D-Day sixth of June

... when a memory of D-Day, June 6, 1944, becomes instead, DNA for history.

Joe tried to remember why he took notice of him but he couldn’t. It
wasn’t just him, his wife was involved, too. They would come in through
the church door that was the closest to the parking lot, always arriving
just in time for the start of the 4:30 vigil mass. They never walked in
side by side, he was always first and she followed along after him.

He would be dressed casually but she wouldn‘t be. Always wearing a
dress and, many times, a hat, her style was in complete contrast to the
easy-going attire of the rest of the congregation. Joe thought this
probably had to do with her age which, like her husband’s, looked to be
mid 70’s. She was from the generation who dressed up to go to mass;
unlike her husband, she had not given in to informality.

They made no bones about their hair color, definitely white. Hers
was snow white, absent from tints or high lites. Most of the time she
wore it pulled back to allow her hat. His white-gray hair was wavy and
stood out from the top of his head.

From the time they walked through the door they both were in smiles.
Hers was modestly closed-mouth but his was a wide, toothy grin. He
nodded to people in greeting as he walked along to one of the pews
closest to the front.

Joe noticed that his gait was affected by a bad leg. He didn’t
exactly drag it but deftly pulled it along until he and his wife got to
their pew. That’s when he gave up his leadership role and stood back so
that his wife could step into the pew first. While she was making her
way, he continued to smile and nod to the people sitting behind them. It
was when he turned to enter the pew that you could see that his bad leg
was not just a minor inconvenience; he had to reach down and lift it up
to bring it into the pew before he could sit down.

Over the years a daughter had joined them. Joe guessed her age to be
late forties or so. Like her mother, she always wore a dress. Following
her mother into the church she, like her parents, was smiling. Hers was
like her mother’s, a sweet, little closed-mouth grin. And in the manner
of her parents she nodded in greeting to the people who were already
sitting down.

By the time that the daughter joined the group things had changed
for the old guy. He was now using a cane and pushed down on to it as he
made his way. His walking was affected but not his smile. He still
nodded his greeting as he made his way to the very first pew. It was a
pew that had no kneeler and was there for people like him who could no
longer use one. His wife and daughter sat down beside him.

It was what he wore so frequently that Joe figured was the reason
that he always watched him. On all but the hottest and coldest days he
would be wearing a god-awful looking zippered jacket. Joe recalled when
he was growing up these kind of jackets were called wind breakers. They
were made of thin, shiny looking fabric that claimed to be water
repellent. His was an ugly slate gray and in many places there were
patches of white beginning to show where the fabric was wearing away.

Joe
had noticed that there was some kind of painted-on lettering on the
back. One Saturday after mass while he was leaving the church he was
able to read the lettering. It said, “Twenty-ninth Infantry Division
Reunion”. Joe speculated that the jacket was probably a pass out to the
guys who attended the reunion, something like that, anyway.

The 29th Infantry Division's shoulder-patch insignia.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Even for mid March it was miserable. Rain, cold, and wind had
convinced Joe to chicken out on his daily walk. Instead, he sat in in
front of his TV perusing the channels to find anything entertaining. He
finally gave up on finding a movie and clicked onto his go-to source,
the Military channel.

This channel is a mixed bag, it’s subjects have a wide
diversity. They range from the ordinary, such as evaluations of military
vehicles like tanks, or trucks. But they can also include more serious
matter like biographies of famous generals, or film footage of historic
battles. The battles are almost always about those that occurred during
World War II.

The episode that Joe had clicked was most certainly from World
War II. The film was a reprise of the Normandy Landings on D-Day June
6, 1944 and it was devoted specifically to the landing on Omaha Beach,
one of the bloodiest battles of the war. Joe had watched this same film a
number of times, but he knows that he’s going to watch all of it again.

The filming is murky with everything sort of blurred. There is one
segment that is quite clear. A combat photographer has moved up into the
beach and is filming back at the soldiers coming on shore. You see
soldiers who are ankle deep in the surf dropping face down into the
water as they are cut down by enemy fire. Joe knew that these were guys
not being blasted by artillery shrapnel but were being picked off by
rifle fire. He shook his head almost in denial of what he was watching.

The deep-baritone voice that was doing the narration refers to the
carnage as “Omaha, Bloody Omaha.” It’s what he said next that made Joe
come out of his melancholy trance with a snap. The narrator tells of the
two U.S. infantry divisions involved in the carnage. One of them is
famous, the First Infantry Division, nicknamed The Big Red One. But it’s
the identification of the other division that has made the impact on
Joe. The other division, says the narrator, is the 29th Infantry
Division.

