"Some will never return."

On the evening of June 6, 1944, D-Day, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt sat at the radio microphone in the White House to give a message to the American people and the world at large. The President wrote this message, a prayer entitled "Let Our Hearts Be Stout," at the time the invasion of Normandy by Allied troops was already underway. Many of the 10,000 men and boys who would be killed in the first days and weeks of the campaign from the shores of the French coast to the heart of Germany had already died in the dark water, on the beaches, and in the flooded fields of the Cotentin peninsula. Almost four times as many--8500-- had been wounded on this first day.

This is the prayer the president read on that fateful evening:

My Fellow Americans:

Last night, when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our Allies were crossing the Channel in another and greater operation. It has come to pass with success thus far.
And so, in this poignant hour, I ask you to join with me in prayer:

Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our nation, this day have set upon a mighty
endeavor, a struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our
civilization, and to set free a suffering humanity.
Lead them straight and
true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness in
their faith.

They will need Thy blessings. Their road will be long and hard.
For the enemy is strong. He may hurl back our forces. Success may not come with
rushing speed, but we shall return again and again; and we know that by Thy
grace, and by the righteousness of our cause, our sons will triumph.
They will be sore tried, by night and by day, without rest -- until the victory is
won. The darkness will be rent by noise and flame. Men's souls will be shaken
with the violences of war.

For these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace. They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate. They fight to let justice arise, and tolerance and goodwill among all Thy people. They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home.

Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive
them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.
And for us at home -- fathers,
mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas, whose
thoughts and prayers are ever with them -- help us, Almighty God, to rededicate
ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice.

Many people have urged that I call the nation into a single day of special prayer.
But because the road is long and the desire is great, I ask that our people
devote themselves in a continuance of prayer. As we rise to each new day, and
again when each day is spent, let words of prayer be on our lips, invoking Thy
help to our efforts.

Give us strength, too -- strength in our daily tasks, to
redouble the contributions we make in the physical and the material support of
our armed forces.
And let our hearts be stout, to wait out the long travail,
to bear sorrows that may come, to impart our courage unto our sons wheresoever
they may be.

And, O Lord, give us faith. Give us faith in Thee; faith in our
sons; faith in each other; faith in our united crusade. Let not the keeness of
our spirit ever be dulled. Let not the impacts of temporary events, of temporal
matters of but fleeting moment -- let not these deter us in our unconquerable
purpose.

With Thy blessing, we shall prevail over the unholy forces of our
enemy. Help us to conquer the apostles of greed and racial arrogances. Lead us
to the saving of our country, and with our sister nations into a world unity
that will spell a sure peace -- a peace invulnerable to the schemings of
unworthy men. And a peace that will let all of men live in freedom, reaping the
just rewards of their honest toil.

Thy will be done, Almighty
God.
Amen.

Franklin D. Roosevelt, June 6, 1944

Over this weekend and on Monday, Memorial Day, there will be tens of thousands of ceremonies honoring our war dead. Will you take a couple of hours from your activities to show your gratitude and respect for those who gave their "last full measure of devotion" by attending one of those events. If so, you will also have an opportunity to thank a veteran of WWII. These men and women are dying at the rate of almost 1,000 a day. The chances for you to show them you care about their sacrifices are dwindling rapidly.

And maybe we all should pray this prayer today--and again and again--for those who now are serving our nation in places from which "some will never return" and for their families and friends, and for ourselves. Let us also remember to pray for our enemies.

For more on Roosevelt's prayer, go to

http://www.historyplace.com/speeches/fdr-prayer.htm .

Return to Normandy Part 6

After a pleasant evening at an inn in the important D-Day town of Carentan, we begin our third and final day in Normandy by visiting Omaha Beach, the last place one would choose to make an assault. The beach at Omaha is as wide or wider than that at Utah and lies at the bottom of a very high bluff. The view from the top of the bluff is expansive and unobstructed. The parking lot for the memorial sits just above what the Allied commanders named Sector Charlie Dog Green. The small private museum located nearby is very interesting, with an excellent collection of World War II equipment, gear, and memorabilia, but we are inescapably drawn to the beach and the blufffs above.

