This day has great meaning for me. I moved to Paris, France in 1961 and lived there with my parents through the turbulent 60’s until I came home for college in 1970. During those years I had the opportunity to walk the beaches and streets of the towns that constituted the battlefields of the allied invasion on June 6, 1944.
I attended the commemoration in Normandy on June 6th, 1964, only twenty years after it occurred, when what happened there was still fresh in the minds of many. At that time there were still Frenchmen and Frenchwomen who remembered the Americans coming ashore in Normandy. My own French teacher at the American School of Paris was a member of the French Resistance.
As is true here, the attitude of those in the French countryside is vastly different from that of the large cities. I’ll never forget one trip we took to Normandy by car sometime in the mid 60’s. It was one of those foggy, grey days, and around lunchtime, we found ourselves somewhere on the backroads trying to find a place to have a quick bite to eat before heading to our next destination.
Fast food hardly existed in France in the 60’s generally, and in the French countryside, it was unheard of. Seeing a sign on a byway that simply said “restaurant” with an arrow pointing up a country lane towards what looked like a modest chateau on a hill, we shrugged and followed the unpaved lane to the entrance.
The restaurant didn’t appear to be open. There were no cars in the courtyard, no sign of activity. We were about to turn around to leave when suddenly an elderly gentleman came out the door and approached us, beckoning us to come in. In our broken French we explained we were looking for a spot to have lunch and he assured us that they would be happy to serve us. So we went in for a quick bite to eat.
Several hours later we left having had one of the most memorable meals and experiences of our lives. For we were welcomed into the proprietor’s home and ‘restaurant’ not just with open arms, but with a reverence and respect that I had never before encountered in France, just because we were American. In Paris “Ugly Americans” were treated with disdain and disrespect, an attitude I had thought was ubiquitous.
The husband and wife who owned the chateau and restaurant were there on D-Day. Paratroopers landed on their grounds the night of June 5th and subsequently, as the invasion moved inland off the beaches, they housed American, British and Canadian soldiers. Their home was a makeshift hospital at one point. They remembered vividly and clearly every facet of that first 72 hours of the battle as they recounted story after story with deep sincerity and moist eyes.
We had ordered the standard steak and fries fare for lunch. After all, we were looking for “fast food” and that was usually the menu item most quickly produced in most french cafés and restaruants. However, our hosts insisted on bringing us appetizers, a leek “potage” (thick soup), fresh-from-the-oven “pain de campagne” (hefty country bread), and, anxious to ensure we were happy with our meal, madam and monsieur spent so much time around our table we invited them to sit down and join us, which is when the stories about D-Day emerged.
I’ll never forget that after more than two hours of eating and talking and toasting, for our hosts offered numerous toasts to the Americans who fought for them in June 1944, , to America in general, to the Brits, to the allies, and even to us who were seated at their table…there must have been a dozen toasts and mini speeches, madame emerged from the kitchen with a fresh-made apple tart the size of a medium pizza which she had surreptitiously baked specially for us while we were eating our main meal. With ceremony she presented it as a gift, an emblem of her gratitude that we had deigned to visit their home and restaurant.
Never before had I witnessed such profound respect and admiration of America and Americans as I did that day. And notwithstanding the obnoxious teenager that I was, I couldn’t help but tingle with pride as these good residents of Normandy repeatedly thanked us, as if we had stormed the beaches or dropped from planes on their lawn ourselves.
So as I watched the ceremonies for the 75th anniversary of D-Day on tv today, I was reminded of the pride I have for our country and the force for good it has been since its founding. And I was reminded of my own experiences in Normandy, and of my profound gratitude and reverence for the sacrifices made by those who fought and died there 75 years ago.
May God bless their souls and notwithstanding its faults and many problems, may God forever bless the United States of America.