Joe, in a reflective shock, remembered the old guy at the 4:30 mass
and his ratty-assed jacket with the 29th Infantry Division reference on
it. Then, breathing very slowly Joe said to himself, So, that’s why he
wears it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

June 2009 will go down as a major-league downer for weather. Before
it’s over there will be coverage in every form of media attesting to its
unmitigated rain-soaked lousiness.

That’s not what it is on June 6, 2009. That Saturday afternoon
as Joe walked across the parking lot on his way to the 4:30 mass he is
thinking to himself of what an absolute sparkler of a day that it has
turned to be. From the time he got out of bed that morning he had
remembered that it was the anniversary of D-Day.

Even though he was only 13 years old at the time Joe was able to
remember when he learned of the Normandy landing. Eddie Flashenberg, who
was coming back to school after lunch, told him and best pal Carlo
Vaccaro that "we" had invaded France. Eddie said that he had just heard
President Roosevelt say so on the radio. He added that President
Roosevelt said we might have to do it again.

Joe remembered that he took this news wide eyed and somberly. He was
picturing a lot of soldiers being hurt. He wondered what it must be
like to be there.

After taking a seat in a pew mid-way back in the church Joe looked
around at the gathering congregation. He exchanged nods and smiles with
friends who were filing by to find a place to sit down. He was looking
around aimlessly when he saw the old guy walk in the door. As usual his
wife and daughter were right behind him.

No wind breaker this time. He was wearing a tailored blue blazer,
white shirt open at the neck, and a pair of light gray slacks. He looked
terrific. No cane now, he was moving with the use of a black walker.
Even so, he looked up, from time to time, to flash his how-ya-doin’
smile at the folks who were looking over to greet him. He sat down with
his family in the very first no-kneeler pew.

Joe was surprised by the old guy’s dapper attire. It slowly dawned
on him why he was dressed like this. There’s a part of the mass that’s
devoted to petitions when the congregation stands and asks for God’s
blessing on people or groups who have special needs. Sometimes the
blessings are asked for the soldiers who are in harms way and their
respective families. Sometimes it’s to commemorate past events, but in
general it’s to ask God’s help for the deserving and for those who need
it.

Joe realized why the old guy was dressed up. It was expectation that
the petitions would include the historical event of June 6, 1944. The
old guy was there to be recognized, not personally, but as part of
the group who participated in this horrific, heroic event.

A feeling of apprehension overcomes Joe. D-Day was a memory for the
old guy and Joe. Father Jim Field, the Pastor, will be leading the
petitions and he was born many years afterwards. D-Day for him is not a
memory but a part of history. D-Day will not be an immediate
recollection for Father Field like it will be for the old guy and Joe.
Joe is saddened by the realization that it’s highly likely that the old
guy is going to be very disappointed.

When the petitions come, Joe’s apprehension turns out to be true.
Prayers for the safety of the soldiers in Iraq. Prayers for the sick and
those hoping for recovery. Prayers for the deceased. Nothing for D-Day.
History may contain this anniversary but it’s a memory that makes it
evident. Joe sighs in sympathy for the old guy.

When the mass is over Joe waits while the rest of the congregation
files out. He knows the old guy and his family will wait until things
clear out so that he can make his way on his walker.

As Joe walks up to where the old guy is sitting his wife and
daughter are standing with their backs to the altar and looking down at
him. Everybody looks very glum.

Joe waits until he is close by, looks down at the old guy and says,
“I haven’t forgotten where the 29th Infantry Division was on this day.”
The wife and daughter explode like cheerleaders, they say, “thank you,
thank you, oh, thank you so very much!” The daughter turns to the altar,
holds her hand up to the pulpit and says with a sound of deep
frustration, “They didn’t even say anything!” Everybody knows what
“anything” is.

Joe gives a sympathetic shake of the head but says referring to
Father Field, “He wasn’t even born then.” The daughter and wife don’t
seem satisfied. Joe turns to look down at the old guy, who smiles and
extends his hand up to Joe. They shake but don’t say anything. Joe then
gives a little wave to the group, smiles, and leaves.

As he’s walking through the parking lot to his car he is pondering
what just happened. He hoped that he had rescued something. Joe’s
feeling was that all any veteran ever wanted is for someone to say, “I
know what you did.”

Joe had been in Korea. He knew what it was to be shot at. He knew
the screaming bolt of fear that burst through your chest when someone
screamed, “Incoming!” He also knew if you took all the things he did
like that and put them together it wouldn’t even come close to being on
Omaha Beach on D-day. Not within a hundred miles close.

He sat in his car and stuck the key into the ignition. He paused and
then said to himself, Omaha Beach. My God, what must it be to have that
for a memory?

previously published

June 3, 2011