I didn't.  I can tell you that.  I was a gentleman".

My Mom told me weeks later that my Dad had nightmares for many nights after that movie going experience.  I felt bad and apologized to him for putting him in that situation.  Not wanting me to feel bad, he put his arm around me, smiled and said "it's OK honey, it was a hell of a lot better than the real thing." Yep - that's my Dad.  He was a gentleman....and a gentle man too.

The Men Who Made The Journey

I was a buck sergeant in charge of two squads when we boarded the landing craft on June 4th.  As of that point, the landing was to be June 5th. (Inclement weather forced General Eisenhower to push it to June 6th).  My men were from the hills of Missouri, from the city of St. Louis, from the wheat lands of Minnesota, from the mines of Pennsylvania and from the shores of the Mississippi River in Iowa. All had grown in our training....names such as Milos, Allen, Brewer, Vocker, Worocek, Tressler, Davis, Ogren, Sokolich, Swain, DeRousa, Epps, Shelton, Haneline, Voss, Chavez, Miller, Teas, Gryzbek, Dawdle, Greenlee and Seaton were with us that day - a real mixture of Americans committed to finishing the war. (Dal Estes-Tracks Across Europe)

A few of the names above I vividly remember from stories I overheard as a kid, and took part in as an adult.  The two that come to mind most are those of Tommy Milos and Sgt. Herman (Red) Greenlee.

"He was a great man" my Dad would proclaim each and every time Red Greenlee's name was mentioned.  He meant it, as he didn't throw those terms around lightly.  When Tommy Milos' name would come up in conversation a grin would come upon my Dad's face, his head would shake from side-to-side and he would just laugh out loud.  The kind of laugh that you might express towards a crazy younger brother who you love, but wonder what the hell he is thinking most of the time.

Tommy was of Greek descent.  I know this because Dad also referred to him as "that crazy Greek". Tommy was the ladies man of the 467th.   As the unit was on the way out to training in California from Georgia, Tommy went missing for a couple of days.  According to his account, a young, beautiful woman walked by him with a laundry basket and needed help carrying it.  Chivalrous to the end, he helped her and subsequently missed his train.  He eventually showed up in the California desert and was reprimanded, but went on to prepare with the unit for the invasion.

Months later, after the D-Day invasion,  Tommy went missing again in the little town of Pont A Mousson, in Northern France.  Determined to find him, Dad went into a little cafe and asked the French cafe owner if he had seen a soldier.  The owner pointed upstairs. Dad and some other members of the 467th, walked upstairs, heard some "commotion" and found Tommy in the bed of a "nice" French girl, with a barking dog at their feet.  Dal would laugh when he told that story, and in subsequent trips back to France, he and my siblings have looked for that house in order to raise a toast to Tommy, but have not been able to locate it.  One hope for my journey back in June is that I can find the house that was the source of so much amusement in my family through the years.

As unpredictable as Tommy was,  Sgt. Herman (Red) Greenlee was just the opposite.  A "calm, cool and collected Tennessee hill country leader" (Dad's words), Red Greenlee was responsible for turning this rag tag "bastard" unit into a cohesive fighting team.  According to Dad, he did it by his demeanor and his leadership.  Red was wounded on D-Day and his rescue was photographed on this now famous image below. That's Red being pulled off the beach the morning of D-Day.

These men and these stories became a part of my youth, and like any good story teller my Dad had a way of creating these "characters" in my mind.  So much so, that Red, Tommy and a few others became almost folklore like to me.  When I finally saw photos, and especially the one below, I was reminded that they were very real men with a very tough job to do.  When I get to Normandy and see that beach, I will think of Red in this photo and take a moment of gratitude for what he meant to Dad and the others.  And as I am driving around Northern France looking for Tommy's "house", I will chuckle one more time at the thought of the barking dog and the "crazy Greek".

The Beginning - Dal Estes

This is an excerpt from Dad's manuscript, written by him and lovingly typed (on an electric typewriter) and proofed by our Aunt, Marie Mertes. The cover art was created by my Uncle, Dick Myers.   (All of my Dad's writings from now on will be in italics)

"I was a member of one of the best-trained and proudest bastard outfits in the U.S. Army.  We trained in the swamps of Georgia for expected warfare in the Pacific.  We trained for six hot months in the desert of California for expected desert warfare in Africa.  We trained on the shores of Massachusetts for expected water invasion, etc. and for anti-aircraft practice.  And we spent several months in England, training and whetting our appetites for the "biggest show on Earth".

We had shifted officers, we had shifted men, we had improvised equipment, we had taken boys and men from farms, offices, shops, cities, towns and villages and drilled them into fighting men who knew their jobs and were ready to meet the challenge of the"great day" with pride.

We had suffered without water in the desert; we had endured the mosquitoes and snakes of the swamps; we had survived the winter cold of Massachusetts.   We had dodged U-boats crossing the Atlantic, and we had survived English cooking (?) on the boat taking us to England (stewed kidneys for breakfast).  My crew raided the commissary of sardines and all the canned meat and crackers.  Yes, we had become a resourceful "fighting family".  We had lived through the bombings on us in the camps in Great Britian - some had learned to dig deep fox holes due to these bombings - a lesson to be used many times later.  We were ready and we knew our jobs well.

