A Veteran's Tale: D-Day and Beyond

 

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we must not recall the war dead without remembering the survivors.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie Grech, a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach. He immigrated to the U.S. as a boy, from Malta. It was during the early days of the Great Depression, so he went right to work, earning a few cents per day. He couldn't speak English then, he said, and wound up eating pea soup at a diner every day for nearly a month because he didn't know how to order a sandwich.

When he finally learned to say "ham sandwich", the waiter asked him "white bread or wheat?" He answered, "Pea soup." But he learned, and kept working whenever he could, into the early 1940s. Then the draft notice arrived.

After basic training, his company was sent to the Mojave Desert to train for North Africa. That campaign was over before they got called up. But Operation Overlord was coming up.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. 

"Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up the wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster. So I drove fast a lot."

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy whose family came to the States in search of opportunity. He never finished high school, and when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he got the job done, and came back home.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie worked in a factory until he retired. Marcella was a cook at an elementary school. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, working at White Sands when I met him.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy mobile home, in an equally-small subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk. 

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for nearly 12 years. Every day after work, I'd head over and have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us, most days. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

We moved away nearly thirty years ago. My in-laws mentioned them, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

Charlie passed away about 20 years ago. Marcella moved to a senior community and passed away 10 years later.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you, and we owed you far more than we could ever repay.

A Veteran's Tale: D-Day

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we must not recall the war dead without remembering the survivors.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie Grech, a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach. He immigrated to the U.S. as a boy, from Malta. It was during the early days of the Great Depression, so he went right to work, earning a few cents per day. He couldn't speak English then, he said, and wound up eating pea soup at a diner every day for nearly a month because he didn't know how to order a sandwich.

When he finally learned to say "ham sandwich", the waiter asked him "white bread or wheat?" He answered, "Pea soup." But he learned, and kept working whenever he could, into the early 1940s. Then the draft notice arrived.

After basic training, his company was sent to the Mojave Desert to train for North Africa. That campaign was over before they got called up. But Operation Overlord was coming up.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. 

"Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up the wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster. So I drove fast a lot."

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy whose family came to the States in search of opportunity. He never finished high school, and when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he got the job done, and came back home.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie worked in a factory until he retired. Marcella was a cook at an elementary school. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, working at White Sands when I met him.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy mobile home, in an equally-small subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk. 

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for nearly 12 years. Every day after work, I'd head over and have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us, most days. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

We moved away nearly thirty years ago. My in-laws mentioned them, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

Charlie passed away about 20 years ago. Marcella moved to a senior community and passed away 10 years later.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you, and we owed you far more than we could ever repay.

The Longest Day

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we cannot recall the war dead without remembering the survivors.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie Grech, a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach. He immigrated to the U.S. as a boy, from Malta. It was during the early days of the Great Depression, so he went right to work, earning a few cents per day. He couldn't speak English then, he said, and wound up eating pea soup at a diner every day for nearly a month because he didn't know how to order a sandwich.

When he finally learned to say "ham sandwich", the waiter asked him "white bread or wheat?" He answered, "Pea soup." But he learned, and kept working whenever he could, into the early 1940s. Then the draft notice arrived.

After basic training, his company was sent to the Mojave Desert to train for North Africa. That campaign was over before they got called up. But Operation Overlord was coming up,

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. "Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster."

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy whose family came to the States in search of opportunity. He never finished high school, but when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he got the job done, and came back home.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie worked in a factory until he retired. Marcella was a cook at an elementary school. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, working at White Sands when I met him.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy double-wide, in an equally-small subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk.

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for nearly 12 years. Every day after work, I'd head over and have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us eight times out of ten. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

We moved away, nearly twenty years ago. My in-laws would mention him, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

Charlie passed away, about a decade ago. Marcella moved to a senior community after that, and was doing well, the last time I heard.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you.

D-Day, 71 Years Ago

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we cannot recall the war dead without considering their comrades-in-arms.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie Gretsch, a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach.

.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. "Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster."

.

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy who emigrated to the States as a boy, from Malta. He never finished high school, but when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he just got the job done, and came back home.

.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie worked in a factory until he retired. Marcella was a cook at an elementary school. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, working at White Sands when I met him.

.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy double-wide, in an equally-small subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk.

.

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for nearly 12 years. Every day after work, I'd head over and have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us eight times out of ten. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

.