We know what happened here, and we ache with the knowledge of it. Our ears can almost hear the withering fire that shredded the troops exposed when the Higgins boat gates went down. James has the urge to get in the water, fully dressed. His logical mind takes over. We walk the beach and pick up some stones to take home. The shingle (small stones) that were on the beach on D-Day are no longer here. It is a sand beach now. We are thankful the 552nd was at Utah and not Omaha.

As we leave Omaha, we see the tall spire of a church steeple at St. Laurent sur Mer, the village above the beach. Was this the steeple the commanders saw from the water, I ask myself? We proceed toward Pointe du Hoc and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, our final stop before leaving the Norman coast.

The American Cemetery is a beautiful and most fitting memorial to all those lost in the first weeks of the invasion. It was planned with great concern for every detail, including the kinds of material used, where those materials came from, the location of the graves with their uniform rows of white markers, the types of trees and their layout, the building designs, the overall orientation, and--perhaps, most of all--the inscriptions.

As we enter the small Visitor's Center, no larger than a home living room, we immediately sense the solemnity of our surroundings. We are on hallowed ground. People are talking quietly and respectfully. A letter from President Eisenhower hangs in a gold frame on the wall next to a painting of a pair of hands holding a Medal of Honor. His letter reads as follows:

The White House

Washington

July 7, 1956

To Those Who Participate in

The Dedication of St. Laurent

Twelve years ago on D-Day in Normandy, the

landings on the coast of France were the sym-

bol and the noble expression of Allied unity and

Allied determination in a great crusade. I

know it is a small consolation to the bereaved to

remember that the gallant men who are remem-

bered today gave their lives at one of the critical

moments in history. Yet the American soldiers

who rest forever near the beach-head they won,

and in the land they helped to free, will never be

forgotten.

Their memory will always help strengthen the

bonds of friendship between our countries, his-

toric allies for the cause of freedom.

/s/ Dwight D. Eisenhower

Return to Normandy Part 5

The first assignment the 552nd Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion received when they reached the shores of Utah Beach was to move to the La Londe airfield, the first airfield established by the Allies during the invasion, and provide artillery cover against German bombers and strafers. We want to see this airfield and Ste. Mere Eglise, the village made famous by the movie The Longest Day and the town in Normandy Daddy most often mentioned.

I ask the same museum employee who gave me the certificate for Daddy if he knows where the La Londe airfield is. He says he knows it well. I am happily surprised and relieved to get his hand-drawn map with directions to the airfield, which he says is close by. We say our goodbyes to the museum staff and load our memorabilia into the car. The narrow road carries us past small black and white street signs with the names of members of the 1st Engineers who were killed making the way for those who would follow.

The directions take us right to the La Londe "airfield"---a pasture. It was a pasture in 1944, and it is a pasture in 2001, but it is a special pasture, and it has been memorialized by the 552nd Association. We take a picture of Haley and I beside the monument holding Daddy's photo. The monument reads:

LA LONDE
First U. S. Army Air Corps Airfield in France
12 June to 25 July 1944
Protected by the 552nd AAA AW BN (MBL)
Colonel Benjamin M. Warfield, Commanding
By Courtesy of Association Members
June 1970

In Ste. Mere Eglise we see the world-famous church steeple and a dummy dressed in paratrooper garb dangling from it, bringing back memories of the scene in The Longest Day in which the actor Red Buttons portrays John Steele, the paratrooper who actually lived this frightening experience.

We have dinner in a creperie across from the church square and read the inscriptions made on the wall by D-Day veterans. The owner gives me permission to add Daddy's information to the wall. I write: Roy Moore, 552nd AAA BN, D-Day+8, Utah Beach, his hometown, and today's date, April 11, 2001, and note that the inscription is made by his daughter, with my name. We partake of something else for which Normandy is renowned, apple crepes and sparkling apple cider.

Return to Normandy Part 4

As we move away from the front of this poignant memorial to those who landed on Utah Beach that historic day and for many days to follow, we see one last striking site. In a classic example of the American spirit, a bench-style monument includes the names of cities that were yet to be liberated or conquered along with their distance from Utah Beach. We see one of particular note: Berlin 1100 km.

