Sixty-three years ago today, men who were beyond brave stormed the beaches at Normandy, the largest operation yet against the evil forces of the Nazis and indeed the world's largest amphibious military operation. Over 150,000 men joined 30,000 vehicles in being transported across the choppy, forbidding English Channel to Normandy's beaches by 5,000 ships. A thousand transport planes had already dropped 13,000 Allied paratroopers across the German positions. Bombing runs had been made before the actual invasion even began. So began what would later be recognized as the pivotal battle against Hitler and the famed defenses he had set up.
I wonder how it looked to the Allies - impossible? A barely sane gamble with a high chance of losing? It didn't matter; they knew what had to be done. And so over 150,000 young men stepped up to the front lines, throwing their own bodies and lives between freedom and the quickly advancing, seemingly undefeatable forces of tyranny and evil. The price was high, painfully high - but it was enough. Some would say more than enough.
The victory was not without horrifyingly massive loss on the side of the Allies; it is estimated that there were 10,200 casualties including an estimated 2500 dead. 1,465 of those were American soldiers. At least 156 of them were Canadian soldiers captured and executed by the "Hitler Youth".
73,000 American men participated in the operation alongside 83,115 British and Canadian troops. At Omaha Beach, 6,000 of the 35,000 Americans were killed or wounded in the first hour of battle. Nearly 8,000 more of America's finest would join them by day's end.
Meanwhile, as men willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause of liberty and freedom battled on those beaches, their blood being spilled onto the sand as they faced a seemingly impossible task, the American people were behind them morally and spiritually, joining President Roosevelt 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, 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.
Jim Quinn made a good point this morning about those 83,000 American boys who had quickly become men; America had given them very little materially in their lives. In fact, she had given them nothing. Many were children of the Depression, selling apples on the street while their desperate fathers searched for a job. There were no handouts from the Medicare or welfare office. America had given them nothing materially - but she had given them the most vaulable and priceless gift of all: Liberty. Freedom. And with that came opportunity.
Of course, they were also taught differently - they were taught that there is a difference between right and wrong, good and evil, even plain old good and bad, as is evidenced by these two stories about a young Teddy Roosevelt:
"While at college he taught a Sunday School class. One day one of his students came to class with a black eye. He owned up that he had got it in a fight and on a Sunday at that. He confessed to his teacher that during the morning service a boy, sitting next to his sister, had pricked her all through the hour, so after church he waited outside and they had a good 'stand-up fight,' and he 'punched him good,' although he got a black eye in exchange. 'You did exactly right,' said his teacher and gave the lad a dollar. To the class it was ideal justice, but when the church authorities heard of it they were scandalized. Young Roosevelt was dismissed and took himself and his ideals to another Sunday School.
"Many years later he gave this bit of advice to his Boy Scout friends: 'What we have a right to expect of the American boy is that he shall turn out to be a good American man. Now, the chances are strong that he won't turn out to be much of a man unless he is a good deal of a boy. He must not be a coward or a weakling, a bully, a shirk, or a prig. He must work hard and play hard. He must be clean-minded and clean-lived, and able to hold his own under all circumstances and against all comers. It is only on these conditions that he will grow into the kind of a man of whom America can be really proud. In life, as in a football game, the principle is: Hit the line hard; don't foul and don't shirk, but hit the line hard.'" (emphasis added)
Mr. Esolen notes in his post about these stories that many today can't even see how they're related to one another; that there are those who can't was a complete shock to me. But it's true, isn't it? We don't speak to our men like this, much less our boys. Perhaps that is part of the problem. Do you know about TR's son and grandson?
The son of an earlier President Roosevelt, Brig. Gen. Theodore Roosevelt Jr., landed with the first wave on D-Day, the first general officer to come ashore. The assistant commanding officer of the 4th Infantry Division, he led several along the beachhead. He was armed only with a pistol and walked with a cane because of his severe arthritis. For this awesome courage, he was awarded the Medal of Honor. Five weeks later, Gen. Roosevelt died of a heart attack.
