I have a few friends whose fathers participated in D-Day. I never talked to them directly about it, but the children have posted about it on Facebook. My father and two uncles were too young - they joined as soon as they turned 18, but all ended in the Pacific. My father and uncle and a couple of their friends were at a Boston Bruins game at Boston Garden when it was announced over the PA system that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. The game was cancelled and the boys took the train from the adjacent North Station to the depot in West Concord, near their homes. It was a traumatic experience for them. They all wanted to join the military right away, but their parents wouldn't let them until they were 18 and didn't need their permission.
Read Liebling? Aya aye Cap. If he moved you like that I want to know more. All the better that he could both stand topside with the guys who landed first and also laugh at his own stuff. Too bad to miss that but finding out second hand by making it into the inner circle is still pretty great. Thanks much.
Seven of my uncles served in WWII, with one making that landing on D-Day. That uncle later had what we now call PTSD, not leaving France until 7 months after the war ended. All of them served at least 4 years. None of my uncles talked much about their experiences--they just came home and took on responsibilities, married and raised families, and made their communities better places. I cannot help but think about them every time social media posts from veterans of later wars complaining about not getting what they think they are owed for their service.
All of my cousins were older than me and all, and their spouses, served in WII , most in the South Pacific. One was in Clark's tank corp and probably was inthe Battle of the Bulge. One, a quiet Iowa fram boy, was in the Marine 1st Div. and survived invasions of Guadacanal, Tarawa, and Saipan. I didn'r even know that until years later.
Tears! I spent my entire enlistment cruising up and down the east coast aboard a Presidential Flagship. Basically a spic and span showboat and I loved it! The one bad thing about my tour was the contingent of Marines on board. Approximately 30 enlisted and a couple of officers, most of whom were on a relevnt " leisure cruise" after service in Viet Nam. I befriended a half dozen of them, close friends as it turned out, and a couple of them related stories of their tour overseas. Made me almost wish I had enlisted in the Marines..almost! Hence the tears.
My mothers first husband, Russ McConnell, was torpedoed on the St. Lawrence River near Quebec City during what few people know as The Battle of the St. Lawrence, WWll. Russ asked his very best friend, Ron Perowne, to take care of his wife should anything ever happen to him. Every sailor aboard that boat died. Ron Perowne kept his word and married Russ’s widow. He is my Dad. That’s Friendship.
I love Mr. Keillor and I fear the day he goes silent. I don't have the words to honor the men discussed in the article but I honor them and am proud to have known several from that generation- THE generation. Each man with more stories, unbelievable, if I hadn't borne witness as I listened to each word.
Something you wrote many years ago (I believe mazumbos entered into it) got me interested in Liebling, and helped move me toward the position that Liebling, Mitchell, Thurber and a few others were the real cream of American writing.
It’s encouraging to hear that Liebling laughed at his own stuff, because I do that when I write. My wife always mocks me for it, but from now on I’ll tell her “Joe Liebling did it too,” and that’ll presumably make her change her tune.
You've made me remember. Every Veteran’s Day, Mary Lois Brunker, who celebrated her 90th birthday in 2013, arranged a tribute to the veterans who worshiped at the little fundamentalist Church of Christ where I grew up. It usually consisted of special music, a reading, and the presentation of a small token of appreciation to each of the men who ever belonged to the United States’ armed forces. Veteran’s Day mattered to Mary Lois. Veterans matter to her. At nineteen, she watched so many young men her age, including a brother and husband, leave their lives behind to serve their country. Many of them never came back. Those who did survive that war are gone now. At Salem, we lost two of their number that year, so that day’s service was especially poignant.
Mary Lois came to me before worship and asked if I would stand in for my father. All she wanted was for me to come forward when she called Daddy’s name and accept the token on his behalf. When she said, “George Marsh,” I stepped into the aisle and walked up to the front where 9 year-old Will Johnson handed me a white carnation with red, white, and blue ribbons tied around the stem. Just to stand in front of the congregation where my father should have been was humbling enough, but while I stood there and she called the names of the others, I began to think just what it would have meant to have stood in for my father.
