D-Day

David Tapsell was my Dad’s best friend. The two of them grew up in Manhattan in the 1920s and ‘30s. Both lost their fathers when they were young, and their widowed mothers did not marry again. Otherwise their backgrounds were different. Dad was one of six children; David was an only child. Dad was born at home in Manhattan; I’m not sure whether David was born in the United States or in Europe, because his mother came to New York City from her native England. I think she brought David with her when she immigrated.

David attended a private military high school in Pennsylvania, and he fought in World War II. Whether he volunteered or was drafted, I don’t know, but it seems likely to me that he signed up, although as the only child of a widowed mother he could have obtained a deferment. Soon after arriving in Europe, he died in the Battle of St. Lo in France in July 1944. He had just marked his 22 nd birthday.

I am writing this on June 6, 2024, the 80 th anniversary of the D-Day invasion, which turned the tide of the war in favor of the Allies. Every year on D-Day I think of the soldiers who stormed the beaches at Normandy, landing and wading through the surf and running into battle under bursts of bullets from the enemy on the heights. Some fell; those who didn’t kept on wading and running and firing. I wonder whether they knew that they were turning the tide of the war.

The enemy soldiers eventually began to retreat. The Allies kept pushing and gained in strength. The sacrifices and suffering of D-Day led to victory in Europe 11 months later. As I go about whatever I am doing on June 6 each year, I think of the men who died so that I—not yet born—could live and grow and work and play in peace and freedom. I think also of David Tapsell, who died a month after D-Day, on July 13.

My Dad used to tell stories about David that revealed a young man of keen intelligence and considerable theatrical talent. David’s mother—we called her Aunt Babs—wrote tributes to David on the blank pages at the front of some of the books he had loved as a child, which included “The Wind in the Willows”; She inscribed it “To my David…Playwright, Patriot, and Gentleman.”

Dad talked about David’s talents for acting and mimicry. I wonder how Dave would have used those talents, and I can imagine him as an actor, on Broadway or in movies or on television. He might have had a long and successful career in the theater, making people laugh as a comic or making them reflect on life and relationships as a dramatic actor. He might have enjoyed fame and prosperity and the esteem of his profession and the public. But he put his plans aside to serve his country and to fight for freedom for millions of people born and not-yet-born. He never had the chance to discover what else he might have done.

I think of David on Memorial Day and the anniversary of D-Day. I pray for the repose of his soul and the souls of all the men who lost their lives, along with their hopes and dreams, on the shores of Normandy and on other battle fronts. I think of them from time to time when I walk out of my apartment and do the things I want to do: go to church and walk in the park and visit the people I love and live my life as I wish to live it.

To every soldier who lost his life at Normandy, I say “Thank you.” To David Tapsell and every soldier who died in another battle, I say, Thank you.” To every soldier who suffered catastrophic injury tin the war, I say, “Thank you.”

To all the Americans, men and women, who served in World War II, to those who laid down their lives and those who bore injury, and to those who were able to return home and resume their lives and try to dispel the images that haunted them of carnage and suffering, I say, “Thank you.” I love my freedom. I cherish my freedom. I do not take it for granted, not for a moment. I don’t think about it constantly, but I don’t let myself grow complacent about it either. It is a gift whose value cannot be measured, a gift that cannot ever be repaid, only treasured. You soldiers secured it for me, and I thank you with all my heart.

God gave me life, and my parents brought me into the world. You soldiers made it possible for me to live my life in peace and freedom. May those of you who have entered eternity live forever in peace and joy. May those who remain with us still, awaiting your eternal reward, know the gratitude of the rest of us. May the freedom that you won for us be yours as well, forever, and may the memory of what you accomplished remain as clear and bright as sunlight on the sea.

God bless you all.