Honoring the Flag at Omaha Beach.
I had a pit in my stomach, chills running up my spine and goosebumps all over. Zeb and I were entering the hallowed ground of Omaha Beach, Normandy, France. My anticipation had been building for 46 years. During my military stationing in Germany, in the early ’70s, the French/American relationship was strained–GI’s were not treated well. So being a pig-headed mule, while on a year-long motorcycle trip after my European Discharge in 1973-74, I chose not to visit this honored site. What a fool!
But here I was, November 2018, at Bloody Omaha. Zeb and I were walking the grounds, looking out at the beachfront, imaging what had taken place here almost 75 years ago(the 75th anniversary is in 2019) when without warning the haunting sound of a bugle reverberated through the memorial park.
I didn’t immediately associate the call to any specific significance. I have been out of the service for 40 + years and only recognize the playing of “Taps.” The fall sun was setting, and I should have realized the American Flag was being lowered as the bugler played “Retreat.”
*Retreat is the bugle call played at the end of the duty day and is typically followed by, “To The Colors,” while the American flag is lowered. Retreat has been used to signal the end of the duty day since the Revolutionary War, and the bugle call itself can be traced back to the time of the Crusades.
My son instantly stopped, took off his hat, crossed his heart, and turned in the direction of the bugler. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that I initially kept walking. I knew better. I was showing disrespect for the time-honored daily tradition of raising and lowering the flag on a military installation. When did I become so Cavalier about the American Flag? I was in the Omaha Beach American D-Day Memorial Cemetary, in Normandy, France. You can’t be in a more sacred location. I immediately took off my hat and covered my heart, questioning why I hadn’t done it instantaneously.
We were walking along an Ocean Front Path, looking out over the Atlantic Ocean, with the Cemetary’s rows of white crosses off to our right-marking hallowed ground. This was Bloody Omaha, where almost 75 years ago, the World, as we know it, had been saved thanks to the sacrifice of those bodies buried under the crosses. They had sacrificed their lives for that flag and its concepts.
We had arrived at Omaha Beach a couple of hours before. It was our first stop in visiting Normandy, France to pay our respects and honor those soldiers who had given their lives during the attack on Fortress Europe–June 6, 1944. A date in my mind that saved the free world.
Up to that point in time, I had stared at the Ocean/Beachfront in awe at what had taken place here, now so beautiful and serene, almost 75 years ago. How 150,000 men, (and one woman, Ernest Hemmingway’s ex-wife, a reporter, who had snuck onboard a landing craft) had stormed these beaches to hopefully begin the defeat of Adolph Hitler and the Third Reich. I kept conceptualizing the thousands of ships emerging from the Ocean’s cloudbank on that fateful day. It had to be an overwhelming sight looking out of a bunker and a bone-chilling site looking at that beach on your way in.
The Allied Soldiers attacked 5 Beaches simultaneously-Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, and Juno. It was the greatest invasion in military history. The largest amphibious force ever assembled-code named “Operation Overlord.” Twelve nations provided fighting units that day: Australia, Canada, Belgium, France, Czechoslovakia, Greece, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, the United Kingdom, and the United States
In spite of my momentary lapse in showing respect during the flag-lowering ceremony, my feeling was one of thankfulness for what these soldiers had done for the world. Comparatively, I felt inferior in what I had done for my country during a lifetime. Like many, I wondered whether I would have had their courage. I know enough about myself to believe I would have.
The overwhelming spirituality, like being in church, I have experienced only a few times in my life, but this was different. All I could visualize was the wave upon wave of boats shuttling soldiers to the beach, all of whom wondered whether they would get out of this alive. I was here, Normandy, D-Day, where men made the ultimate sacrifice to defeat the evil existence of Hitler and the Nazi’s.
This aching, honorable, spiritual feeling of mine has occurred at other sacrosanct sites:
- Gazing into the Black Oil Slick oozing from the USS Arizona, resting below its floating Memorial in Hawaii.
- Entering the Anzac War Memorial in Sydney, Australia.
- In front of General Patten’s grave in the Luxembourg American Cemetery.
- Entering Dachau with its haunting metal sculptures.
- Viewing the eternal flame and the acres of crosses stretching across Arlington National Cemetery.
- Walking up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial no matter how many times.
As the sunset, and the chill began, I sat with my son looking out over the Ocean reflecting on my life as an American. Born in 1945 I had grown up with the WWII generation as my mentors. I grew up in the ’50s with such an appreciation of the United States of America, that when “The Star-Spangled Banner” played I got goosebumps and still do.
I thought about my father’s feelings flying P-38’s in 1943-44 during the African Campaign and his forced landing on the beach during the invasions of Sicily, and Salerno, Italy. I remembered my brother’s father-in-law who had landed on Utah beach during D-day and my Uncle who had shuttled soldiers to the beach time and again. No question I was visiting a holy shrine of American history.
But most of all I thought about how dam lucky I was to have been born in the USA. Or to quote my favorite guy in history, Mr. Abe Lincoln, “We shall nobly save or meanly lose the last best hope of earth.” The free men who fought here certainly believed that.
As we walked by the memorial statue of freedom on our way out, I thanked God for fulfilling my desire to get to Normandy and putting that vision of the armada into context here where it occurred.
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