Hitler had spent at least three years building a redoubt along the Atlantic Ocean on the coast of France that was reported to be "impenetrable" and to break this wall it would take know-how, ingenuity and guts;  and we had the arrogance to believe that we would sure as hell do it.  Nowhere in our training was there any doubt of our not being successful in the complete liberation of Europe from a "mad man" who had hypnotized the German people."  -Dal Estes

This excerpt from my Dad made me realize once again, how life is certainly perspective.  The biggest stress moment in preparations for my trip has been determining which overpriced Osprey backpack to purchase in order to have easy maneuvering through the streets of Paris and sands of the Normandy beach.  I've spent countless hours behind my keyboard searching for any information I can to make my trip better and to try and prepare myself for what I don't know.  I think now about those young men 70 years ago, preparing and training the best they could for a day that in their wildest thoughts, couldn't have imagined.  The contrast isn't lost on me.  I hope throughout this journey, no matter what calamity may or may not happen along the way - I'll always be grateful I'm in a warm bed, have plenty to eat and be thankful for the creature comforts that my Dad and his "brothers" went without, so I could be there on that continent 70 years later, celebrating in their honor.

Introduction To Tracks Across Europe

This is a story about a hero, a manuscript, and a trip across Europe 70 years in the making. It’s a look at the men who landed D-Day and made their way battling through Europe from the eyes of one soldier and one man, Sgt. Dal Estes.  Following a manuscript he wrote upon his return to the US, his stories and his footsteps, I’ll visit those towns and cities to connect the past to the present – not just to find similarities or differences, but to visit the places that helped shape the man that fate ultimately determined, would be my Dad.

His US Army unit, the 467^th AAA AW BN, was a motorized battalion full of tanks, halftracks, and jeeps. He and his “brothers” landed on the bloody beach at Omaha and fought another 29 days during the battle of Normandy.  Although not technically considered infantry, they performed infantry duties all through the war - moving on from there and marching through France and Europe, fighting through a brutal winter during the Battle of the Bulge in December of 1944 in Bastogne, Belgium. He was injured there, received a Purple Heart, and returned to fighting after only two days.  He was commissioned as an officer in March of 1945 and truly became an infantryman when he joined the 80^th Division as a lieutenant in the mine platoon.  The 80^th Division continued fighting, with Dad at the helm, all the way through to VE Day.  Sadly, he lost men right up until those last months of the war.  In the late summer of 1945, he was made commander of a displaced persons camp at Pilsen in what was then Czechoslovakia, and in late 1945, he returned home to middle America.

He came back from the war to be a husband, father, and eventually a grandfather, roles he fulfilled with passion and heart. I was blessed and lucky to be his kid.  Our Dad wasn’t shy about his war-time experiences.  He spoke about them, about the men he fought with, and about the towns and cities they came upon.  I grew up hearing these stories, most of them multiple times. Which every now and again, became eye roll moments for my siblings and me. (Not again???!?)  Those youthful feelings evolved over the years, and even if we couldn’t articulate it then, I knew and certainly know now – that these men, these towns and these experiences were defining moments in his life. 

 Although I have no regrets about our relationship, I have one personal regret – that I wasn’t able to return to Normandy with him for previous anniversaries in 1994, 1999 and 2004. Life got in the way then- and I’m remorseful I didn’t experience his history through him, where it took place.   He passed away on Christmas Eve, 2005 – and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him, or wish I could hear those stories one more time.

June 6th, 2014 marks the 70^th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. The celebrations in Normandy will be robust and despite their limitations of age, many soldiers WILL return.  However, I realized if I didn’t attend  this year, the chance of meeting an actual soldier who landed would soon become impossible, as the number of living D-Day veterans decreases by the day.  Although no other man could possibly replace my Dad, seeing one of his contemporaries standing on that bluff looking over the beach, will stir up emotions whose power I both welcome and dread.  It will also be a proud moment, knowing that my Dad’s part in history helped shape a future of which I and many others have been the beneficiaries.

I’m traveling to Europe at the end of May with two of my siblings and my brother-in-law, and their presence will make this trip better on many levels.  First, they are well traveled in France and know many people from their previous trips for D-Day anniversaries.  Second, they are fluent in French – my brother having taught the language for 30 years and my sister majoring in it in college.  Most importantly they, and our other three siblings,  share the unique vantage point of being the children of Dal Estes – a historian, a frequent speaker and a proud veteran of WWII.  We had ring-side seats for his lectures, his writings and the living history he embodied.  Our shared experiences then, and on this trip, will be a great part of the journey.

After the celebrations at Normandy, my siblings will head back to the US.  I will be on my own in France and Belgium to explore the towns and cities my Dad described, to meet the people that he loved, and to experience his journey in my own way.  Unlike him, I won’t be walking it with backpacks and combat boots, hoping no sniper is in the vicinity.  I’ll be driving it in the little manual transmission rental car, hoping instead that I can safely navigate the French, Belgian and German countryside despite a limited knowledge of the languages.   Although it won’t be the same, I’m excited to follow his “Tracks Across Europe”.  I hope you’ll join me for the ride.