The grass-covered dunes rise gently behind and beside the museum building, hiding the panoramic view of the water that will open to us as we walk down the wide sandy path. A low sturdy sign confirms the location, Utah Beach. The beach is wide and flat, and the gray sky produces an almost monochromatic scene of gray-green, dunes, sand, surf, ocean. We look out to the water and strain to see what isn't there. We turn and look up to the top of the dunes. The view for the Germans, the view for the Americans. We imagine the scene over those days of the invasion, with the thousands of vessels, men, tanks, trucks, the death and destruction, and the triumph.

I have carried along with me an enlarged photo of Daddy taken during the war in his uniform so that--even though he couldn't be with us in person--he is in a sense here with us. James takes a picture of me holding the photo of Daddy as we stand on the beach with the flags flying high on the dunes behind us. He takes another one with the ocean in the background, showing not only where the 552nd landed on that D-Day+8 but where they came from.

We return to the building and tour this truly important museum, spending considerable time in the gift shop, choosing books and memorabilia to bring back to Daddy and other family members, as well as Haley's history class. When the museum store employee learns that my father was in the D-Day invasion (I have shown her the photograph I brought along), she asks me to wait and disappears for a few minutes, returning with a young man dressed in suit and tie. He questions me about Daddy's service in the war and then tells me that the citizens of Ste. Marie du Mont have a certificate and medal to present to any veteran who participated in the D-Day invasion.

I could not be more thrilled. The prospect of returning home with a physical expression of the gratitude of the French people to my dad for his service is very exciting. The certificate is completed with Daddy's name and pertinent information and given to me to carry home. The medal is to be shipped at a later date, and in fact arrives in Daddy's mail in Longview, Texas a few months later, a large and beautiful commemorative medal, honoring the participants of D-Day.

In the museum one item stands out above all the others. It is a hand-written note accompanied by a dry and fading bouquet of flowers, both of which have been left in memory of the fallen at Utah Beach. My French is rusty, but a close translation reads:

Our bouquet is modest, but it is made of the wildflowers that you
saw when you arrived on our French soil.

You gave your life for our liberty. Our daddy told us.

Thank you. Each time we can come back, we will bring flowers for
your monument.

It is from three children: Marian, 10 years old, Gerald, 9 years old; and Aurora, 6 years old. The date is hard to read but appears to be 6 Juen 1973. I struggle to control my weeping. A girl's dress made from red, white, and blue parachute cloth hanging nearby seems a fitting punctuation to the letter.

Return to Normandy, Part 3

The gray stone steeple of a church in Vierville looms near the road ahead of us. Was this the landmark commanders sought through their binoculars from the ships? We pass tranquil pastures, centuries old farmhouses, barns with rusty red roofs, and the road sign directing us to Utah Beach and Ste. Mere-Eglise.

I can hardly believe my eyes. We have arrived at Ste. Marie du Mont, what the Allied Forces named Utah Beach, the place I have heard about all my life, the place where my dad and hundreds of thousands of Americans landed in one of the most historic events ever. I am awestruck. We begin slowly to take it all in: the flagstaffs, arrow straight, are lined up in front of the museum, like soldiers at attention, intended to represent each of the countries who participated as Allies. Today they are naked. The flags are not flying on these poles. Is it because of the blustery, wet weather? Early spring on the Normandy coast sends a chill through your bones.

To the right of the building is a German bunker which has been modified to provide public restrooms. We like the symbolism. We inspect an underground bunker near the parking lot and move toward the granite obelisk prominently placed in a direct line from the front doors of the museum. It memorializes the 4th Infantry Division, United States Army. Inscribed in a retaining wall is the date "6 JUIN 1944." The gate of a faded ocean blue Higgins boat hangs open over the wall. Peering into the floor of that boat evokes mental images that are best left undescribed. We walk past a tank and a few artillery pieces, toward the barbed wire and other German-placed obstacles which have been left as part of the historical site. The Stars and Stripes flies beside the French Tricolor near a monument to the 1st Engineer Special Brigade. A sign at the foot of the obelisk says in French, "to our Liberators, the community of Sainte Marie du Mont remembers."

