A Promise Made: 10 Years Later

Here in Normandy the rescue began. Here the Allies stood and fought against tyranny in a giant undertaking unparalleled in human history.

- Ronald Reagan at the 40th Anniversary of D-Day

The countdown to the 80th anniversary of D-Day has started. We are just a couple of weeks out. An estimated 2 million people will be in attendance to commemorate 80 years since the great amphibious invasion that ushered in the beginning of the end of World War II in Europe.

10 years ago this month, my sisters and I determined to get our family to Normandy to keep a promise to an old British D-Day veteran we had met some years before. We promised him that if he “stuck around” till the 70th, we would meet him in Saint Mere Eglise. 

June 06, 2011 - JUNO BEACH WITH BRITISH VETERANS WHO CAME ASHORE SO MANY YEARS BEFORE… i was about 14 here.

Blogs were still a thing in 2014, so we started OperationMeatball.com as a way of keeping track of that trip. Before the trip was over we realized it was so much bigger than just a blog and just a trip. That promise I had determined to keep for my British Vet turned into a much bigger promise – a commitment to hundreds of WWII veterans to keep their stories and their names alive. 

Throughout the process of cataloging their stories and memorializing their legacies, these veterans became the dearest of friends. The mission of Operation Meatball grew. We learned about more than just their war service…  We learned about what it was that separated their generation from others. How growing up in the Great Depression cultivated in them a special grit which served to carry them through the hardships of World War II and beyond.

Some years ago, I jokingly told an old friend, a Vietnam vet, that it would be hard to find a man because I had grown up with such spectacular examples of masculinity and patriotism. “Liberty,” he responded quite gravely. “The character and quality you see in their 90s didn’t happen overnight. This was a lifelong process of growth. It’s the whole encompassing story of their lives. That made them what you see today.” 

That sentence stuck with me when I considered everything I learned from the World War II vets… It’s why today I try and tell their WHOLE story. The good and the bad, the growth, the hardships, the gains, the losses. Because it’s the whole story.

101st airborne sweetheart, tom rice at the 75th of dday.


We’re here to mark that day in history when the Allied armies joined in battle to reclaim this continent to liberty. For 4 long years, much of Europe had been under a terrible shadow. Free nations had fallen, Jews cried out in the camps, millions cried out for liberation. Europe was enslaved, and the world prayed for its rescue.

- Ronald Reagan at the 40th Anniversary of D-Day

Next month I will be jumping into Normandy with the Round Canopy Parachute Team as we commemorate the 80th anniversary. 10 years ago, when I had just started Operation Meatball, I watched my first Parachute jump in Sainte-Marie-Du-Mont, Normandy, France. It was beautiful; it was inspiring; it was emotional.

It’s a full circle moment for me. A way of honoring and remembering the veterans who I have grown up with and who shaped my life and the future of our country. 

So many years I’ve sat at La Fiere Bridge chatting and holding the hands of veterans, paratroopers, who many moons before had made that night jump into Normandy. We watched the men fall from the sky, and they told me what it was like on that night of nights.

Now it’s my turn.


members of the oss/jedburgh team prepare to make a parachute jump into enemy occupied territory

Wanted: Volunteers for immediate overseas assignment. Knowledge of French or another European language preferred; Willingness and ability to qualify as a parachutist necessary; Likelihood of a dangerous mission guaranteed.

I will be representing a special group who jumped into France… Not on D-Day, but the days before and shortly after - the women of the OSS and SOE (Office of Strategic Services and Special Operations Executive), a select group of valiant and courageous women who volunteered to parachute under undercover of darkness into enemy occupied territory to help set up resistance movements, act as wireless operators and couriers, and over all cause as much confusion in the enemy camp as possible.

The attrition rate for these women was very high. The life expectancy for a wireless operator in France was six weeks. If caught, the women were tortured or sent to concentration camps where they were gassed and killed.

Some of these women left children at home or a husband in the service. But they knew they were highly qualified – speaking multiple languages and having a sharp acumen for learning… And it was their way of serving their country at a time when women were not allowed near the front lines, with the exception of the nurse Corps. 

The services they provided the Allies from 1942 to 1945 was invaluable. There were a few select women in particular on whom the Germans put a high bounty if caught. But nevertheless they continued tirelessly.