His son, Quentin Roosevelt II, also landed on D-Day.
Young men of my grandfathers' generation heard and read stories like the ones about Teddy Roosevelt all their lives. It was a different America then, confident and sure; some might say bellicose and arrogant, but then they've been saying that about America and Americans since we first started muttering about taxation and representation. Is it any wonder that boys who heard things like this - and I doubt old TR was the only one saying such things to boys - grew up to bravely join a fight that would result in they knew not what? Perhaps glory, perhaps death. It was a coin toss. Surely they were optimistic, with Cohan's "Over There" in the air again, but I don't think they were entirely naive. They knew the price they could pay for joining the fight could be death.
Yet they also knew the possible price of not fighting. And that price was far worse. There are worse things than death, after all. Living under tyranny is one of them. Live free or die.
Recently I was sent an article by someone who said we have no reason or obligation to honour our warriors dead and alive. They said there is nothing different about these men. This writer - it's been a week or so since I read the offending article, so forgive me - did not insinuate, a la John Kerry, that soldiers are stupid or failures, but he did clearly state that they aren't special or important at all. They just made a different career choice, you know. Those who serve are no different than lawyers, actors, journalists, and doctors, and we shouldn't treat them any differently.
I was stunned that such a thing would be published on Memorial Day of all days, yet there it was in all its repulsive smugness. It left me shocked, making it difficult to form a response, and still is. All I can think of to say is that these men chose to serve. They knew and do know what they are getting into. Whatever happened to "No man hath greater love than this, that he give his life up for his friends"?
Alas, it appears that relativism has struck yet another fateful blow - against those who stand strong and brave in the face of danger and evil so we can engage in such foolishness. To this writer, the soldier is no better or worse than the schoolteacher, the secretary, the cashier, the thug with his pants hanging about his knees.
These men were special and are special because they chose and still choose to serve. They choose to return a few years, an arm, a leg, an eye, a life to the nation that leaves them free and in the cause of liberty itself. Is there a higher form of 'special' or 'different'? I can't think of many ways. Sure, they might drift around the oceans on an aircraft carrier for five or ten years and never see anything more exciting than whales breaching. But they might also storm a beach alive with gunfire, where they might fall forever or join their brethren writhing on the ground, bleeding their life out onto the sand from the place their legs used to be, watching others charge past them to continue the fight. Replaced on the battlefield, perhaps, but never replaced in life.
These men are heroes. They were probably not entirely fearless, but they marched and fought on despite that fear. They've earned our respect. Those who begrudge the giving of it, especially so shamelessly, are among history's foolish for their sheer ungratefulness.
I leave you with the words of the man I believe was the last truly great leader America will ever have, Ronald Reagan. It's somehow fitting that he died on the eve of the D-Day anniversary, and his speech at the 40-year anniversary of the Normandy Invasion is still one of his very best.
We stand on a lonely, windswept point on the northern shore of France. The air is soft, but 40 years ago at this moment, the air was dense with smoke and the cries of men, and the air was filled with the crack of rifle fire and the roar of cannon. At dawn, on the morning of the 6th of June, 1944, 225 Rangers jumped off the British landing craft and ran to the bottom of these cliffs. Their mission was one of the most difficult and daring of the invasion: to climb these sheer and desolate cliffs and take out the enemy guns. The Allies had been told that some of the mightiest of these guns were here and they would be trained on the beaches to stop the Allied advance.
The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers--the edge of the cliffs shooting down at them with machine guns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After two days of fighting, only 90 could still bear arms.
Behind me is a memorial that symbolizes the Ranger daggers that were thrust into the top of these cliffs. And before me are the men who put them there.
These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war.
Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your "lives fought for life . . . and left the vivid air signed with your honor.''
