Memorial Day

It is, in a way an odd thing to honor those who died in defense of our country, in defense of us, in wars far away.  The imagination plays a trick.  We see these soldiers in our mind as old and wise.  We see them as something like the Founding Fathers, grave and gray haired.         

But most of them were boys when they died, and they gave up two lives - the one they were living and one they would have lived.       

When they died, they gave up their chance to be husbands and fathers and grandfathers.  They gave up their chance to be revered old men.  They gave up everything for our country, for us.  And all we can do is remember.    

 - Ronald Reagan

 

Originally called Decoration Day - Memorial Day is a day of remembrance for those who have died in service to our country.                          

There is an American Cemetery and Memorial located in Colleville-sur-Mer on the bluff overlooking Omaha Beach in Normandy, France.  Dedicated in 1956 the Cemetery and Memorial is situated closely to the site of the temporary American St. Laurent Cemetery, established by the U.S. First Army on June 8, 1944 - the first American cemetery on European soil in World War II.              

This is the final resting place of 9,388 of our military dead - most of whom lost their lives in the D-Day landings and ensuing operations.  If you were to visit this place you will note that upon the walls of the Garden of the Missing are inscribed an additional 1,557 names.  And because old battlefields continue to yield their dead - rosettes mark the names of those since recovered and identified.              

In Plot E Row 26 Grave 37 rests James D. Johnston - Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Army, 47th Infantry Regiment, 9th Infantry Division.   

Jill and I walked this sacred place on a typical rainy Norman morning and while I have no connection to James Johnston, his life before the war, or his survivors following the war, what you can discern from the marker is that Johnston was from North Carolina and was a commander in the same division and infantry regiment my dad served.  

       

Howard Gaertner landed at Utah Beach as an infantry replacement.  He was a machine gunner in a heavy weapons platoon.  Dad fought in the battle of the hedgerows, the breakout at Saint-Lô and Patton's mad dash across northern France.  

Among the first allied troops to participate in the liberation of Belgium his European excursion ended less than three months later by wounds incurred in combat.  By the grace of God (and fortunately for me) he was not killed.  Following his recovery in England he was redeployed and served for a brief period in the US Army of Occupation in Germany.        

 

Johnston died from wounds suffered from the detonation of a German 88mm shell at the blood-stained Crossroads 114 near Acqueville just outside of Cherbourg.*  Death in combat was fickle in the skirmishes and battle for mere meters in the uneven and mixed woodlands and pastures of the Bocage.  Lt Col Johnston was killed - PFC Gaertner was not. 

Dad returned home from the war and lived a full and rewarding life.  He worked quietly in a public school system and never spoke about his war experiences in any great detail until I was well into adulthood.  I am alive today to muse about this subject because he survived.  James Johnston never had the opportunity to sit on the stoop with a a beer and share closely-guarded feelings about the war with a son.        

This is why Memorial Day is bit more personal for me.        

When it came time for a permanent burial, the families of the dead were asked if they wanted their loved ones repatriated for permanent burial in the U.S. or interred overseas.  Lieutenant Colonel Johnston's remains lie here with approximately 461 graves belonging to 9th Infantry Division G.I.s.           

On this holiday it is useful to remember and honor the lives that brave men and women sacrificed.

Both of those lives.   

 

 

 *Eight Stars to Victory - Mittelman, The Battery Press