Where Heroes Walked
Growing up in the 1950s and 60s I had little knowledge of or understanding about World War II. I especially had no idea how deeply that war influenced my father, my family, my community and, well, my the whole world.
A few decades passed before I gained that understanding and it really only came when I had the opportunity to feel some of those sacred battlefields under my feet.
On today’s episode—episode 6—of the ORDINARY HEROES podcast I’ll be sharing my thoughts about two very special journeys, what I learned, and how my life was changed when I walked WHERE HEROES WALKED.
A few years ago I decided to do one of those things that you do when you get a few decades under your belt; I started to write my “Bucket List”. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with the term a Bucket List is a list of things you would most like to do before you “kick the bucket”.
When I started I knew immediately what the number one item on my list would be; To travel to Normandy, France to tour the D-Day beaches.
In May of 2017 and again in June 2018 I fulfilled that dream. The first trip happened thanks to the persistent urgings of my son Joel and the encouragement of my wife and other sons. Joel ad I I made the trip to France as part of a tour group and for a few days tried to drink in all the sites we could and absorb as much of the amazing history of those few miles of the Normandy as possible.
The second trip was entirely different. I flew to France alone, navigated my way from Paris out to Bayeax, rented a car, learned to fearlessly handle the French roundabouts, then for the first four days explored the countryside of Normandy on my own. I had the wonderful experience of finding the out of the way, small museums, monuments, and battle sites the tours don’t offer.
On the flight home and the weeks after I tried to process what I had seen and learned and I wondered how, if at all, those trip changed me. While I was born 5 years after the conclusion of WWII it was and will always be a huge influence on my life. My father fought in Europe and that sparked an interest in me that only grows stronger with the passing of each day.
For these next few minutes-- I want to share with you just a little bit of what those trips meant to me and perhaps help us all gain little added appreciation for the events of that cold, damp, Tuesday in June, 1944 as well as for the brave men and women who have fought and died and continue to fight and die for our freedom.
The overwhelming thought that dominated my mind as I spent my time in Normandy was this;
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I walked across a steel girdered bridge that once spanned a narrow canal at a place called Bénouville. Today we know it as Pegasus Bridge. There, at 12:16 a.m. on June 6, three Horsa Gliders quietly descended from the sky and deposited men of the British 6th airborne division, making them likely the first allied soldiers to touch French soil on D-day.
They stormed the bridge to take out the German defenders and secure it against any possible German armor counter attack.
I stood on that bridge. I stood on what would have been the west end where a young soldier, Lt. Den Brotheridge –a likable 24 year old with a pregnant wife at home--led his men in a charge across the bridge and was felled by a machine gun bullet, likely becoming the first allied soldier to die at the hands of the enemy.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I stood on a little strip of sand that is now a favorite place of picnickers and swimmers but on June 6th, 1944 was a place of death and agony. It is known to the French as “Mother of Pearl” but to Americans it will forever be known as OMAHA BEACH. I looked up and down that 5 mile stretch of sand and stone, from the grassy knolls at the East end to the bluffs of Point Du Hoc on the west. I tried to imagine the horrible scenes that were common on that June morning as the water literally turned red from the blood poured out by the dead and dying.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I stood on another beach—codenamed UTAH— at the spot where it is believed a 56 year old general came ashore with his men because he insisted—over the objections of his superiors—that they should see him leading the way. The son of one President and the cousin of another, Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. would not hide behind privilege or age. He lead the way onto Utah beach and even though they landed a mile or more from their intended target Roosevelt determined it was not a problem. They would “start the war” from there.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I stood in the town square at Saint Mere Eglise and gazed up at the peak of the Cathedral where a parachute and the replica of a parachutist hangs, just as it did on June 6th when John Steele hung there at watched his fellow paratroopers slaughtered as they landed in the square or hung in the surrounding trees.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I walked through a field in the French countryside adjacent to a home known as Brecourt Manor, immortalized by BAND OF BROTHERS and where DICK WINTERS and EASY COMPANY of the 101st Airborne division used a textbook strategy to take out four German artillery pieces that were terrorizing UTAH beach 3 and ½ miles away.
I listened as the current owner of Brecourt Manor told us the “real” story of the fight, as he had heard it around their kitchen table from his father, grand-father, and DICK WINTERS.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
I walked the cemeteries. I walked the American Cemetery on the bluffs above Omaha Beach that—through sheer courage and determination—were liberated by the Allies before the end of the day and have since become the final resting place of thousands of those men. I was stirred to chills and tears as the sound of taps rolled across the 9,388 white marble crosses and stars of David.