I think I know what you may be thinking right now--thinking, "We were just part of a bigger effort; everyone was brave that day.'' Well, everyone was. Do you remember the story of Bill Millin of the 51st Highlanders? Forty years ago today, British troops were pinned down near a bridge, waiting desperately for help. Suddenly, they heard the sound of bagpipes, and some thought they were dreaming. Well, they weren't. They looked up and saw Bill Millin with his bagpipes, leading the reinforcements and ignoring the smack of the bullets into the ground around him.
Lord Lovat was with him--Lord Lovat of Scotland, who calmly announced when he got to the bridge, "Sorry I'm a few minutes late,'' as if he'd been delayed by a traffic jam, when in truth he'd just come from the bloody fighting on Sword Beach, which he and his men had just taken.
There was the impossible valor of the Poles who threw themselves between the enemy and the rest of Europe as the invasion took hold, and the unsurpassed courage of the Canadians who had already seen the horrors of war on this coast. They knew what awaited them there, but they would not be deterred. And once they hit Juno Beach, they never looked back.
All of these men were part of a rollcall of honor with names that spoke of a pride as bright as the colors they bore: the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, Poland's 24th Lancers, the Royal Scots Fusiliers, the Screaming Eagles, the Yeomen of England's armored divisions, the forces of Free France, the Coast Guard's "Matchbox Fleet'' and you, the American Rangers.
Forty summers have passed since the battle that you fought here. You were young the day you took these cliffs; some of you were hardly more than boys, with the deepest joys of life before you. Yet, you risked everything here. Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief; it was loyalty and love.
The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge--and pray God we have not lost it--that there is a profound, moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. You were here to liberate, not to conquer, and so you and those others did not doubt your cause. And you were right not to doubt.
You all knew that some things are worth dying for. One's country is worth dying for, and democracy is worth dying for, because it's the most deeply honorable form of government ever devised by man. All of you loved liberty. All of you were willing to fight tyranny, and you knew the people of your countries were behind you.
The Americans who fought here that morning knew word of the invasion was spreading through the darkness back home. They thought--or felt in their hearts, though they couldn't know in fact, that in Georgia they were filling the churches at 4 a.m., in Kansas they were kneeling on their porches and praying, and in Philadelphia they were ringing the Liberty Bell.
Something else helped the men of D-Day: their rock-hard belief that Providence would have a great hand in the events that would unfold here; that God was an ally in this great cause. And so, the night before the invasion, when Colonel Wolverton asked his parachute troops to kneel with him in prayer he told them: Do not bow your heads, but look up so you can see God and ask His blessing in what we're about to do. Also that night, General Matthew Ridgway on his cot, listening in the darkness for the promise God made to Joshua: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.''
These are the things that impelled them; these are the things that shaped the unity of the Allies.
... We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent.
But we try always to be prepared for peace; prepared to deter aggression; prepared to negotiate the reduction of arms; and, yes, prepared to reach out again in the spirit of reconciliation. In truth, there is no reconciliation we would welcome more than a reconciliation with the Soviet Union, so, together, we can lessen the risks of war, now and forever.
... Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.''
Strengthened by their courage, heartened by their value [valor], and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died. (emphasis added)
This is one of the most important stones of remembrance in American history - really, in the history of the world. 150,000 brave men were willing to die, and 10,000 did, so that the captives could be free and liberty would shine another day. Their blood paid for the mighty strike at the vitals of the Third Reich, and I thank God for them.
God bless them. May we honour and cherish their memory for the remainder of the age, until we can thank them in the next.
God bless America and Israel, and may He guide and protect our troops.
Meanwhile, as men willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause of liberty and freedom battled on those beaches, their blood being spilled onto the sand as they faced a seemingly impossible task, the American people were behind them morally and spiritually, 
Forty summers have passed since the battle that you fought here. You were young the day you took these cliffs; some of you were hardly more than boys, with the deepest joys of life before you. Yet, you risked everything here. Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief; it was loyalty and love.