The inscription on the Marine Corps monument in Washington D.C. is truth. "Uncommon valor was a common virtue." Every fighter on that island, including the Japanese, was a grand man. First in the navy, then attached to a marine unit, Daddy spent six weeks on the island of Iwo Jima during what is remembered by history as some of the fiercest, bloodiest fighting of the war. His job was to bind wounds. All he had was a little morphine and a few bandages. He didn’t even have water to wash his hands, only sand. In six weeks, he did not have a shower or change clothes. He learned to sleep through mortars falling. He was sustained by the twenty-third psalm. Daddy was wounded in battle and treated his own wound, never even reporting it. He carried the scar. If you were to ask him about it, he would tell you it was just a flesh wound.
When they were burying the Japanese, many of the bodies were already in foxholes that they had dug themselves. The men were warned that some of the bodies were booby trapped. The marines took turns testing for traps. He said he had to take a volcanic rock the size of a basketball and throw it onto a body and hope that it didn't explode.
He left a Higgins boat on February 19, 1945 nineteen years old, standing 5'11" and weighing 165 pounds. Six weeks later, he was still 5'11" but he weighed 130 pounds. He was essentially deaf in one ear from a mortar shell that fell too close.
Three months after the battle, he was awarded a bronze star. He had gone out under fire and risked his own life to save the life of a wounded man.
For most of my life, he wouldn't even talk about his experiences. He just carried them around in his head. Near the end of his life, he told me that even though he saw hundreds and hundreds of men die, saw limbs and heads blown off, and holes in every part of a human body, none of it was as hard as watching my mother die.
Stunning. And right on time, Memorial Day having seemingly receded this year, at least in my town.I have a story about my father and Ernie Pyle, close together on Ie Shima off of Okinawa. Pyle didnt make it, my dad did. He spent the rest of his good life trying to make up for it. Thank you, Mr. Keillor, the world needs reminders now and then. And now especially.
"Tell me I've lived a good life...", the tearful Private Ryan pleads to his grey-haired wife wile looking over the grave of his WW II captain who never returned from France so that he could; Sometime there are just no words to define that "good life".
My uncle Leo, went in at Omaha Beach which was hell on earth. But he got about eleven miles inland before he was shot through his spine in the lower back region and was a paraplegic for the rest of his life.
He never talked about war with us kids. As much as he suffered for the success of the invasion his family also suffered as they adjusted their lives to care for him. The good people of Clinton Massachusetts raised the money needed to build a ranch style home without stairs and a bathroom that accommodated his wheelchair. There was a trapeze over his bed so he could lift himself out of the it while his sister positioned the wheelchair to finesse the transition. He had incredible upper body strength. Everyday, was a struggle that he never complained about. He was my favorite uncle and when I think of service and sacrifice I think of him.
Thank you for this moving tribute to the men who saved the world when they were too young to know it! My father, from a small town in Kentucky, lied about his age and joined the Navy. He was in the Pacific and seldom discussed it, but he instilled love of our country and all it stands for in his children. We all salute when we hear our national anthem and are reminded of the sacrifices made so long ago to save the world.
I guess what brought us together in World War II was the fact that we were actually attacked on our homeland (Pearl Harbor). In the days leading up to the attack the German American Bund- Nazi Party in America and Lucky Lindy were leading protest against the little military preparations we were doing for war- and the Lend Lease Act- The attack by the Japanese and Hitler Declaring war on the Us before we declared war on Germany galvanized public support and brought us together- and quelled the voices of decent.