It’s a very special thing to be able to represent these women. They carried their jobs off with courage and femininity and they played their part in the shaping of the New World.


I have full confidence in your devotion to duty and skill in battle.
We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

General Dwight D. Eisenhower

The world today has so much going on. We have access to more information than we know how to handle. There is continual fighting with casualties around the world. We read about them and see images every day that would break the hardest of hearts. 

There is so much tragedy and loss and worry right now that perhaps one would ask why travel to France NOW? Why is the 80th important? Is this a holiday? Is this a joy trip?

Well, of course anytime one gets to travel overseas, it is a gift. But this is a critical time in our history. The world needs hope and the world needs to remember.

France remembers. England remembers. America has to remember too.

We have to remember the sacrifices of the thousands of men who lost their lives on D-Day. Of the soldiers who had the courage to continue across that beachhead, even after seeing their best friend’s body explode in front of them. Their willingness to put one foot in front of the other, day after day after day. 

“I lost my best friend during WWII. He was killed in action on or about July 10, 1944, in Normandy, France. I was in the hospital in England at the time and didn’t know he died until I rejoined my unit... He had a daughter, Sue... She was about 3 years old when her father, Raymond, was drafted in the army and she never saw him again. For 60 long years, Sue tried to find out what happened to him or if anyone knew him. I responded to a notice in an army (military) magazine that had her name... and called her right away. When she answered the phone, I told her who I was and that I was a good friend of her dad. I identified his physical features such as height, weight, color of hair, and a slight gap between his two front teeth. She let out a yell and told her granddaughter, who was nearby, that there is someone on the phone who knew him. After 60 long years she finally found someone who knew him. Liberty, I am telling you this because from the bottom of my heart it was (still is) one of the most compassionate things I ever did in my life.”

Lee Cason, 4th Infantry Division Utah Beach


Photo credit: best defense foundation / patrick mccue

13 years ago, a D-Day Vet told me how he survived without fear. “Every morning I woke up I would say, ‘Well Don, today is the day I die.’ And when I got to the end of the day and hadn’t been killed, I would say. ‘Well Don, you made it through another day. Get some sleep. You will probably die tomorrow.’” 

He did this through months of combat. He expected that death was the most likely outcome, and putting aside that fear of death, he was able to be a better soldier, he was able put one foot in front of the other, until it was time to go home.

67 years later, he returned to the beaches of Normandy. But this time he had children, grandchildren, a beautiful wife, decades of happiness, and gratitude and remembrance for each of his friends who didn’t make it to the end of that day.

Let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: “I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.”

- Ronald Reagan at the 40th Anniversary of D-Day

On the 75th anniversary, I was privileged to go with a group of D-Day veterans who were returning to Normandy with the Best Defense Foundation.

Many precious and special moments happened that trip that I hold and cherish. But one in particular, I’ll never forget. 

In our group we had a very special man named Russell Pickett. He had come ashore on Omaha Beach with the doomed A Company, 116th Infantry Regiment. We all know the story of how they were massacred on landing. How the small town of Bedford would lose 19 men on that day, becoming the highest per capita town in America for losses on D-Day.

Russell himself had been horribly wounded, and while this was his second trip back to Normandy, it was the first one where he would actually go back to the beach where his life changed forever.

Russell was a quiet, humble, Christian man. He hadn’t always been that way… He carried anger and bitterness and nightmares with him for years after the war, making his life miserable. But then one day he was saved and everything changed. He found hope and for the first time was able to handle the nightmares.

rUSSELL pICKETT

The first morning in France, Russell asked if I would come help him with something. I was happy to oblige… Quietly and almost a little embarrassed, he asked if I would help clean an open wound on his head. It needed daily attendance otherwise it would ooze a very distasteful substance.

This started our daily ritual. I would go to his room where he would be sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed neatly and very nicely. Some mornings he already had his hearing aids in and some mornings he struggled to replace the battery, so I would have to knock a little louder.

I would clean the wounds on top of his head, and we would chat. About life and about God. Pure Christian love poured from his heart, and in his gentle, southern voice, he would share wisdom gathered from a life that had been long, at times hard, but at the end of the day very fruitful.

