I was born the year WWII started and was seven years old when it ended. I remember well, after dinner, Dad would lay out the front page of the Daily Paper and and show us the progress maps, and explain to us what was going on. The maps showed the front lines, where the various German and Allied Armies were, and how much the lines had changed that day. One very vivid time was when Hitler ordered the Battle of the Bulge, and we all held our breath until the Allied Armies finally held at Bastone and started to drive the Nazis back. It was a fearful time, a time for reflection and a time to honor the men and women who were fignting and had been there four long years without seeing their families and loved ones.
My wife and I took a trip to the Normandy Beaches and toured the battle fields and museums and though the beaches were calm and beautiful that day I knew that all hell had broken loose June 6, 1944 and the tides ran red with American, British and Canadian blood . We came upon the Normandy Memorial Cemetery and I still remember being awe struck by how many graves there were. I had an 8mm camera and started filming the scene before me. As I panned the camera I was struck with an emotion I had never had before. I began to weep as the camera moved and before I knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably. Each Memorial Day since, I remember that day, the thousands of Grave Stones, the solemnity of the moment.
You men who gave your lives for me in that war and all other conflicts, I praise you, I pray for you, give you my thanks. I am in your unending debt.
