Bel Air, Maryland: He Sat and Wept

November 2023

After I left the Navy, I accepted a corporate sales position near Baltimore, Maryland. We moved from Annapolis to Bel Air, to be a little closer to my new job. One of the things we loved about Bel Air was the local athletic club. We were there almost every day. One Saturday morning, I went to enjoy a workout, and when I entered the locker room there was an older man toweling off from his shower. We struck up a simple conversation, and I intuited that he was about the same age as my father. My intuition was correct. As we talked, he made mention of being in the service, and I asked him if he was a World War II vet. Yes, he told me, he was. This piqued my interest, and I next asked him in what theater he served, and he told me that he fought in Europe. I smiled and, looking to make a connection, briefly told him that my dad also served there. I continued to share that he was a paratrooper who jumped on D-day. The gentleman nodded and said something to the effect that he must have been a “pretty intense guy.”

‘You too!’ I thought to myself.

The old man, seeming like a new friend now, started to explain that he was in the infantry and was one of those who stormed the beach at Omaha. Now, I was in awe and told him how honored I was to meet him. He smiled a bit, and said that, while he was always proud to have answered the call, he would not wish the experience on anyone. He paused as he pulled his shirt over his head, and told me that he wanted to share a story with me. 

“Please!” I blurted out.  

He and his fellow soldiers were boarding the landing craft – known as a Higgins boat - to be brought into shore. Not sure what really happened, he told me that he must have messed up. He missed his assigned craft, and could see the GIs from his unit pulling out in another boat. They were heading for the beach. A sergeant hurriedly told him - while hostile rounds whistled by or crashed into the surf, human bodies, and other objects - to just get on the next boat. It was already loading. 

“You can join your buddies when you hit the beach,” he barked.

I was now rapt and waited for more. He told me that he soon found himself in another Higgins boat, which carried thirty-six men, and they were heading through the surf and straight into the storm of the burning, flying metal coming in hot from the beach. He could see his pals clearly in their nearby boat, and was hoping and praying to get to the beach to reunite with them. Then, this good soldier drifted off to somewhere else as he spoke. I felt as if I was following him to a dreadful, but honored place.  He told me that he was watching a big shell whistle in, and it scored a direct hit on the boat that held his buddies. Right there, right in front of his young face, he saw most of his friends in the Army die. That young soldier now looked old again, and he bowed his head. He slowly sat down to steady himself on the plain wooden bench in front of his locker, and wept. I wept too. 

I did not know what to say, and I just stood there and felt great, great sympathy, and an even greater admiration. He had his head in one hand and was composing himself, and I could somehow see the event in my mind’s eye as the sorrow sat there with him. Finally, I broke the silence and told him how sorry I was, and asked him how he kept going. That straightened him a bit, and he told me that the Army taught him to do his job, and it was his duty to carry it out, simple as that. He explained that he drew energy from that. He looked away again to that place which he chose to show me, and reminded himself why he was there in that Higgins boat, preparing to invade France. “So, I just carried on. That’s what we did.” He carried out his duty and lived to share the story with me.