Some mornings while I tended to him, I would just start crying, visualizing the scenes of the beach that day, and wondering how someone so gentle and kind could survive and carry so much love still.  

These few minutes were my favorite. Not the hullabaloo and the celebrations, the speeches, the music, and the fanfare… But those quiet moments with a beautiful soul, who had endured so much, and yet at the end of the day was able to say, “God is good. His grace is sufficient for me.”

I haven’t really thought about this moment in a couple of years. The last 10 years have been full and sometimes I worry about all the stories I have forgotten or didn’t manage to get written down. And honestly, the emotional taxation of almost 2 decades of spending time with these dear national treasures makes one want to pause or even run away.

But then I think about these passages of time with Russell… where I saw the face of God in a 94-year-old man. And it’s all worth it. These memories are a whisper saying, “This is still important. You have to tell people. They have to remember.”


Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief; it was loyalty and love. The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge — and pray God we have not lost it — that there is a profound, moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. You were here to liberate, not to conquer, and so you and those others did not doubt your cause. And you were right not to doubt.

- Ronald Reagan at the 40th Anniversary of D-Day

We live in a generation of fatigue and historical amnesia. People have fallen asleep and forgotten.

This is why it’s important on the 80th anniversary of D-Day for me to go over there and meet with the very last of the last. To make this jump to commemorate and honor them. It’s my responsibility to tell their story, the story witnessed through the eyes of someone who grew from up from childhood to adulthood with these national treasures.

Faith and I will jump into Normandy and we will celebrate the gallant boys we’ve known. "Boys?” you say. Yes. Magic happens when the vets return to Normandy. The clock is turned back and they become boys again. They tell silly jokes, vie for attention, act like they’ve never seen a wheelchair before, and show off for the pretty girls.

One year we were at a friend’s chateau, talking with a couple of D-Day vets. An older man in a t-shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers kept trying to interject. No one way paying attention to him. He walked off in a huff exclaiming, “Fine! If no one will listen to me, I’ll go put my jump jacket on and see if that helps.” He came back a few minutes later so adorned and received the attention he was looking for. The girls and I laughed so hard about it, and later would tease him endlessly.

It was Guy Whidden, 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division.

I hope you all will join us virtually as we go back to honor and commemorate. 10 years ago, ages 14, 16, and 17, my sisters and I went around the countryside endeavoring to meet every veteran possible. Faith had a “menu” of old WWII songs she sang acapella to the veterans. I had a recorder, pen, and paper. We thought it might be the last time for a gathering like this. It wasn’t the last. But you never know when it will be. And this time, I’m pretty sure the 80th will be the last.


I asked Russell Pickett if, knowing everything he knew now; if witnessing the horrors and the bloodshed that could never be erased from his memory, and if knowing he would carry those physical and emotional scars with him his entire life, would he do it again? Would he do it again knowing everything? 

And his answer was, “Of course, Liberty. Of course, I would do it again.” 


Operation Meatball

Honoring Veterans & Connecting Them With the Youth of Today

The Children Take Normandy: Bridge to History Launches

When I was in the single digits, my dad took my siblings and me to Bunker Hill in Boston, Massachusetts. He lined us up and told us to, “Hold until you see the whites of their eyes,” then Charge! There were no Redcoats in front of us. Nothing but a grassy hill and an old monument, but, when we charged, we gave it all our 6, 7, and 8 year old hearts could give. We saw the Redcoats and the fate of the American Revolution rested on US at that moment. I never forgot it.

A little over a week ago, the inaugural Bridge to History Children’s Program wrapped up in Normandy, France. We spent 9 days adventuring through the Churchill War Rooms of London, England, retaking the beachhead at Bloody Omaha, laying wreaths to our fallen Allies at their last resting place, recalling the bravery of the Bedford Boys, learning about French culture through the local school children, and driving the backroads of Normandy in WWII Jeeps and trucks.

Without a doubt, this was a life-changing trip. Not just for the students, but for the parents and for me.

To experience Normandy and D-Day through the eyes of a 9 year old is something else. Untainted by the madness of world politics, there is a purity to their perspective.

“Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: “What does his voice sound like? What games does he like best…” They ask: “How old is he? How many brothers does he have?… How much money does his father make?” Only then do they think they know him. If you tell grown-ups, “I saw a beautiful red brick house, with geraniums at the windows and doves on the roof,” they won’t be able to imagine such a house. You have to tell them, “I saw a house worth a hundred thousand francs.” Then they exclaim, “What a pretty house!”

The Little Prince by Antoine De Sainte-Exupery

The tactile nature of climbing in old German bunkers, through trenches, or the gun emplacements of Longues-sur-Mer, brought to life what the children had been reading about their whole lives.

They visualized what adults can’t see. They played war, and they were fighting the Germans again. But when taps came over the speakers at Colleville American Cemetery and the flag was lowered, they held a salute. No one told them to. They just knew.

Over the next few weeks, I will be recapping Bridge to History and sharing writings from the children - my student ambassadors to history.

They came well prepared, ready to engage, and through the fire hydrant of learning they received, they left with new goals and dreams of how to preserve history.

Our legacy starts with the children. They are the future. After the 9 days I spent overseas with my students, watching them embrace history so fully, I feel re-inspired. To hear 9 year-old Dyche tell me he wanted to bring his children to Normandy, and 12 year old Charlotte declare she never wanted to wash her hands again after holding an original photo of the Bedford Boys on Omaha Beach… it makes me smile. They get it.


B2H

Bridge to History‘s inaugural Children’s World War II Boot Camp is complete! If you followed along on Instagram or Facebook and saw any of the photos and videos, you will have a glimpse of just how fantastic it was. These kids – my students - were enthusiastic and engaged and articulate and so much fun! I’m so proud of how hard they worked and what great energy they gave to everything they saw, and everyone they met.

If you have been encouraged or inspired by what you have seen, and if you would like to see this program continue, would you donate to Operation Meatball today? This is a volunteer run nonprofit organization. No one takes a salary. Everything goes to cover our expenses. Whether it’s $20, $200, or $2000, every penny will help us get the next program rolling!

"My War" as Told Through the Art and Letters of Tracy Sugarman

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When you are a child, the first rule of picking out a book is, “does it have good pictures?" If the answer is yes, then you open the book and read it. It the answer is no, you put the book back on its shelf. Why read a book with no illustrations?

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Then life catches up on you, you grow up and and have to realize that books aren’t all about pictures. Before you know it, all of your “adult” books just have words in them - long, sophisticated words that little children wouldn’t dream of knowing. And if they could, they would dismiss them as nightmares.

That’s pretty much what happened to me. My shelves (though I love each and every one in them), are nonetheless filled with picture-less books with words starting at 5 syllables each. They are long, sometimes dry, and full of lots of and lots of information. I read them and enjoy. I don’t think about the fact that they are picture-less.

However, once in a blue moon - when the unicorns and werewolves come out and play together- the 6 year old in me pops up and demands that I find books with good pictures in them.

That’s how I stumbled on this particular book, My War by Tracy Sugarman.

“disaster in the channel”

About a two years ago, I was visiting my brother in Florida and happened to stop by the Sanford renowned book shop, “Maya Books and Music.” It was completely charming, and I would have been happy walking away with half the store. But since my pocketbook groaned and declared otherwise, I decided I would have to be satisfied with this little find.

The moment I opened its cover, I was struck by the gorgeous watercolors and sketched images liberally distributed throughout the pages: simple pencil portraits of servicemen the author had encountered, dramatic scenes from a storm in the English channel, friend Tommy doing laundry near a windowsill of daffodils.

“Tommy and his laundry, with daffodils”

Alongside these images were detailed letters to his wife, "darling Junie," narrating his life as a young ensign in the US Navy the months surrounding the greatest naval invasion in history, "D-Day," and interspersed with his retrospective commentary years later when he would publish his drawings and letters.

The impetus for “My War” came from a parting gift Sugarman’s wife, June, gave him as he was preparing to go overseas in January, 1944.

“It’s a little something for both us us.”

I edged open the package and peered inside. Sketch pads! And pens and a tin of watercolors!

“How wonderful! You’re too much, Junie. But those are for me. "What’s for you?”

… Very quietly she said, “For me, it’s your sanity. And maybe some pictures so that I’ll know you’re alive and kicking! Hold on real tight, darling. You’ll be back and I’ll be waiting.”