I have a few friends whose fathers participated in D-Day. I never talked to them directly about it, but the children have posted about it on Facebook. My father and two uncles were too young - they joined as soon as they turned 18, but all ended in the Pacific. My father and uncle and a couple of their friends were at a Boston Bruins game at Boston Garden when it was announced over the PA system that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. The game was cancelled and the boys took the train from the adjacent North Station to the depot in West Concord, near their homes. It was a traumatic experience for them. They all wanted to join the military right away, but their parents wouldn't let them until they were 18 and didn't need their permission.
Read Liebling? Aya aye Cap. If he moved you like that I want to know more. All the better that he could both stand topside with the guys who landed first and also laugh at his own stuff. Too bad to miss that but finding out second hand by making it into the inner circle is still pretty great. Thanks much.
Don’t forget Korea!
Everyone needs to read this column. We have come a long way from the unity shared in fighting World War 2.
Seven of my uncles served in WWII, with one making that landing on D-Day. That uncle later had what we now call PTSD, not leaving France until 7 months after the war ended. All of them served at least 4 years. None of my uncles talked much about their experiences--they just came home and took on responsibilities, married and raised families, and made their communities better places. I cannot help but think about them every time social media posts from veterans of later wars complaining about not getting what they think they are owed for their service.
All of my cousins were older than me and all, and their spouses, served in WII , most in the South Pacific. One was in Clark's tank corp and probably was inthe Battle of the Bulge. One, a quiet Iowa fram boy, was in the Marine 1st Div. and survived invasions of Guadacanal, Tarawa, and Saipan. I didn'r even know that until years later.
Thank you for honoring them. I will read Liebling.
I will, as well, if I can find it. My local library has "Molly" from that period.
An awesome column enlightening a historical reality. Thanks!
Tears! I spent my entire enlistment cruising up and down the east coast aboard a Presidential Flagship. Basically a spic and span showboat and I loved it! The one bad thing about my tour was the contingent of Marines on board. Approximately 30 enlisted and a couple of officers, most of whom were on a relevnt " leisure cruise" after service in Viet Nam. I befriended a half dozen of them, close friends as it turned out, and a couple of them related stories of their tour overseas. Made me almost wish I had enlisted in the Marines..almost! Hence the tears.
My mothers first husband, Russ McConnell, was torpedoed on the St. Lawrence River near Quebec City during what few people know as The Battle of the St. Lawrence, WWll. Russ asked his very best friend, Ron Perowne, to take care of his wife should anything ever happen to him. Every sailor aboard that boat died. Ron Perowne kept his word and married Russ’s widow. He is my Dad. That’s Friendship.
I love Mr. Keillor and I fear the day he goes silent. I don't have the words to honor the men discussed in the article but I honor them and am proud to have known several from that generation- THE generation. Each man with more stories, unbelievable, if I hadn't borne witness as I listened to each word.
Something you wrote many years ago (I believe mazumbos entered into it) got me interested in Liebling, and helped move me toward the position that Liebling, Mitchell, Thurber and a few others were the real cream of American writing.
It’s encouraging to hear that Liebling laughed at his own stuff, because I do that when I write. My wife always mocks me for it, but from now on I’ll tell her “Joe Liebling did it too,” and that’ll presumably make her change her tune.
Oh, Mr. Keillor,
You've made me remember. Every Veteran’s Day, Mary Lois Brunker, who celebrated her 90th birthday in 2013, arranged a tribute to the veterans who worshiped at the little fundamentalist Church of Christ where I grew up. It usually consisted of special music, a reading, and the presentation of a small token of appreciation to each of the men who ever belonged to the United States’ armed forces. Veteran’s Day mattered to Mary Lois. Veterans matter to her. At nineteen, she watched so many young men her age, including a brother and husband, leave their lives behind to serve their country. Many of them never came back. Those who did survive that war are gone now. At Salem, we lost two of their number that year, so that day’s service was especially poignant.
