Norman goodendorf by Jeff
June 7...……...Today is the 76th anniversary of the landings at Omaha Beach collectively known as D-Day. A large proportion of the veterans of that war have died off and the remaining few will soon follow. Sadly, due to the Covid virus and traveling restrictions there will be little fanfare. Veterans normally travel to the beaches of Normandy, especially to the cemetery & memorials honoring those who sacrificed their lives there. It is believed that the turn out will be low which is sad because the few that are left will even be fewer to non-existent next year.
We will try to watch "Saving Private Ryan" today if my VHS copy will cooperate in honor of my father. My father served under General Eisenhower during those fateful days and was present at the landing. He had enlisted in the Army shortly after the dastardly attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He would also serve in North Africa fighting against Gen Rommel, as well as Anzio in Italy and then on to Omaha Beach. Somehow he made it without a scratch. He then went on across France, liberating 2 concentration camps along the way finally triumphantly marching into Berlin signifying the Nazi defeat.
He never talked much about his experiences, though I believe he was going to finally open up after I came back from Vietnam. He wanted to go have a beer with me and talk but I was always too busy and there was always tomorrow .Tomorrow never came, he died in January 1972 at the age of 52., we never had that talk. What I know I know I know from my mom. My dad was tall, much taller than his sergeant as is visible in pictures that we have. She said he defeated his sergeant in bayonet drill, impressing his fellow comrades in arms. We have pictures from the concentration camps so I know that much is true. She said that he talked of how walking skeletons approached them asking to be killed or at least to give them the means to do so. Survivors' guilt. He said he would never forget the sights and smells of those camps. He also relates a story of where he was driving one of the convoy supply trucks (he was an ack-ack gunner, the ones who brought airplanes down) but also drove truck. One story has him in a convoy on black out, the only light was a small red one on the bumper of the truck in front of you. They were driving over the Alps on this passages. He related that you hoped the truck in front of you knew where they were going because if they drove off a cliff you would certainly follow. They got through without incident. The 2nd one was when he woke up in a field all by himself. He could hear fellow soldiers calling out softly "Norm, Norm'. It seems after they parked in the field to bed down for the night, a tank battle ensued and everyone fled for the cover of the woods except my dad who is an extremely heavy sleeper. Obviously. He slept through a tank battle. His snoring was so bad we were exiled to the far end of a campground once in Michigan due to the complaints from everyone including the bears.
Another story comes out of North Africa. The native girls there wore no tops and it was disturbing to conservative young men from the heartland so they donated some of their white T-shirts for the to cover their bare breasts. This lasted a day or two, then one day they started trickling in with holes cut in the front and their bare breasts sticking through the holes .It seems the cloth irritated their tender nipples which were used to being bare. He also talked of how rude and nasty camels were. It also seems my father had a French mistress. There was a picture of her in our photo LP, she was attractive enough, looked French. She sent my father a few letters after the war, several were in the album as well. It seems my father made promises he didn't keep and she was wondering when he was coming back to get her and bring her to the states. He had been with my mother since they were young. They would go together for 10 years before getting married, but my dad was gone for over 4 of those. The last story is a bit more gruesome. One night one of their soldiers came in with an awful stink on his hands, couldn't wash the smell off. He related that he was running through the woods because it was dark and he was afraid of capture and wanted to get back to camp. He had been scouting, He tripped over something and landed with his hands out stretched, the one that stank had went through something mushy. They backtracked the next morning and found the source. A dead Nazi soldier with his face all pushed in showing the man's hand mark in it. What they smelled was rotting flesh. I have experienced the smell as well and you will never forget it. My dad said they buried the poor soldier trying their best not to breathe more than necessary,
I wish I had talked more with my dad. I hope my kids will learn this as well and realize how much they missed out by keeping me out of their lives (not including my son, only my 3 daughters here). I have not seen them for 28 years. Their choice. I guess my dad felt that having served in Vietnam I had now earned the right. I had went to show him I was worthy of his name. I wanted him to be proud of me, I had let him down in some major ways recently. He worked so hard to give me a better life and it turned out to be worse actually. My dad sent me one letter in Vietnam, 8 simple words. "Son I am proud of you, Love dad". I wish I had kept that letter now.
While my dad fought in the European theater my mom's brother, Earl fought in the Pacific and I also had other cousins, uncles etc that fought. Several agree their lives and a VFW is named after 1. I am proud of my family. I can trace my mom's side back on her moms side to the 1600's I have a book with names dates and descriptions of their lives as well as best as is known. It will be thrown in the dumpster like the rest of my life upon my death. I learned this when my mom died and I had to go back and dispose of her life. Those things we deem important are meaningless to others and go in garbage bags an to landfills. That's all our lives are worth in the end, the garbage dump.
All morbidity aside, I want to take a moment to ho nor my father's contributions during WWII as well as all the others who fought and sacrificed so much. They would be appalled at what is going on today. I cannot begin to thank them for all they did. They were truly the greatest generation I know where my father was on this date in 1944 and he was going through hell, at least he wasn't alone.
I'll end this on a light note. I always refer to 'Saving Private Ryan' to 'Saving Ryan's Privates', sort of a WWII porno version.
