Today is the 81st anniversary of the allied invasion of France. D-Day. It is still the largest amphibious military landing in history. The Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy as part of the liberation of Europe from the Nazis.
150,000 troops were put ashore. On Omaha beach alone there were 2,400 casualties. It is hard for the modern mind to imagine. But it happened. We can talk about the reasons for WW2 and the state of affairs in the US until the end of time. Nothing will change the fact that this battle happened. Thousands of young men got into boats and planes and risked it all. It is hard to comprehend.
I’ve read several books on the subject and listened to interviews with the people who were actually there, and it’s just mind boggling. Truly mind boggling to me that D-Day actually happened. This was real. And I do thank God that these men did the hard thing. They made the ultimate sacrifice. Let’s not waste it.
Growing up on the working waterfront of Fells Point in Baltimore back in the late 70’s and early 80’s, I was friends with an older man that was a retired longshoreman.
I would have been fourteen or fifteen at the time.
Many was the day I would sit with him at the Foot of Broadway on a marble tree planter, watching the tugboats and ships go by. He grew up in that neighborhood too and would often tell me about that neighborhood going back thirty, forty and fifty years ago.
One hot and humid summer afternoon, we were sitting at our usual spot, me asking lot’s of questions and him patiently answering most of them, when I noticed he was wearing long pants.
I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I had noticed in the past and this time, curiosity got the best of me and I asked, “Mr. John, it’s so hot out, why don’t you wear shorts?”
He took his cane and tapped it against his lower left leg and it made a sort of metallic noise when he did.
Of course, this prompted me to ask about that sound.
He pulled up his left pant leg to the knee and I was stunned at what I saw.
It was the probably the first time I ever saw a prosthetic.
Naturally, the questions came fast and he patiently explained to me how he “hit the beach” on the morning of June 6th, 1944 and how he lost his leg below the knee to German machine gun fire.
Being that age, I did not truly understand the magnitude of what he told me or the significance of that date.
This lead me to the nearby local Enoch Pratt public library to learn what I could about that date and the war.
I called him “Mr. John” back then.
His older friends called him “Elmo”.
His name was John M. Zborowski and today I call him Hero.
Wow! Great story! Thanks for sharing!