This morning I had the opportunity to hear a World War II
veteran tell his story. A Navy medical
corpsman, he was on a landing craft that supported the Allied invasion of
Normandy on June 6, 1944. The vessel ferried
the injured and the dead from the beaches to England and returned for
more. On the fourth trip, June 16, the
landing craft hit a mine and was broken in two.
Of the 150 men aboard, only some thirty survived including my
friend. After floating in a life raft
for less than an hour, he and some other survivors ended up on a Liberty ship
and finally returned to port.
Men like my friend knew that their lives were on the line
when they entered military service in WWII.
For young men like him, life had been simple up to that point, but they
had never had it easy. After all, they
grew up in the aftermath of the Depression when times were hard and
opportunities were limited.
My friend completed his service in the States and was
mustered out when he was 21 years of age.
He shared with me the personal and spiritual impact of being one of the
few to survive on his ship. At a very
young age, his life was changed forever.
He returned home to be a good citizen, a loving husband and father, and
a committed churchman. Only recently has
he started to talk candidly about his experiences in the war.
As we talked, I thought about my own father who served in
the Pacific in the war. My mother was at
home, gave birth to me, and then went to work in the war effort. Although some paid the ultimate sacrifice by
giving their lives, most of the Americans of that generation made major
sacrifices for the war effort.
Tom Brokaw has called this group “the greatest
generation.” They won the war and came
home to have children, build industries, and reenergize a nation. They met the challenge that was set before
them. There are so few of them who are
still with us and they deserve all the love and respect we can give them.
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