I walked the German Cemetery which stands in stark contrast to the American Cemetery. There is somehow a darkness that hangs over it and Far, far fewer visitors come there as if they want to forget these 21,200 soldiers who fought and died for their country. Yet I stood there thinking, “Their mothers wept for them as well.”
AND I WEPT. I wept as I sat alone in a small viewing area watching a video of mothers holding dead children caught in the crossfire, of French women kneeling over the bodies of slain American service men and weeping as if that boy was their own.
I wept at the sheer insanity of war yet all the time realizing its absolute necessity.
I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED
When it comes right down to it, I could not avoid walking where heroes walked, for ever inch of Normandy was a battleground on June 6th and the days and weeks that followed.
AS I FLEW HOME, HOWEVER, a thought re-occurred to me. I had indeed walked where heroes walked but then, I ALWAYS HAVE.
You see, I grew up in small rural farm community in north central Illinois. I spent my first 55 years there. The 1950s held my childhood and the 60’s my adolescence. My life was consumed with baseball and music and girls. I never stopped to consider that I was walking in the company of heroes..
When World War II had come, the boys of my hometown, Walnut, Illinois, like the boys of thousands of other communities like it, went to war. They did their duty and when it was over, most of them came home. They went from the cornfields to the battlefields and back to the cornfields. They served without hesitation, without fanfare, and without complaining. They did their duty and when that duty was finished they went back home, right back to the life they had left.
As I grew up in the 50s and 60s I did so with little awareness of those times or of the courage and sacrifice of those boys, then pushing middle age. Little was said about the war. Oh, now and then I might catch a smattering of conversation between my dad and one of the many veterans that were part of his daily life as they stepped back in time to share their war remembrances. By and large, however, the horrors and adventures of those years were left unshared, much like Dad’s war souvenirs, tucked away in old, dusty army trunks, only to be brought out on very rare and special occasions.
I experienced these men daily in the town I loved although I didn’t necessarily think of them as heroes. I only knew them as Roy, Arden, Bobby, Wally, and Volley, to name a few. I knew them as businessmen, carpenters, lawyers, grocers and farmers. I knew them as Boy Scout troop masters, Little League coaches, community and church leaders. I knew them as husbands, the dads of my friends, my neighbors, my friends, and the man who lived just down the hall.
Indeed, I WALKED WHERE HEROES WALKED. These men—these ORDINARY HEROES—shaped my life and my world by their sacrifice and service DURING THE WAR and BEYOND and I am grateful beyond words.
Every May, we set aside a day to honor those heroes, past and present, those heroes who stood on the wall in defense of freedom. We honor them and remember their heroism out of gratitude for sure, but out of necessity as well.
Should we forget—SHOULD WE EVER FORGET—God help us as a nation.
So… As I processed all these things on the flight home from France I remembered something else of great importance, a simple challenge my father left me with as he was dying.
“Whatever you do,” He said,” Tell my grandchildren and great-grandchildren that I was a soldier.”
My father died in 2008, nine years before I traveled to Normandy, but on the way home, in that plan somewhere over Greenland, I promised him I would use whatever gifts, talents, and energy I had been given to tell the world what he—and the millions of others like him, did for the nation I love and the world that depends upon us. I vowed to do my part—and hopefully more—to keep that memory alive.
President Franklin D. Roosevelt once wrote, "Those who have long enjoyed such privileges as we enjoy forget in time that men have died to win them."
May we make this TODAY and every day, a Memorial Day—as we REMEMBER, what these heroes did. Let’s remember, not just because we are grateful, though that is certainly true, but I repeat, out of NECESSITY … for Our Freedom—the Freedom of our nation and the world we lead—depends upon our REMEMBERING.
Always.
Thank you again for listening to the ORDINARY HEROES PODCAST. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE SUBSCRIBE, LIKE, SHARE, whatever you are led to do so we can get this podcast into the ears of as many listeners as possible.
Please feel free to send me comments or suggestions or stories I can use in future podcasts. Contact me at ron@roneckberg.com or find me on Facebook or Instagram or X.
I look forward to hearing from you and meeting you again on the “airways” for the next episode of the ORDINARY HEROES PODCAST.