Mary Lois came to me before worship and asked if I would stand in for my father. All she wanted was for me to come forward when she called Daddy’s name and accept the token on his behalf. When she said, “George Marsh,” I stepped into the aisle and walked up to the front where 9 year-old Will Johnson handed me a white carnation with red, white, and blue ribbons tied around the stem. Just to stand in front of the congregation where my father should have been was humbling enough, but while I stood there and she called the names of the others, I began to think just what it would have meant to have stood in for my father.
The inscription on the Marine Corps monument in Washington D.C. is truth. "Uncommon valor was a common virtue." Every fighter on that island, including the Japanese, was a grand man. First in the navy, then attached to a marine unit, Daddy spent six weeks on the island of Iwo Jima during what is remembered by history as some of the fiercest, bloodiest fighting of the war. His job was to bind wounds. All he had was a little morphine and a few bandages. He didn’t even have water to wash his hands, only sand. In six weeks, he did not have a shower or change clothes. He learned to sleep through mortars falling. He was sustained by the twenty-third psalm. Daddy was wounded in battle and treated his own wound, never even reporting it. He carried the scar. If you were to ask him about it, he would tell you it was just a flesh wound.
When they were burying the Japanese, many of the bodies were already in foxholes that they had dug themselves. The men were warned that some of the bodies were booby trapped. The marines took turns testing for traps. He said he had to take a volcanic rock the size of a basketball and throw it onto a body and hope that it didn't explode.
He left a Higgins boat on February 19, 1945 nineteen years old, standing 5'11" and weighing 165 pounds. Six weeks later, he was still 5'11" but he weighed 130 pounds. He was essentially deaf in one ear from a mortar shell that fell too close.
Three months after the battle, he was awarded a bronze star. He had gone out under fire and risked his own life to save the life of a wounded man.
For most of my life, he wouldn't even talk about his experiences. He just carried them around in his head. Near the end of his life, he told me that even though he saw hundreds and hundreds of men die, saw limbs and heads blown off, and holes in every part of a human body, none of it was as hard as watching my mother die.
I stood in front of a congregation in HIS place
Thank you for shaking lose that memory.
Love,
Dawn
Thank you for sharing that, Dawn.
Stunning. And right on time, Memorial Day having seemingly receded this year, at least in my town.I have a story about my father and Ernie Pyle, close together on Ie Shima off of Okinawa. Pyle didnt make it, my dad did. He spent the rest of his good life trying to make up for it. Thank you, Mr. Keillor, the world needs reminders now and then. And now especially.
"Tell me I've lived a good life...", the tearful Private Ryan pleads to his grey-haired wife wile looking over the grave of his WW II captain who never returned from France so that he could; Sometime there are just no words to define that "good life".
My uncle Leo, went in at Omaha Beach which was hell on earth. But he got about eleven miles inland before he was shot through his spine in the lower back region and was a paraplegic for the rest of his life.
He never talked about war with us kids. As much as he suffered for the success of the invasion his family also suffered as they adjusted their lives to care for him. The good people of Clinton Massachusetts raised the money needed to build a ranch style home without stairs and a bathroom that accommodated his wheelchair. There was a trapeze over his bed so he could lift himself out of the it while his sister positioned the wheelchair to finesse the transition. He had incredible upper body strength. Everyday, was a struggle that he never complained about. He was my favorite uncle and when I think of service and sacrifice I think of him.
Thank you for this moving tribute to the men who saved the world when they were too young to know it! My father, from a small town in Kentucky, lied about his age and joined the Navy. He was in the Pacific and seldom discussed it, but he instilled love of our country and all it stands for in his children. We all salute when we hear our national anthem and are reminded of the sacrifices made so long ago to save the world.
I guess what brought us together in World War II was the fact that we were actually attacked on our homeland (Pearl Harbor). In the days leading up to the attack the German American Bund- Nazi Party in America and Lucky Lindy were leading protest against the little military preparations we were doing for war- and the Lend Lease Act- The attack by the Japanese and Hitler Declaring war on the Us before we declared war on Germany galvanized public support and brought us together- and quelled the voices of decent.