“Junie” did wait, and hundreds of letters later, thousands of miles traveled, a great Naval Invasion, and a World War, Sugarman came home. At end of the book, Sugarman regrets that he was not able to save all the “funny, wonderful, life-sustaining letters” he received from his wife the months and months he was away. “They were read and reread, folded and unfolded until tattered, and finally abandoned when the next sea-soiled envelope arrived.” But thanks to Junie’s care, his did, giving us this thought-provoking and informative narration.

Tracy and his wife june “a summer day at ocean view”

In his preface, Sugarman says,

“I leave it to the historians to chronicle the strategies and dynamics of the global conflict of World War II. With the perspective gained from more than half a century of scholarship, they delineate the battle lines and campaigns, the tactics and struggles of the world I inherited after Pearl Harbor. They know a great deal about “the war”. But they didn’t live my war.

It is my conviction that ever sailor and soldier in World War II fought his own war. It was a struggle that only sometimes permitted him to see the enemy. But as he stared into the darkness from his ship or beachhead, he very soon began to see himself. So new to manhood, he watched himself grow through fear and loneliness, boredom and exaltation. It was an inescapable odyssey for each of us who served.”

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And such an odyssey he paints! Beautiful and haunting at times:

There are those long twilights here now. The sky is billions of miles away, and you feel very much alone. The water stretches away forever -no waves, hardly a ripple. The ships sit alone in the water, each in its own pool of aloneness. The sky arcs up from millions of empty miles beyond the shore. And straight up there’s nothing. It’s big and empty and very quiet. The sun goes away, and it’s still too big, too light. The emptiness comes off the water and crawls right into you.” (July 1 - T. B.Robertson)

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At other times, he writes the raw and truthful: realities of the high price war takes on youth and innocence:

The inconsistency between the American fighter and the American sailor or soldier is staggering. I remember so well how inadequate I felt when I tried to tell you how wonderful those guys were on the beaches last June. I wouldn’t take back a word of it. I feel now as I did then, but coupled with it goes a feeling of wonder. Wonder as to how such marvelous fighters can be such rotten people… Their conceit, their arrogance, their obscenity and vulgarity in front of anyone shames the life out of me… They never apologize for our own shortcomings, and get a majestic sort of pleasure in making the English painfully aware of theirs. In every conversation the “biggest,” the “newest,” the “cleanest,” the “fastest,” the most and the best of the good, the least of the bad… Individually, I would do anything for any of them. But as a group they are the antithesis of anything I desire. I don’t want to close our eyes and pretend the bad and the wrong and the ignorant aren’t there, darling. Those things are real, and too important to both of us. I want only to reject their standards and their values. They revolt and shock me. (Feb 23, 1945)

In his retrospective commentary, Sugarman adds some thoughts to the harsh words he spoke about the American Serviceman back in 1945:

One of my “kids”

One of my “kids”

There are unexpected surprises that one finds when unearthing an intimate record from one’s youth. The most astonishing to me are those letters from the war that describe my perceptions of many of the men with whom I served. They swing from admiration to revulsion, from pride to anger, from pleasure in their company to embarrassment at their provincialism and lack of sensitivity, yet older is not wiser… It is hard to remember how young we all were when we went of to war in 1944. Most of the sailors on my ships really were the “kids” I wrote of in my letter to June. Put to the test of physical courage, they were remarkable, often accomplishing the seemingly impossible and usually with pride and good humor. When off on liberty or leave in a war-torn England, however, their ignorance and immaturity often displayed itself in ways that were embarrassing to their fellow servicemen and arrogantly hostile to our hosts.

For the most part, these were kids who had never been away from home, who were fearful and tried to cover it with bravado, who had little or no sense of history, and often showed that they resented being there. American education had ill prepared them to understand how uniquely fortunate their own country was due to geography, not because we were born to be “number one in everything.” Nor did most of them understand how indebted we were to those who fought alone for so many years, although the shattered homes and churches and towns around them bore the dreadful testimony to the high price that the English had paid for all our freedom. For too many of the Americans, this war was not really our war. It was their war, “and if it wasn’t for us Yanks, they’d sure as hell lose it.” Thankfully, as a nation, we are a long way from the provincialism that was so rampant in many Americans in World War Two. -Sugarman

But even though he had hard words to say about the things he saw, he never once took for granted the sacrifice these boys were making.

