D Day

 

 

I'm a day late since D-day was yesterday, and I probably should have associated this post with Dec 7 (Pearl Harbor), or May 8th (VE Day) but here's some personal history that sort of slapped me in the face when I realized it was D-day.

When I was a kid my aunt Thelma had a great big upright radio in my grandparents Stearns's living room. It had a shortwave band, and when we were visiting, which was often, I'd spend a lot of time listening to the shortwave band.

When I was still pretty young I remember listening for a couple of minutes to one of Hitler's speeches. I didn't understand what he was saying, but the man was a powerful speaker, and the way he was saying it was moving.

When I was eleven (1941) I was sitting in front of the radio on December 7th (A Sunday) listening to an American station. The adults were in the dining room having after-lunch coffee. Suddenly there was a report about an attack on Pearl Harbor. I didn't really understand the significance of it, but I ran into the dining room and told everyone. I don't think they believed me at first, but they all came into the living room and got the straight skinny directly from the radio.

A year later, when I was twelve, I bought a Detroit News route and started delivering the paper every day after school and on Saturday and Sunday. (Autumn's house was on my route, but her dad was in the Army then, down south with the family, working on the war effort.)

Every once in a while over the next three years I'd get called out in the middle of the night to deliver an "extra." Talk about breaking news! I'd go downtown, get my papers, ride back to my route and ride down the streets shouting: "Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Marines land on Okinawa!" Porch lights would pop on and people in pajamas and bathrobes would pop out. It was an education, and by the time the war ended I was pretty much current on current affairs.

On Sunday, May 13th, 1945 I was in front of my aunt's radio again. The Germans (what was left of them) had surrendered the previous Tuesday and England was saved. I'll never forget what came over the shortwave band that morning directly from England: a boy's choir singing the Anglican hymn, "Victory." Because of the vagaries of shortwave the sound wavered in and out, which seemed appropriate for some reason. I know I cried, listening to those voices -- kids my age who were saved from the battle.

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

The strife is o'er, the battle done,

the victory of life is won;

the song of triumph has begun.

Alleluia!

When I hear that hymn I always hear those small voices wavering toward me through the ether, and I still cry. With joy.