iamkris
Member
Sometimes I think the good Lord puts me in situations hoping that I'll recognize what is important in life and to stop being so caught up in my own day-to-day trials.
So I had an awful time getting home from a business trip to Europe last week. Multiple cancelled flights, Heathrow, Milan, Frankfurt airports were essentially shut down and Lufthansa lost my luggage (they still have no idea where it is). I finally found a flight home through Belgium several days after I was supposed to leave.
Typical of my weathered-traveler habits (I fly over 75K miles a year), I got in my seat in Brussels, put in earplugs, Bose noise cancelling headset and started some work and occasionally glancing at a Small Arms Review magazine.
I noticed an older gentleman slowly shuffle to his seat a few rows in front of me. *He had a 101st Airborne hat and pin on. *Just before we took off, I saw a 30-something man come back to him. *I overheard him say in a thick accent "my wife told me you've only had a cup of coffee so far this morning...here's some granola bars we had for our kid's snack."
Half-way through the flight, curiosity overtook me. I decided I needed to speak to this gentleman. I excused myself and asked him if he was in Europe touring battlefields. In fact, he said he was. He was invited by the town of Bastogne to come for their annual commemoration of the battle. Let me tell you a little of our conversation.
Vincent went to war at 19 years old. He was a replacement troop after D-Day and was with the 502nd as a M1919A4 machine gunner. His unit was in Bastogne when the Germans launched the Ardennes Offensive in December 1944…the Battle of the Bulge. After the war, Vincent worked hard to forget the war and got married, had kids, grandkids and a successful career…he tried to never think about his time in the army. He was hesitant to go back when invited this year…but he had never been back in 66 years and there are few left alive from his unit. He went.
A Belgian major who had researched every unit helped him find where his machine gun emplacement was stationed…Vincent told me of a morning attack when the Germans got tangled up in barbed wire at 300 yards. He said “God forgive me” when he told of cutting them to pieces with his Browning. He told of visiting a church that was a field hospital. The memories of the smells and sounds of the wounded came flooding back and he started to cry. An old woman at the church hobbled up to him, patted him on the shoulder and said in broken English, “Is OK. *I know why you cry”. Her grandson saluted him. He spoke of ripping down curtains from houses in the town to use as blankets for the wounded. He told me of firing a bazooka at a German tank and seeing it bounce off of the armor. *He told me of the warmth of the Belgian people. How we are not considered to be ugly Americans there and how they teach of the heroism of the troops in the schools.
Vincent said he never spoke of the war to his family. He said he vowed to go home and tell his grandchildren of what it means to believe in something so much that you would lay down your life. Of how people are connected and how they should love and support one another.
I shook his hand and thanked him. Told him it was an absolute honor to meet him. Tears were streaming down his face.
By the way, I saw the couple who gave him the granola bars in the Customs line at the end of the flight. I thanked them for doing that. They said they had been talking with him at the gate and found out that his unit had liberated their home town.
Merry Christmas. Make sure you thank a veteran next time you see one.
Side note: A year ago, I saw another old vet on a flight back from Germany. I stopped and spoke to him and it ended up being Ed Mauser from the 506th Regiment…the “Band of Brothers”. He was in Europe speaking on a Steven Ambrose tour…great opportunity to meet him. 2 great experiences in as many years.
So I had an awful time getting home from a business trip to Europe last week. Multiple cancelled flights, Heathrow, Milan, Frankfurt airports were essentially shut down and Lufthansa lost my luggage (they still have no idea where it is). I finally found a flight home through Belgium several days after I was supposed to leave.
Typical of my weathered-traveler habits (I fly over 75K miles a year), I got in my seat in Brussels, put in earplugs, Bose noise cancelling headset and started some work and occasionally glancing at a Small Arms Review magazine.
I noticed an older gentleman slowly shuffle to his seat a few rows in front of me. *He had a 101st Airborne hat and pin on. *Just before we took off, I saw a 30-something man come back to him. *I overheard him say in a thick accent "my wife told me you've only had a cup of coffee so far this morning...here's some granola bars we had for our kid's snack."
Half-way through the flight, curiosity overtook me. I decided I needed to speak to this gentleman. I excused myself and asked him if he was in Europe touring battlefields. In fact, he said he was. He was invited by the town of Bastogne to come for their annual commemoration of the battle. Let me tell you a little of our conversation.
Vincent went to war at 19 years old. He was a replacement troop after D-Day and was with the 502nd as a M1919A4 machine gunner. His unit was in Bastogne when the Germans launched the Ardennes Offensive in December 1944…the Battle of the Bulge. After the war, Vincent worked hard to forget the war and got married, had kids, grandkids and a successful career…he tried to never think about his time in the army. He was hesitant to go back when invited this year…but he had never been back in 66 years and there are few left alive from his unit. He went.
A Belgian major who had researched every unit helped him find where his machine gun emplacement was stationed…Vincent told me of a morning attack when the Germans got tangled up in barbed wire at 300 yards. He said “God forgive me” when he told of cutting them to pieces with his Browning. He told of visiting a church that was a field hospital. The memories of the smells and sounds of the wounded came flooding back and he started to cry. An old woman at the church hobbled up to him, patted him on the shoulder and said in broken English, “Is OK. *I know why you cry”. Her grandson saluted him. He spoke of ripping down curtains from houses in the town to use as blankets for the wounded. He told me of firing a bazooka at a German tank and seeing it bounce off of the armor. *He told me of the warmth of the Belgian people. How we are not considered to be ugly Americans there and how they teach of the heroism of the troops in the schools.
Vincent said he never spoke of the war to his family. He said he vowed to go home and tell his grandchildren of what it means to believe in something so much that you would lay down your life. Of how people are connected and how they should love and support one another.
I shook his hand and thanked him. Told him it was an absolute honor to meet him. Tears were streaming down his face.
By the way, I saw the couple who gave him the granola bars in the Customs line at the end of the flight. I thanked them for doing that. They said they had been talking with him at the gate and found out that his unit had liberated their home town.
Merry Christmas. Make sure you thank a veteran next time you see one.
Side note: A year ago, I saw another old vet on a flight back from Germany. I stopped and spoke to him and it ended up being Ed Mauser from the 506th Regiment…the “Band of Brothers”. He was in Europe speaking on a Steven Ambrose tour…great opportunity to meet him. 2 great experiences in as many years.
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