Today is
the day informally chosen by North Americans, ANZACs, and
all Europeans to be especially mindful of bravery, sacrifice, suffering, and tragedy.
During the years of the Second World War the human race bore witness to the greatest social upheaval in its history. The impact of those years is found in today's technologies, social engineering, geopolitical alignments, and determination to treat today's extremist ideologies with suspicion and alarm.
I was watching American news channels this morning and had a hard time finding any 'straight' news on the ceremonies taking place in Normandy. Our news seems to be obsessed with reporting on what the president was doing (or not doing), where Putin fits in, how much money we had to kick in, spin, spin, spin. In disgust I turned to BBC America and watched an hour of their multiple-hours coverage. My hat is off to them for understanding the day and the historical relationship between those that lived the day and those that have inherited the benefits of a changed world.
Today is about personal stories. News people like to call those 'features'. BBC gets it.
My uncle, Ernest "Herky" Tegler, was an M16 gunner in the 457th AAA Battalion. He came ashore as part of a detached platoon at Omaha Beach (Dog Red Beach-Dog 3 Exit) near Les Moulins and Saint Laurent-sur-Mer on D-Day at 2:30PM. The rest of the 457th came ashore a few hours later at Omaha Easy Red Beach-Easy 1 Exit. The 457th was quickly assigned to Patton's 3rd Army and became part of the 2nd Cavalry which helped spearhead the 'breakout' of Normandy during the remainder of the summer.
Herky, who I never met, was just another kid from Nebraska that joined up to serve his country, and fought with other kids across France from Falaise to Metz to Sarreguemines on the west bank of the Saar River. On December 12th (four days before the Battle of the Bulge) Herky was killed saving a wounded comrade during an artillery barrage. In November of 2008 my wife and I visited The American Military Cemetery at St. Avold, France where Herky is buried. Nearby are the graves of George ‘Ratsy’ Preddy and his brother William – P-51 pilots.
A few days later we stopped for a stretch break at a church in a small German village on a secondary road between Stuttgart and Munich. We found ourselves in the small graveyard. Around us were many headstones with death dates from 1939-1945. In some cases every son from a single family were taken by the war. That was sobering at a basic level. At some point we have to forget blame and examine the costs but we must never forget their bravery, sacrifice, suffering, and tragedy.
Herky’s story is one of millions of stories that illuminate the years between the invasion of Poland and Hiroshima.
It strikes me that it's up to us, not the media, to remember them and tell them. Do you have have a story to share?