“Young men dying seems to me, somehow, the greatest tragedy. The acceptance of death has been something new to me. And I know that death serves only to accentuate the love of living we both share so dearly. The bridge between is so complete, so final that you finally stop thinking of its terrible proximity and cling rather to pulsating life. Your laughter is a little quicker, your thinking is a little less shallow, your energies and ambitions fired with a new urgency.” (August 17)


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For our heart’s sake, not all his letters dwell on the hardships and seriousness of the job he and millions of the boys were experiencing… there are plenty of carefree and amusing accounts, including one which makes you marvel at the serendipitous happenings that sometimes occur in war:

“I had been napping, riding out the foul weather that had stopped all our work off the Robertson, when Mike, the stewards’ mate, excitedly came in my room and shook my shoulder. “Mr. Sweetenin’! Wake up! There’s a Lieutenant Sugarman looking for an Ensign Sugarman. Is you he?” I stared at the grinning sailor and bolted out of bed and raced up to Operations. The signalman pointed to the LST lying off our bow. "Signal came from there, sir.”

I stared across the water at the ship, rolling wildly in the windy chop of the Channel. Marvin here? It was too impossible to believe. But how marvelous if it were so! My older brother had been my role model in so many ways, and I had been the best man at his wedding. But I hadn’t seen him now in over a year. When I was getting my commission at Notre Dame, Marv and his wife, Roni, were stationed in Alabama… In my last letter from the folks, they were rejoicing that Roni was expecting a baby, their first grandchild. But not a word that Marvin might be shipping out to Europe. And now a few hundred yards away, he was coming to Utah Beach! I could just imagine the folks’ faces when they got the news!"

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In his letter to Junie, he related their first “meeting.”

The weather got more and more wild, and there was no way of getting there. So tonight I called their ship by radio and summoned Marv to the radio! Although strictly against regulation, it was too great a temptation. And honey, he sounded so wonderful! The magic of a familiar voice from home is something so good it can’t be described. Imagine, angel, having Marv right here on my beach! … The conversation was pretty crazy, both of us were so damn excited.

[Sugarman] “Hey, I understand you’re gonna be a father! Over.”

[Marv] “You’re yelling me! Over.”

[Sugarman] "I didn’t think you had it in you. Over.”

[Marv] “Are you kidding! Over.”

[Sugarman] I think it’s wonderful! You got a bottle of Scotch? Over.”

[Marv] “Lots of it. Get the hell over here! Over.”

It’s easy to see in their delighted faces the most happy surprise of being reunited with a bit of home on the beachheads of Normandy.


Another time, he relates an amusing incident that happened shortly before he was shipped overseas to England:

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“Late in January 1944, orders came directing our whole outfit to move out. We had all trained exhaustively and were eager to get to the English staging areas…. As we were packing to leave the base, unsettling new orders arrived.”

Sugarman and two other Ensigns, Tommy Wolfe and “Andy” Anderson, were detached to train a new batch of sailors soon to be arriving. Flattered but disappointed, he resigned himself to the fact it’d be a few months more before going over. However 3 days later, they received new orders: “Three officers and thirty men were to proceed immediately to Long Beach, NY to await transport to the ETO.” There was just one hitch… their new crew turned out to be more in the style of the Dirty Dozen rather then the “ship, shape, and bristol fashion” ones they’d just said the adieus to.

Sugarman wasn’t so sure. He’d grown up in Syracuse, NY and the only “tough characters” he was used to were the ones he met on the Lacrosse field and shook hands with at the end of each match.

“I finally took my buddy and fellow ensign, Tommy Wolfe, aside. A tough, street-smart New York kid himself, Tommy looked and sounded like Jimmy Cagney. He grinned at my concern about our new crews. “Relax, Sug. This is the biggest break these characters could dream of. If we’re tough and fair with them, they’ll work out great. I grew up with guys like them.””

Just as Tommy said, it turned out to be okay. “But I wondered how, at twenty-two, I could make these men believe I was tough enough to take them to war.”

