The Slow Old Man of Omaha Beach/D-Day

In Honor of our Dad

An older man walks into the grocery store.  He walks with a noticeable limp and a large heel on one shoe.  He is bent over, tired, and seems to allow the shopping cart to hold him up.  As he moves down the aisle, he is blocking young shoppers from getting through.  It is not intentional; he is just in the middle of the aisle.  Finally, one of the younger shoppers says, excuse me with an unpleasant and condescending voice.  The man looks up and, with a smile, says, I am sorry.  The younger adult rolls her eyes and moves past.

He has finished his shopping and now moves with fear toward the cashier.  He knows people hate to be behind him.  He knows he is slow and old.  He tries to think ahead about what he will need.  Finally, it is his turn at the cashier.  He hands the cashier a credit card.  The line behind him has gotten longer.  To his embarrassment, the cashier says, sorry, sir, that is your ID.  He can hear the loud sighs, the whispers, and even the eye rolls that seem to sound out with displeasure.  He hands the cashier a credit card and is relieved the process is over.  As he leaves the cashier, he hears a customer say to another, if you see me in line, never get behind me. Laughter.

The old man slowly leaves the store.  He stops in the parking lot and tries to remember where his friend parked. As he walks down the parking lot lane, he is walking in the middle of the lane.  A car comes up behind him and honks.  The old man staggers and falls to the pavement.  Notably shaken, he takes hold of the cart and moves out of the way.  Now he is trembling and wants to find the safety of his friend’s car.  Finally, he finds the car and gets the groceries in the back seat.  His friend is getting a haircut and should return soon.  He sits down in the passenger seat, and his mind begins to relive the past due to the startle of the car horn.  It has brought back horrible memories.

He remembers at 19, with fear overwhelming his heart, jumping into the water and making it to shore on Normandy.  He remembers the ones that jumped in and drowned.  He remembers the boys falling dead all around him.  He is now shaking in the car, and his heart is beating in his throat.  He remembers getting shot just a couple of miles into the landing.  A medic patches him up, and he continues to move forward.

His mind stalls here.  It doesn’t want to go any further.  He doesn’t want to see the friend who was blown to pieces right next to him, with bits of his friend’s body stuck to him like glue.  He must move on, the noise, the smells, the cries, the pain, the shouts to keep moving.  It is over, and he is alive.

Later in the war, he finds himself at the Battle of the Bulge.  It is the Ardennes region of Belgium. Little did he know that history would declare it one of the costliest battles in all the wars the United States had fought.  Six weeks of fighting.  Six weeks of unbelievable cold, wind, and snow.  Six weeks of getting low on supplies.  Six weeks of watching bodies being stacked like firewood.  Finally, it was over.  Victory had come, and it was time to move on.  The old man recalls that he had never been so cold and so scared in all of his life.  The images going through his mind now bring tears to his eyes and tremors to his weakened arms and legs.  He is just 20 now.

The battle was finally over, but the war was not.  The 20-year-old boy is now moving to Colmar, and another significant battle later called the Colmar Pocket.  Now 20 and toughened by Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge, he is still afraid but has courage.  They come upon a minefield, and he volunteers to crawl through the field, bayonet in hand, searching and marking the mines.   As the troops waited, an artillery shell or a mine went off, and those clearing the mines were thought dead.  In writing about the incident later, an officer said Charlie got it at Colmar.  He was severely injured.  His hip was blown off. Shrapnel from head to toe.  Shrapnel that was still working its way through his body at his death.  WW II shrapnel that even contributed to his death at 74.

Charlie lay in the minefield for a day and a night. He was holding on to hope and holding on to God.  Later, someone noticed movement.  He survived and spent a year in hospitals and rehabilitation.  He received two purple hearts, a bronze star, and a silver star.  He never talked about the war until his final days.

I watched him shake in his chair when a thunderstorm came.  I watched him jump at any sudden loud noise.  I watched him love.  I watched him work with a hip blown off and a leg much shorter than the other.  He played catch.  He took me fishing.  He loved me, my sister, and my mom. He loved his grandkids.  When he died, his last words to me were, take care of your mom. Mom will be 93 this year, and I took care of her until she had to go to extended care due to falls.

He was called Charlie, shorty, hero, and Sir, but my sister and I called him Dad.  The next time you are behind an old man who is slowly making his way through the store, try a little patience; he may be one of the reasons you don’t speak German.

Remembering Dad, our hero. Judy and James Allen

June 6, 2024

Dr. James D. Allen

Overflowinghope180.com