Soldiers cast in bronze charge onto sand from Normandy in this D Day exhibit at Fagen Fighters WWII Museum in Granite Falls, MN.
The closest I’ve been to sand on the beaches along the coast of Normandy, France, is visiting the Fagen Fighters WWII Museum D-Day exhibit at the Granite Falls, MN airport. The second closest was reading an essay by our son, Colin, written after he visited Normandy on a high school trip.
A distant third occurred traveling in Europe long ago, about 200 miles northeast of Normandy at the ferry dock in Calais. Just across the English Channel from Dover, England, back then I was more focused on getting to London and picking up my new motorcycle.
To help understand what I missed seeing at Normandy, I rummaged in a closet to find Colin’s essay. It concludes, “It was hard to believe such an awful massacre took place there, where I felt so muted from the elements and so calm as I remembered the souls that had gone before me.” (“The Beach” is reprinted below).
Today a new movie and a recent series about World War II with Tom Hanks are reviving public awareness of D-Day, June 6, 1944, when allied troops stormed upon the beaches of Normandy, France, gaining a foothold that led to the defeat of Nazi Germany. That was just the beginning of the end, the aftermath dragging on for years in rebuilding and healing.
The movie, “Pressure,” focuses on the tense drama around the decision to proceed on D-Day, despite the forecast of dangerous weather. On the History Channel, Tom Hanks hosts a 20-part documentary “that reexamines the war through the lens of a new century… guided by Hanks whose lifelong passion for this history has shaped some of the most profound screen portrayals of the era.” I have seen the first four released so far and highly recommend watching. I plan to see the movie.
History unheeded
World
World War II changed the world, except for one thing: We still haven’t learned how to avoid war or neutralize power hungry autocrats and dictators who cause them. We have not learned from history. Our educational system has been distorted by ‘teaching to the test’, and a lopsided emphasis on STEM – science, technology, engineering, math.
It’s encouraging to see renewed interest in civics learning. We can only hope that it takes root soon enough to offset the dearth of civics knowledge that encourages autocrats and dictators to fill the void. Young people must learn about World War II, and the necessary choices necessary to avoid a repeat. In the meantime, there are some great opportunities to learn.
Groups of students often tour the Fagen Fighters Museum at the Granite Falls Airport. They are awed by the sight of fully restored, operational World War II planes and vehicles. They learn about The Holocaust in seeing the gripping, life-sized model of a railroad car filled with Jews herded by SS troops. A display about D-Day shows soldiers cast in bronze charging from a landing craft onto a beach, the sand actually brought here from Normandy.
Even decades later, scars remained visible in the European landscape, and in the memories of the people. As a young man hitchhiking in Germany, I got a ride from a man who appeared old enough to have been a child or teenager during the war. When he learned that I was an American, emotion arose in his voice as he mentioned how following the war the Americans helped the German people, when they expected to be punished. The stirrings of the ensuing Cold War with the Soviet Union played a role in that strategy.
Greatest Generation
Kids growing up in the 1950s were enthralled by the Greatest Generation, the men and women who fought and vanquished the world nightmare inflicted by Hitler and the Nazis. Innocent of the horror that it brought, kids played ‘army’, a scene described in my first novel, Good Ice. When the National Guard bivouacked at fairgrounds, we eagerly took C rations in exchange for riding bikes to the DQ to get malts for the soldiers. We spent hours browsing Army surplus gear at Rau’s Trading Post.
With almost countless books, movies, documentaries, and museums about World War II, you would think that the world has learned a lesson: Dictators always fail, but their rise and demise cause vast suffering and destruction. We are seeing that being played out again today, in the Russian war against Ukraine, and even in the U.S.-Israeli attack on Iran.
Of the best-selling books listed by the National World War 2 museum in New Orleans, I have read only two: Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl and Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. In both, faith was the foundation of perseverance in a concentration camp and brutal captivity. About D-Day and Normandy, Colin’s essay will suffice:
The Beach
By Colin Peterson
I climbed down the stairs of the blue bus and out on to the harsh, black asphalt. As I made my way to the gates of the cemetery, the wind and the rain stung my face. I began to shiver in my damp clothing but paid no attention to my slight discomfort. Awe stricken by the white sea of limestone that embraced the tailored, green carpet that it rested upon, I entered the resting place of thousands of American soldiers.
Walking past the large statue that loomed above me, I made my way to the stone wall that separated the peaceful resting place and the violent ocean that swelled with each gust of wind. I stumbled down the hillside. Avoiding the puddles of mud, trying to find my way through the foliage on the maze of paths, I thought of the lives that were lost on this very beach. Finally, when I emerged on the rock and sand, the wind licked my face and howled in my ears. I felt so alone. There was almost an eerie feeling with all the souls that had lost their mortal dwellings that day in June 1944; it was as if they were calling from the skies through the churning clouds above, longing for their time on this earth as it was so suddenly extracted from their fragile bodies.
As I ascended back to the cemetery, I contemplated the enormity of the event that took place on this very spot. I boarded the bus once again in soggy clothes and sat down in a seat near the window and stared off into the countryside. As I sat there, in my hand, I held a single stone that I had taken. It was smoothed by the water and by time, it resembled the feeling present on the beach that day. It was hard to believe such an awful massacre took place there, where I felt so muted from the elements and so calm as I remembered the souls that had gone before me.
