[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 68 (Thursday, May 26, 1994)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: May 26, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
                           REMEMBERING D-DAY

                                 ______


                         HON. HENRY B. GONZALEZ

                                of texas

                    in the house of representatives

                         Thursday, May 26, 1994

  Mr. GONZALEZ. Mr. Speaker, I rise today to commemorate the 50th 
anniversary of D-Day. The landing of Allied troops at Normandy on June 
6, 1944, was an event of historic magnitude. Not only did it mightily 
turn the course of the war in Europe toward Allied victory, but in so 
doing it played no small part in setting the stage for the entire 
history of the second half of the 20th century.
  In remembering this event as we head into the next century, it is 
vitally important that we keep in mind that this was a victory in the 
fight against the intolerance, violence, and malevolence of fascism. 
The history of the 21st century is not yet written. It is imperative 
that we remember history and maintain our vigilance lest such a great 
evil rear its ugly head so forcefully again and we are faced with 
descending into the horrors of such a war another time.
  We must also recall that the course of history on June 6, 50 years 
ago was swayed by the brave, honorable, and dedicated actions of 
individual servicemen from the United States and countries around the 
world. While thousands were involved, they all played their own part in 
giving of themselves--often with the ultimate sacrifice of their own 
lives--for the greater good. It is to the dedicated and brave service 
of these individuals that I believe we should remember and commemorate 
``the longest day'' today.
  In this spirit, I am submitting here for inclusion in the Record a 
recent article by Walter Adams on his return visit to the site of the 
Allied landing. Dr. Adams served in the 83d Infantry during WWII and 
fought in the liberation of Europe from Northern France to Germany. He 
is now the Vernon F. Taylor Visiting Professor of Economics at Trinity 
University in San Antonio. His article ``Return to Normandy,'' appeared 
in the spring 1994 edition of Trinity, the magazine of Trinity 
University.

                           Return to Normandy

                           (By Walter Adams)

       It wasn't professional travel. Nor was it a vacation.
       If anything, it was a pilgrimage. To remember. To reflect. 
     To contemplate. To gain perspective on the most cataclysmic 
     event in my life.
       But, above all, to commemorate that brave armada which 
     assaulted the monstrous fortifications of Normandy as a first 
     step on the long road to the liberation of Europe from Nazi 
     oppression.
       This year will be the 50th anniversary of that June 6, 
     1944, which marks an incomparable feat in military history. 
     No doubt, it will attract crowds of tourists, sightseers, 
     curiosity seekers and a rapidly diminishing group of veterans 
     who survived ``the longest day.''
       To avoid what may well degenerate into a commercial 
     extravaganza and televised circus, I decided to go last year, 
     in the quiet of September, accompanied by my wife, Pauline. I 
     wanted to walk the beaches, visit the memorials, and pay my 
     respects one last time at the cemeteries dotting the Norman 
     landscape.
       My trek started at the Pegasus bridge, a vital link across 
     the Orne River, taken shortly after midnight of June 5, by 
     Major Howard's glider troops of the 6th Royal Airborne 
     Division. The house next to the bridge--the first to be 
     liberated in France--still stands. Today, it is a combination 
     snack bar/museum/souvenir shop. I dropped in to browse, I 
     selected sixteen postcards, counted them out ceremoniously to 
     the handsome middle-aged owner, and inquired light-heartedly 
     whether I was entitled to a quantity discount. Without a 
     change of expression, she carefully checked the number of 
     cards and, noting my army fatigue uniform (which I wore 
     throughout the trip), asked if I was there in '44. I 
     explained that I was in the American sector, on Utah Beach, 
     and that I did not land until D+13.
       ``But you were part of the liberating force?''
       ``Yes.''
       ``In that case, please take these cards with my 
     compliments--in appreciation of what you and your comrades 
     did.''
       Overcome by this unanticipated gesture, I couldn't hold 
     back the tears. (For the moment, I didn't even feel 
     embarrassed.) In subsequent conversation, it turned out that 
     the house next to the bridge had belonged to her parents, 
     that as a little girl she witnessed a German officer choking 
     her mother and since that liberation she has been fighting 
     ``the bureaucrates in Paris'' who want to demolish the bridge 
     and replace it with a modern structure. Her mission, she 
     felt, was to keep alive the memory of what the brave men of 
     the Pegasus Division had done on this fateful night 50 years 
     ago.