On the train north to New York, June rode with the released prisoners. At the first opportunity, I took her aside. “Are you okay? They giving you a hard time?” She laughed. “They’re kids,” she said. “They’re tough kids. I wouldn’t want to be the Germans when they hit the beach. But they’re really very sweet.” I stared at my wife. “Sweet?” “Well,” she said, grinning, “they’re very sweet to me.””


The book is rich and full. The layers of depth and insight that comes from a mere 23 year-old are striking and cause you to go back and re-read the thoughts he penned to his wife during the tempestuous 18 months he spent overseas. 18 months that changed his life and the lives of millions around the world.

I do think have left me unscathed physically and mentally. I do not feel “older thank my years” nor “hardened by the crucible of fire.” Nothing I’ve seen has changed anything fundamentally in me. Possibly my resolution has sharpened some, my enthusiasm slightly tempered, my tolerance and understanding somewhat broadened. I think that’s happened to most of us in some degrees. Being here, there has had to be an assertion of self and independent spirit. If these are bounded by humility and a decent memory of what actually was, then it should be a healthy influence, not corruption. -Tracy Sugarman

Thank you for the lessons, Mr. Sugarman. And thank you for the pictures.


All quotes and images are taken from the book, “My War'“ by Tracy Sugarman


A Story for the Coast Guard Birthday

PC. Jocelyne Paris

PC. Jocelyne Paris

Happy 228th birthday to the United States Coast Guard, and this very darling Combat Coastie, Jack.

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On June 6th, 1944, Jack had a rope tied around his waist as he swam the chilly waters of the D-Day Beaches, collecting dead and wounded soldiers. His unit, Rescue Flotilla One, managed to save more 400 men on that day.

“The current was going 15 to 20 mph coming out of the North Sea. That channel had a terrible current and you’d go to reach for a soldier and tried to save him and they’d wash away from you... We did get a hold of some of them,” added Hamlin. “But they’d either have an arm gone or half their face blown off. It was the sickest thing you ever wanted to see. Pulling them out of the water was the worst thing in the world." / Hamlin and his fellow rescuers braved 48-degree water, jumping in to haul out soldiers and airmen. By the time Rescue Flotilla One was decommissioned in December 1944 they had saved 1,438 souls" [excerpt from Coast Guard Compass: Official Blog of the US Coast Guard.]

Two years ago, Jack (then 95) thought it would be a good idea to go sky diving. Now age 97, he hasn't lost one bit of charm and continues to be a stellar example of the courage of the US Coast Guard.


Support Operation Meatball

Chino Planes of Fame Airshow / May 5-6, 2018

Liberty with WWII Veteran, George Ciampa at the Planes of Fame Air Show

Liberty with WWII Veteran, George Ciampa at the Planes of Fame Air Show

The first weekend in May, I was invited out by the Veteran's History Project to the Planes of Fame Airshow in Chino, California. This event has been on my bucket list for several years now, and it did not disappoint!! My friend, Don Baer, head of the Veteran's History Project, had tirelessly worked for months to bring together a stellar group of guest veterans which included such names as:

Dick Cole: the last surviving Doolittle Raider
Lauren Bruner: USS Arizona Survivor
Ed Lopez: WW2 & Korean War P-47 Pilot
Doc Pepping: Combat Medic with the 101st Airborne Division
Sarge Lenticum: Vietnam veteran who served 3 tours with the 101st Airborne
Muriel Engelman: Army Nurse - Battle of the Bulge
Bob Friend: Tuskegee Airman
Vince Speranza: 101st Airborne - Battle of the Bulge, and many, many more.

D-Day veterans, Pearl Harbor veterans, Air Corps, Flying Tigers... The years, the history, the experience, all gathered together, under one tent. It was spectacular. 

Each day the tent would fill with spectators of all ages, excited to meet Living History. Little children who just wanted to shake the hand of a veteran, retired servicemen and women who wanted to talk aviation with the WWII ace, the airborne reenactor who wanted to meet the original Paratrooper, and then the random sightseer who was there for the planes and hotdog stands, knowing little about history or WWII, but left filled with respect, admiration, and a new understanding of the sacrifices made for our country. 