June 7...……...Today is the 76th anniversary of the landings at Omaha Beach collectively known as D-Day. A large proportion of the veterans of that war have died off and the remaining few will soon follow. Sadly, due to the Covid virus and traveling restrictions there will be little fanfare. Veterans normally travel to the beaches of Normandy, especially to the cemetery & memorials honoring those who sacrificed their lives there. It is believed that the turn out will be low which is sad because the few that are left will even be fewer to non-existent next year.
We will try to watch "Saving Private Ryan" today if my VHS copy will cooperate in honor of my father. My father served under General Eisenhower during those fateful days and was present at the landing. He had enlisted in the Army shortly after the dastardly attack by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He would also serve in North Africa fighting against Gen Rommel, as well as Anzio in Italy and then on to Omaha Beach. Somehow he made it without a scratch. He then went on across France, liberating 2 concentration camps along the way finally triumphantly marching into Berlin signifying the Nazi defeat.
He never talked much about his experiences, though I believe he was going to finally open up after I came back from Vietnam. He wanted to go have a beer with me and talk but I was always too busy and there was always tomorrow .Tomorrow never came, he died in January 1972 at the age of 52., we never had that talk. What I know I know I know from my mom. My dad was tall, much taller than his sergeant as is visible in pictures that we have. She said he defeated his sergeant in bayonet drill, impressing his fellow comrades in arms. We have pictures from the concentration camps so I know that much is true. She said that he talked of how walking skeletons approached them asking to be killed or at least to give them the means to do so. Survivors' guilt. He said he would never forget the sights and smells of those camps. He also relates a story of where he was driving one of the convoy supply trucks (he was an ack-ack gunner, the ones who brought airplanes down) but also drove truck. One story has him in a convoy on black out, the only light was a small red one on the bumper of the truck in front of you. They were driving over the Alps on this passages. He related that you hoped the truck in front of you knew where they were going because if they drove off a cliff you would certainly follow. They got through without incident. The 2nd one was when he woke up in a field all by himself. He could hear fellow soldiers calling out softly "Norm, Norm'. It seems after they parked in the field to bed down for the night, a tank battle ensued and everyone fled for the cover of the woods except my dad who is an extremely heavy sleeper. Obviously. He slept through a tank battle. His snoring was so bad we were exiled to the far end of a campground once in Michigan due to the complaints from everyone including the bears.
Another story comes out of North Africa. The native girls there wore no tops and it was disturbing to conservative young men from the heartland so they donated some of their white T-shirts for the to cover their bare breasts. This lasted a day or two, then one day they started trickling in with holes cut in the front and their bare breasts sticking through the holes .It seems the cloth irritated their tender nipples which were used to being bare. He also talked of how rude and nasty camels were. It also seems my father had a French mistress. There was a picture of her in our photo LP, she was attractive enough, looked French. She sent my father a few letters after the war, several were in the album as well. It seems my father made promises he didn't keep and she was wondering when he was coming back to get her and bring her to the states. He had been with my mother since they were young. They would go together for 10 years before getting married, but my dad was gone for over 4 of those. The last story is a bit more gruesome. One night one of their soldiers came in with an awful stink on his hands, couldn't wash the smell off. He related that he was running through the woods because it was dark and he was afraid of capture and wanted to get back to camp. He had been scouting, He tripped over something and landed with his hands out stretched, the one that stank had went through something mushy. They backtracked the next morning and found the source. A dead Nazi soldier with his face all pushed in showing the man's hand mark in it. What they smelled was rotting flesh. I have experienced the smell as well and you will never forget it. My dad said they buried the poor soldier trying their best not to breathe more than necessary,
I wish I had talked more with my dad. I hope my kids will learn this as well and realize how much they missed out by keeping me out of their lives (not including my son, only my 3 daughters here). I have not seen them for 28 years. Their choice. I guess my dad felt that having served in Vietnam I had now earned the right. I had went to show him I was worthy of his name. I wanted him to be proud of me, I had let him down in some major ways recently. He worked so hard to give me a better life and it turned out to be worse actually. My dad sent me one letter in Vietnam, 8 simple words. "Son I am proud of you, Love dad". I wish I had kept that letter now.
While my dad fought in the European theater my mom's brother, Earl fought in the Pacific and I also had other cousins, uncles etc that fought. Several agree their lives and a VFW is named after 1. I am proud of my family. I can trace my mom's side back on her moms side to the 1600's I have a book with names dates and descriptions of their lives as well as best as is known. It will be thrown in the dumpster like the rest of my life upon my death. I learned this when my mom died and I had to go back and dispose of her life. Those things we deem important are meaningless to others and go in garbage bags an to landfills. That's all our lives are worth in the end, the garbage dump.
All morbidity aside, I want to take a moment to ho nor my father's contributions during WWII as well as all the others who fought and sacrificed so much. They would be appalled at what is going on today. I cannot begin to thank them for all they did. They were truly the greatest generation I know where my father was on this date in 1944 and he was going through hell, at least he wasn't alone.
I'll end this on a light note. I always refer to 'Saving Private Ryan' to 'Saving Ryan's Privates', sort of a WWII porno version.
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