                           sand of utah beach

       In the town square of Sainte-Marie-duMont, just off Utah 
     Beach, I stopped for information at a small restaurant/hotel. 
     Attracted by my uniform, and assured that I had participated 
     in the invasion force, the proprietor (a man about 40) 
     regaled me with stories about June 6. The town, he said, was 
     liberated by the Screaming Eagles of 101st U.S. Airborne 
     Division, and its inhabitants--let by their parish priest--
     guided the paratroopers to the German sniper nests infesting 
     the area.
       He proudly pointed to the memorial plaques recounting 
     diverse incidents in the town's liberation. Then, suddenly, 
     he asked me to wait a few minutes. He had a souvenir for me. 
     He returned with a small wine bottle which he had just filled 
     with Utah sand: ``This is a token of our appreciation. It 
     will help you remember.'' (I didn't have the heart to tell 
     him that I had already collected sand from each of the 
     beaches--British, Canadian, and French, as well as American.)


                       an interesting debriefing

       Perhaps our most curious encounter was with Owe Svenson, a 
     used car salesman from Sweden. Born in December 1944, he had 
     a obsessive interest in a war that neither he nor his country 
     experienced first-hand. Now he was in France to see for 
     himself, systematically visiting the several beaches, 
     ravenously exploring the monuments and memorials. Waiting for 
     us at the exit from ``La Madeleine'' museum on Utah, he 
     expressed outrage that I was asked to pay the (very modest) 
     admission charge to the museum.
       He asked permission to take my photograph--then another 
     together with Pauline. Then he invited us for coffee and 
     proceeded to debrief me as if he were a military intelligence 
     officer. Did I land on Utah? With what unit? In how many 
     major battles did I participate? How old was I at the time? 
     What did each of the decorations on my uniform signify? And, 
     finally, how difficult was it?
       My division, the 83rd Infantry, I told him, relieved the 
     101st Airborne south of Carentan. Our first mission was to 
     capture Periers (not the Perrier of sparkling water fame)--a 
     village some 12 miles away. Fighting from hedgerow to 
     hedgerow, literally yard by yard, it took us nearly a month 
     to reach our objective.
       The cost? Some 5,000 casualties, including killed, wounded, 
     or captured. And after Normandy? Four other major campaigns: 
     Northern France, the Rhineland, the Battle of the Bulge, and 
     Germany. How many men of the 83rd Infantry survived from Utah 
     to V-E Day, I couldn't tell him. Svenson was genuinely 
     appalled. When we took our leave, as if to make amends, he 
     gave us his address and telephone number: ``Visit me any time 
     you want. Don't worry about the cost. Everything will be on 
     me.''


                           Touching, Telling

       These random, unplanned encounters were emotional--and 
     revealing. To a wide variety of people, in different walks of 
     life, the events of 1944 were more than stale history. There 
     was a feeling among the many, almost exclusively European 
     visitors to the beaches and little museums that something of 
     transcendent importance had occurred there half a century 
     ago.
       Equally touching and telling were the memorials that are 
     ubiquitous in the area. Every kilometer on the road from Utah 
     to St. Lo to Avranches, the Voie de la Liberte 1944 
     (liberation route), displays a red-white-blue road marker 
     indicating the distance from the landing area.
       In the town square of Sainte-Mere-Eglise, in front of its 
     famous church, stands a stone monument with the stark 
     reminder: ``On 6 June 1944, the paratroopers of the 82nd and 
     101st U.S. Airborne Divisions liberated this District.'' Near 
     Ouistreham, on Sword Beach (British), the exploits of 
     Commandant Kieffer, leader of 177 French Commandos, are 
     commemorated:
       ``With their British brothers-in-arms, they conquered this 
     beach to open the road for the liberation of Europe.''
       At Pointe du Hoc, on a sheer 200-foot cliff, which the 2nd 
     U.S. Ranger Batallion had to climb with ropes and ladders 
     (under withering fire) to knock out a 155 mm gun battery that 
     commanded ``bloody'' Omaha, a stark granite stalagmite stands 
     in mute tribute.
       A nearby sign post records this ``mission impossible'':
       ``Pointe du Hoc
       ``Strongest German position on the invasion front in 
     Normandy
       ``It had to be taken
       ``The success of the landings in the American sector 
     depended on it.''


                           gripping memorials

       Inevitably, there is a memorial to George ``Blood and 
     Guts'' Patton, the Allied general most admired by the 
     Europeans. It is a majestic obelisk, flanked by a pair of 
     American flags, erected on soil brought over from every state 
     in the Union. It stands in the middle of a major thoroughfare 
     in Avranches, and records the exploits of the most brilliant 
     tank commander on the Western front.
       One of the most gripping memorials, perhaps, is the tribute 
     to Major Thomas D. Howie (age 36), located in St. Lo, the 
     crucial road junction that had to be captured before the 
     Allies could break out of the deadly hedgerows of Normandy. 
     Major Howie had wanted to be the first American to set foot 
     in St. Lo, but was killed one day before the town was taken. 
     His men of the 2nd Battalion, 116th Regiment, 29th Infantry 
     Division, loaded his body on the first jeep to enter St. Lo 
     and thus made his wish a sentimental (however macabre) 
     reality. The memorial, erected by the French, stands in a 
     square renamed in his honor.