We moved away, nearly twenty years ago. My in-laws would mention him, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

.

Charlie passed away, a few years ago. Marcella lives in a senior community now.

.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you.

We Owe So Much

Today we pause to remember the 150,000 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who took part in the Normandy invasion of "Festung Europa" (Fortress Europe) on this day, 70 years ago.

23,000 Americans were buried in the cemetery there, after the fight. 14,000 of those remains were moved back to the U.S.A. at the request of relatives; 9,000 are still there, near where they fell in some of the most horrific fighting of World War II.

I wrote about my friend Charlie, who was part of that invasion force, and later drove an ambulance in the Battle of the Bulge, here.

We must never forget them all - and we are equally obligated to continue the fight for freedom, as the politics which caused the Second World War have moved, in large part, to our own shores. There will always be those who wish to control everyone else, so convinced of their own intellectual superiority that they can make the failed policies of the past work this time.

The socialists and fascists (no matter what they call themselves now) are just as wrong now as their predecessors were in the 1930s and 1940s.

It's up to us. It's a different kind of fight now, but the battle goes on.

Don't forget what our fathers, uncles and grandfathers accomplished in France, 70 years ago. We can do it, too.

D-Day, 69 Years Ago

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we cannot recall the war dead without considering their comrades-in-arms.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie Gretsch, a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach.

.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. "Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster," he said.

.

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy who emigrated to the States as a boy, from Malta. He never finished high school, but when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he just got the job done, and came back home.

.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie worked in a factory until he retired. Marcella was a cook at an elementary school. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, working at White Sands when I met him.

.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy double-wide, in an equally-small subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk.

.

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for nearly 12 years. Every day after work, I'd head over & have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us eight times out of ten. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

.

We moved away, more than a decade ago. My in-laws would mention him, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

.

Charlie passed away, a few years ago. Marcella lives in a senior community now.

.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you.

D-Day, 68 Years Ago Today

Allow me to tell this story of one of The Greatest Generation who didn't fall in battle ... because many, many of his buddies did. And we cannot recall the war dead without considering their comrades-in-arms.

I had the honor of knowing Charlie G., a gentleman who served as an ambulance driver in WWII. He was in the D-Day landing on Normandy Beach.

.

"I've never been so scared in my whole life," he told me. "I thought I was gonna wet my pants. Some guys did, but we all got wet when we got out of the landing craft, so it didn't matter. The bullets sounded like mosquitos, except worse than you could imagine. Guys were getting chopped to pieces. Sometimes you couldn't even recognize 'em after they got hit."

Later, he participated in the Battle of the Bulge. "Every couple of hours, there'd be another rumor coming down the line that the Nazis had broken through, or that they'd infiltrated this unit or that one, or that we were cut off from the rest of the guys. I just kept picking up wounded guys, and driving 'em back to where they needed to go. If a Kraut wanted to shoot me, he was welcome to try. Whenever I was scared, I'd just drive a little faster," he said.

.

Charlie was an inspiration to me: just a normal guy who emigrated to the States as a boy, from Malta. He never finished high school, but when he got called by Uncle Sam, he went. He had a job to do, and he did it. No crying, no fuss; he just got the job done, and came back home.

.

"I was lucky," he said. "A lot of guys didn't make it back." But Charlie did.

.

He came back and married his best girl, Marcella, right after the war. Charlie did factory work, until he retired. Marcella was a grade school cook. For all that they had little education, they provided for a son who literally became a rocket scientist, and was working at White Sands when I met him.

.

When they retired, they lived in a small but tidy double-wide, in a subdivision out in the country. Charlie spent a lot of time, sitting on the front porch, waving at the cars as people drove past. He always had a kind word for anyone who'd stop to talk.

.

We lived across the street from Charlie and Marcella for over 10 years. Every day after work, I'd head over & have a long talk with him. Marcella would join us eight times out of ten. He always had a funny story to tell. The few times that he mentioned the war, he'd start to shake, even after all those years.

.

We moved away, more than a decade ago. My in-laws would mention him, from time to time, as they had mutual friends. I always wanted to go back and see him, but there never seemed to be time to travel all that way. Then we moved to Alaska, and that was the end of that.

.

Charlie passed away, a few years ago. Marcella lives in a senior community now.

.

Rest in peace, Charlie. I'm richer for having known you.