Vince Speranza (101st Airborne WWII) talks with P-47 Pilot, Ed Lopez

I didn't see much of the air show (typical for me) as I ended up spending most the time chatting away with the veterans. How could I not?? It was such a fabulous opportunity to visit with men from all areas of the war.

I shared a few words, and a few laughs with USS Arizona survivor, Lauren Bruner, the first afternoon. Mr. Bruner had a dramatic escape from this tragic ship, suffering 73% burns.

A few months after Pearl Harbor, despite his terrible injuries, his knowledge and abilities were needed, and he was called up by the Navy. Four years later, his war ended in Tokyo Bay with the surrender of the Japanese.  

Wilbur Richardson: B-17 Ball Turret Gunner - 30 missions.

Sometimes I wonder if Doc Pepping is the reason the sun comes up every morning. His cheerful personality and hilarious sense of humor makes him a delight to be around. During the war, Doc parachuted into Normandy on D-Day serving as a combat medic with the 101st Airborne. 

It's always great to see our friends from the Airborne Demonstration Team!

WWII Veteran, Vince Speranza, keeping the attention of these young fellas. 

WWII Veteran Larry Stevens surprised us with a visit to the Veteran's tent. After chatting a few minutes with Mr. Stevens, I learned that he was in the same bomb group as the uncle of a close family friend. From then on we were buddies. Mr. Stevens is another man who helps the sun to rise in the morning with his grateful, cheerful, optimistic personality. After meeting him, it was impossible to stop smiling.

Veterans Ed McMullen (Flying Tigers) and Col. Dick Cole waiting to be presented with a special award from the Chinese government. 

Mr. and Mrs. McMullen. Mr. McMullen was a B24 nose-gunner who flew "the hump" in the China-Burma-India theater with the 308th Heavy Bomb Group, "Flying Tigers." Meanwhile Mrs. McMullen worked as a Riveter at a Lockheed defense plant. She had one brother serving in the Pacific and the other at the Battle of the Bulge. Thankfully, both made it home. Mr. and Mrs. McMullen have been married for over 70 years and are just as precious as can be.

Jack Gutman, a Navy Corpsman not only at the D-Day Invasion of Normandy, but also the Battle of Okinawa in the Pacific. 

WWII and Korean War veteran, Ed Lopez sits behind his impressive medal display. 

Last photo, but definitely not the least!! My new friend, Bob Friend. On day 1 of the air show, Mr. Friend and his daughter were the first to arrive. So I got to spend a good half hour chatting away before the rest of the group arrived, followed by the crowds. During the war, Mr. Friend served with the elite Tuskegee Airmen. But though we talked a good deal about his service in the war, hearing about his fascinating and hilarious family was really the icing on the cake. Couldn't have been a better start to the air show weekend.

It was a smashing weekend at Chino. Many, many thanks to Don Baer and the team of the Planes of Fame - Veteran's History Project who worked tirelessly all weekend (and long before) making it an awesome experience for the veterans and spectators. 


My Two English Gramps

I think it is no coincidence that the two men who most profoundly impacted my interest and passion in preserving the history of WW2 were born on the same day. Les Womack and Peter Scott, my two English Grandpas. Today would have been their 95th and 92nd birthdays.

I was 14 when I met them. It was my first time in Normandy, France.

Gramps Womack was staying at our hotel on Juno Beach. He had the loveliest lilting Yorkshire accent and was the ultimate gentleman, proud of his service in the British Army during WW2.

Grandpa Scott was touring the D-Day beaches with his Navy chums. He was a "refined cockney," whose years in the Royal Navy had left him with a swagger and a brilliant sense of humor.

Shortly after, between emails, letters, and phones calls, they became my adopted English Grandpas.

Both Gramps Womack and Grandpa Scott were simply the most wonderful to me, and I was very close with them. I have rarely written about them here, partly because the loss of both is still fresh, and partly because sometimes the most precious aspects of our lives are also the most private. However, I will say emphatically that I don't know what my life would have been without them. Certainly, there would be no Operation Meatball.

To have one adopted Gramps is a special thing. But to have unique and separate relationships with two Gramps across the ocean is something I would never have dreamed of being blessed with.

I think of them every day, but especially today. . . on their birthdays.