                           they rest in peace

       Nothing, of course, can approach the emotional impact of 
     Normandy's military cemeteries. On beautifully landscaped, 
     meticulously tended tracts, designed in parade-perfect order, 
     are the identical headstones that mark the graves of 
     thousands of young men--men whose lives and hopes were 
     prematurely terminated, men who today would be my age.
       There is an air of tranquility, even serenity that exudes 
     from their resting place--belying the violence and brutality 
     that sent them to their deaths. The American markers include 
     only name, rank, unit, home state, and date of death. The 
     British and Canadian also contain age and a message from the 
     family. On the Canadian cemetery at Beny-sur-Mer: ``In memory 
     of my dear husband and our only son. May he rest in peace.'' 
     and ``Bon Jesus, donnez lui le repos eternel.'' In the 
     British cemetery at Ranville: ``Deep in our hearts his memory 
     is kept.'' and at Bayeux the all-too-frequent: ``A soldier of 
     the 1939-1945 war known unto God.''
       In these hallowed places, one gets a sense of intimate 
     cameraderie, pervasive equality, and democratic unity. At 
     Beny-sur-Mer, where all markers are imprinted with the Maple 
     Leaf, an Anglo from the Winnipeg Rifles lies next to a 
     Quebecois from the Regiment de la Chaudiere. At St. Laurent, 
     my comrade from the 83rd Infantry Division, Lieutenant Engene 
     Zender from Wisconsin rests close to Private-first-class 
     Lawrence Slutzker from New York. Killed in the same battle, 
     one lies under a cross, the other under a Star of David. ``E 
     pluribus unum!''
       There are 16 British cemeteries (19,137 graves) 
     interspersed on Normandy's peaceful landscape, two Canadian 
     (5,007 graves), and five German (58,172 graves). We did not 
     visit all these sites. Most of our time was spent at St. 
     Laurent, the American cemetery on the plateau overlooking the 
     steep bluffs of bloody Omaha.


                           american cemetery

       The memorial structure consists of a semicircular colonnade 
     with a loggia housing battle maps at each end and a large 
     bronze statue in the open area formed by its arc. A circular 
     chapel in the graves area contains the inscription, ``They 
     endured all and gave all that justice among nations might 
     prevail and that mankind might enjoy freedom and inherit 
     peace.''
       Behind the memorial structure is the Garden of the Missing. 
     Its semicircular wall records the names and particulars of 
     1,557 soldiers, sailors, and airmen from 49 States, the 
     District of Columbia, and Guam. Their memory is preserved 
     along with that of 9,072 servicemen, 4 women, 3 Congressional 
     Medal of Honor recipients, and 307 Unknowns whose remains are 
     interred at St. Laurent. (At the request of their families, 
     some 14,000 others were brought home for burial.) Remembering 
     them is an obligation for those of us lucky enough to have 
     survived. It is also a catharsis.


                           what did it mean?

       On the long flight home, I tried to assess the meaning of 
     World War II. Did it make any permanent difference in the 
     course of world affairs?
       Wasn't total victory soon followed by the Cold War, Korea, 
     Vietnam, and assorted police actions? Isn't the world still 
     beset by tribalism, nationalism, and ideological 
     confliction--Asia, Africa, Latin America, and Eastern Europe? 
     Has human nature been transformed? Have we learned to 
     sublimate our instincts of aggression and bestiality? Or, as 
     the cynics suggest, is war an inevitable part of the human 
     condition that can be expected to recur with unfortunate 
     regularity in one generation after another?
       I like to believe that liberating Europe from Nazi 
     oppression (and East Asia from Japanese hegemony) was not a 
     sterile adventure. I like to believe that defeating a 
     megalomaniac regime, intent on world domination and the 
     extermination of peoples not belonging to the ``master 
     race''--a regime capable of perpetrating the holocaust--was 
     an unavoidable necessity and obligation. I like to believe 
     that keeping the hand of an Adolf Hitler away from the atomic 
     trigger was an achievement of capital importance.
       Assessing the impact of the war on my personal life was 
     less problematic. It taught me, above all, the evil of 
     ideological bigotry and a racial hatred.
       When I witnessed its consequences in the concentration 
     camps we liberated--the most notorious at Mauthausen in 
     Austria--I recalled, and never since forgot, the warning of 
     Pastor Martin Niemoeller. ``When they came to get the Jews, I 
     said I was not a Jew. When they came to get the Communists, I 
     said I wasn't a Communist. When they came to get the 
     Socialists, I said I was not a Socialist. When they came to 
     get me, it was too late.''
       After seeing--first-hand--the ultimate in man's inhumanity 
     to man, I vowed that for the best of my life I would stand up 
     and speak up against injustice. Looking back, I hope I have 
     been true to that pledge.

                          ____________________