In commemoration of the anniversary of D-Day, InDepth is reprinting with permission from the Washington Post this letter to the editor written by CNA’s David Finkelstein last year. It was named one of the Post’s best letters of the year.
Each year, during the first days of June, my thoughts turn to my father. On June 6, 1944, he was one of approximately 150,000 Allied military personnel who participated in one of the most consequential moments of the Second World War in Europe: the Normandy landings.
My father graduated from high school in January 1944 as a 17-year-old. The country was accelerating high school graduations due to the need for manpower. By the time he turned 18 in February, he was already an enlisted man in the US Navy, assigned to amphibious duty. On June 6, five months after leaving high school, his job was to man the 50-caliber machine gun on a small landing craft with the first wave headed to Omaha Beach as part of an amphibious task force taking ashore the 29th Infantry Division.
Close to the beach, his landing craft was destroyed and sunk somewhere in the vicinity of Easy Red sector. He witnessed the death of a close friend before he was himself wounded—something that haunted him throughout the course of his life, and that I would not know about until he was well into his 80s and receiving counselling from the Department of Veterans Affairs. He was somehow fished out of the water unconscious, with head burns from ignited oil on the ocean surface and a shrapnel wound in his ankle. He woke up in a hospital in England, where he wrote the following letter to his parents.
I share it for several reasons: to commemorate the anniversary of the Normandy landings; to remember the nearly 3,000 Americans killed in action, whose families received government telegrams instead of letters like this one; because Father’s Day is approaching; and in sheer amazement of how the extraordinary was made to sound so ordinary by him and thousands like him.
July 19, 1944
Dear Mom, Pop, & Rita,
Well, by the time you get this letter you will have probably received a telegram that I was hurt. I am OK and feeling fine. I hurt my left leg, and I don’t know how long I will be here. So please don’t worry, everything will be OK. I was hurt on June 6th and arrived at the hospital the night of the 7th. I’m getting the best care anyone could ask for. As for what happens after this, I don’t know. It will probably take a couple of months till I am able to walk around again. The only thing that worries me is that I won’t be receiving mail for some time now.
How is everything back home? Is Pop still on day work? Bet he’ll never get used to it. Gee, I can’t think of anything to write at all. Did you hear anything new from Walter? By reading the news about the Pacific he must be right in the middle of it. The chow here is good. Today I had half a fresh orange. I don’t remember the last time I had one.
Well, I guess there isn’t much more to say, so I’ll say so long for a while, don’t worry.
Your loving son and brother, Lewis
My father recovered from his wounds and was sent back to the front as the Allies raced across Europe, towing landing craft to ford rivers. He was part of the US Navy contingent that captured the German naval yards in Bremen and spent over a year doing occupation duty—all before he turned 20. He went on to become a husband, father, letter carrier, and scoutmaster.
As he wrote 80 years ago, “Well, I guess there isn’t much more to say,” except this: We remember with awe the anniversary of D-Day. And happy Father’s Day, Dad.