A plaque in French at the door of another bunker commemorates the "valiant soldiers of the United States fallen for the liberation of France," and the memorials continue on the inside of the bunker:

This German fortification was captured
from the enemy 6 June 1944 and was used by the 1st Engineer
Special Brigade as the headquarters from which
to direct beach operations during the landing of American
forces on this beach.
On the walls of this emplacement
are inscribed in tender remembrance the names of our comrades who gave
their lives to insure freedom and justice throughout the world.

Above the names a familiar verse from the Gospel of John brings a lump to the throat.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

Outside again we find memorials to the "heroic dead" of the 90th Infantry Division and "to the members of the United States Coast Guard who participated in the initial invasion of Normandy on D-Day, especially to those who gave their lives here..." and in closing,

The nations of the world shall long remember Normandy, the United States Armed Forces, their allies and the cost of freedom at this place.

The "Tough 'Ombres Combat Team" obelisk towers above all the others, "Utah Beach to Czechoslovakia."

In 5 campaigns and 318 days of battle, marked by great cost
of precious lives and extraordinary valor, the
Tough 'Ombres accomplished every mission, shoulder
to shoulder with American, French and other Allied
units. They liberated Europe and made a better world.

This beautiful and heart-wrenching monument with wreath and thirteen stars was erected by "the United States of America in humble tribute to its sons who lost their lives in the liberation of those beaches June 6, 1944.

Return to Normandy 2001, Part 2

We've seen the photos of Caen--utter destruction. There are before and after photos, before the bombing of 1944 and after the bombing. More than 75% of all the buildings in Caen, 10,000 in all, were destroyed. Thankfully, the famed twin abbeys built by William the Conqueror and his queen Mathilda were spared the destruction much of the city suffered. We marvel in the light of the next day at the human spirit that would rebuild this city from the ashes and heaps of stone that our troops saw as they liberated the French people from the death grip of Hitler's Nazi war machine.

Caen lies on the banks of the Orne River, which was of strategic importance to the Allies. The success of the invasion required that bridges over the river and road and rail lines intersecting it come under the control of the invaders. As we cross the Orne, my thoughts turn to the men of the 552nd, and I wonder if the wet, green hills, the river filling its banks, the narrow street would look familiar to them today. Caen fades from view as we move northwest on the E-46 toward Bayeux (home of the famed Bayeux Tapestry depicting the Battle of Hastings) and the historic beaches.

Enroute and near St. Lo we encounter France's magnificent memorial to General Eisenhower. Yes, I know, we usually refer to dignitaries by their highest achieved rank--in his case President--but this memorial clearly is to the General Eisenhower, not the President Eisenhower. It is striking, sited at the center of a traffic circle, backgrounded by a classic arch and a small but tall stand of dark green trees. The General towers above you, at least ten feet tall, in full uniform--Eisenhower jacket, of course--and posed as though he is overlooking the field of battle, hands on hips. Our hearts swell with pride as we stand beside this towering bronze image.

In St. Lo I am overwhelmed with thoughts about the 552nd Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion. Daddy has mentioned St. Lo many times. Did they drive their trucks on this very road? I can almost see the convoy, olive drab, splattered with mud, the gun barrels pointed menacingly skyward, poised for the deadly aim of the gunner. The sky is gray, and the wind is cold. I feel the cool drizzle on my face and think of the men in the boats that stormy June day.

The stone wall of an ancient castle set on a high rock bluff rises on our right in the midst of the commercial district of St. Lo. A vacant flagstaff stands in front of a monument at the base of the bluff. We stop to investigate. It is a memorial to les victimes of the bombardment on June 6, 1944. War medals in bas-relief flank a sword and a shield depicting a rearing stallion. We cross another river and continue to read about the boys who became men on a foreign shore in that month of June. The verdant countryside with its steep, rolling hills and pastures delineated by hedgerows begins to give way to a plateau with fewer trees. We are nearing the sea.