A Man on the Road

I met a man on the road today. He was coming down a steep bluff as I was climbing up, and so we chatted briefly about how much farther I had to go. He asked if I had served and said he had also. In our conversation lasting less than a minute he teared up twice, mentioning his grandfather who was killed in Okinawa and his cousin in Vietnam. We shook hands and moved on.

Perhaps meetings like this take place regularly on the road to Widerstandsnest 60 or many similar paths leading up the hills that overlook Omaha Beach in Normandy. It occurred to me that my wife Carol would question such a brief encounter—just a few facts, no elaboration, no exchange of names or background. Women would press for details and find ways to bond with expressions of empathy. Men have mastered the art of brevity.

I have talked to only one man about his personal experiences landing in Normandy in 1944. He was 95 years old we when spoke. But growing up, most of my friends’ fathers would have served in the war. They surely had stories to tell, but didn’t, at least not to me. Everybody, however, knew that my birthday, June 6, was the anniversary of D-Day.

My understanding of D-Day, such as it is, comes from reading history. I can try to imagine what that day was like, but really cannot imagine it at all. Standing on the ground though helps to turn a very abstract understanding into something more concrete.

I met this man near the place where Jimmie Monteith was killed. I have a most tenuous connection with Monteith: the Army post where I lived for a year and a half bore his name. Still, being able to personalize the Normandy landings in some small way also helps to turn an abstract understanding into something more concrete.

What did I hope to accomplish by climbing hills and walking miles of beach, noting historical markers and standing where famous photographs and films were made that day? It’s hard to say. Or perhaps it’s better left unsaid. Some things are more powerfully expressed in silence. Whatever my goal, I’m sure it was best accomplished by meeting the man on the road, knowing we were there for the same reason, and sharing the knowledge that our bond was forged long ago by many others with whom we cannot speak.