Well June 7th just passed. That was the day my father landed in Europe in France. The day after D Day. I asked him if the fighting was as fierce, and he said the Germans were still bombing them with heavy artillery. It was because of heavy casualties that my father became what he had actually trained for before he went overseas--a medic. My Dad was to see a lot more action and he had many close calls along the way. He would go on to win the Bronze Star for Valor. He was awarded The Medal of Verdun from the town of Verdun, France which made him an honorary citizen. I didn't find out why until recently. The Germans firebombed a schoolhouse there and my father and the other GIs rescued every last one of those children from the burning building.
And 55 years after he set foot on Normandy's shores, he, and other remaining WW II veterans, was awarded the French Legion of Honor. France's equivalent of our Medal of Honor. He said he was never so nervous in his life, but I highly doubt that. How can you not be nervous when a wounded man lies exposed in the field and you have to go attend to him while bullets are going off all around you, amongst other things? My father has the distinction of being in the The Battle of The Bulge. It was the Germans last ditch effort. My father came home to a very normal existence after his discharge. He settled back into his hometown and never left. Marrying rather late for those days-- at 29.
And then again, 55 years after the fact, he was made Grand Marshal of the Perth Amboy Memorial Day parade. He gave an extemperaneous speech of nearly 3 minutes about the rigors of a combat medic. The hours spent in foxholes. Being dirty all the time. Of course he left out some real gruesome tales, like the time he carried a dying man on his back for 2 miles. The soldier bled all over him so badly, that my father had to change into another uniform because he was encased in blood. I often think of that scenario and metaphorically find it apropos. My father carried me on his back for many years during many harrowing and downright morbid times in my existence with the same stoicism and sense of duty that he did those soldiers.
And for that I salute him. And I know there are other brave men who also salute him because he proved himself on the battlefield of life.
I would love to hear some more of your Dad's stories about being a medic. And I especially like your metaphor of how he carried you like the soldier.
ReplyDeleteMy father was also a medic at Normandy. He also arrived on June 7th (D Day +1). I only wish I would have listened to his stories more closely while growing up. Thank you so much for posting your father's stories. It's very important to keep these stories alive for future generations.
ReplyDeleteThank you @blantz59. I didn't even realize that you commented on this until now.
Delete