Election Day 2000 - Normandy, France

Election Day 2000: What Would Those Lying in the American Cemetery in Normandy Think of All This Election Mess?

SAINT LO, FRANCE -- November, 2000

PREPARATION TASK LIST FOR EUROPE TRIP LEAVING SEPT. 9TH
Aug. 15th: Apply for absentee ballot
Sept. 1st: Don't forget to apply for absentee ballot
Sept 8th: Too late. Have to try to apply for absentee ballot from overseas
Oct. 15th: I log on to Illinois election website from an Internet café in Colmar, France. I find out it's too late to get an absentee ballot applied for and returned in time to vote in the election.

I have been a political junkie most of my life and have never missed an election before, both voting in them and watching the returns late into the night. During a wonderful three-month trip of Europe on motorcycles with my son, one of the few downsides has been the realization that with a hotly contested national election approaching, I was not going to be able to take part.

It is with some measure of guilt and remorse at not voting, therefore, that I save for this November 7th Election Day, our third day in Normandy, a trip to the American War Cemetery near the little town of St. Laurent-sur-Mer just above Omaha Beach.. The first two days in Normandy have been intense enough -- filled with walking over D-Day beaches, climbing through German pillboxes, reading of the French Resistance fighters in the wonderful museum in Caen, chatting first with our 84-year old hotel manager about his experiences as an 18-year old villager on June 6th, 1944 and then with an American veteran from Minnesota who had made it through the landings unhurt.

Before we leave the hotel, I tell Eric of visiting a military cemetery outside of St. Petersburg, Russia (then called Leningrad) and hearing sentimental violin music playing continually over public address speakers. The melodrama cheapened the experience. Here was an overwhelming loss (Russia did lose 20 MILLION people in the war, after all, more than any other country). The numbers should speak for themselves.

"Will there be music playing at this cemetery, too?" Eric asks me.

"No, I doubt it," I reply.

We ride into an empty parking lot. Good, we won't have to share this experience with a thousand tourists.

As soon as we get to the memorial just before the cemetery, chimes ring twelve noon. OK, I think, that's fine; church bells are always nice. But then a set of electronic church bells follows that with God Bless America, then Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever. Oh, God, I thought, please stop. They go silent. Thank you.

Behind the memorial, there is "The Garden of the Missing" with a whole wall listing the names of those soldiers whose remains were never found or positively identified. The 1,557 names are in alphabetical order. I don't know anybody who died at Normandy, in my family or otherwise, but I naturally gravitate to my own last name. I follow down to the "S" columns to see if there is any "Stern" listed. There is one: "Lawrence Stern" -- my oldest brother's name. I take a picture of this to send to him in Arizona.

We see a group of about 30 Americans, mostly men but a few women. I talk to one of them and find out they're military, based in Germany, and that they are on a bus tour visiting the historical sites, including Normandy. Interesting that they would do this, but appropriate. You can't have enough sense of history.

GI's looking down on Omaha Beach

From where we stand, you can see where the cemetery starts -- a short walk. We start toward it and as we get closer, you can see how huge it is. The white crosses just go on and on, thousands upon thousands of them -- in perfect symmetry. I had seen the movie Saving Private Ryan with its opening and closing sequences set here, but viewing it on a movie screen is not the same as actually being here.

It is appropriately rainy and overcast. But all the rain in recent days has kept the grass a bright green.

I am told that the German cemetery for its war dead down the road a few miles is much less impressive -- not kept up, the crosses not in alignment, a rather dreary place. Here the lawns are immaculate...

... the grave markers in perfect alignment ...

the shrubbery and trees pruned perfectly. I have some rather mundane suburban homeowner thoughts such as, "How do they trim the grass so close to the markers?" And, "How come there's no crab grass? They must spend a lot of money on maintenance here." But then comes the overriding thought: IT'S THE LEAST THEY CAN DO.

Some of the crosses mark remains without any identification. On them is written, "HERE LIES IN HONORED GLORY, A COMRADE IN ARMS, KNOWN BUT TO GOD."

The other crosses -- along with a few Stars of David -- have names on them, telling what state and part of the service the person was from.

They are from every state in the Union, with all types of ethnic names. This one says: EFRAIM LOEW, PVT 121 INF 8 DIV NJ JULY 3, 1944

Most of the crosses look exactly alike but one catches my eye, as it has a bouquet of flowers placed next to it. A son or daughter -- or maybe grandson or granddaughter -- must have been here recently.

I walk closer to read what is written. It says:

WARREN K. CARNEY
PFC 506 PRCHT INF 101 ABN DIV
IOWA JUNE 6 1944

Warren Carney was from Iowa, a private first class in the infantry -- probably a 19-year old kid scared out of his mind that morning of June 6th. Apparently he was a parachutist, which meant he may have dropped in the night before. How long did he last, I wondered? Did he even make it to the ground alive?

What would Warren Carney and Efraim Loew and all the other servicemen and women lying here think of all this election mess? I think they'd be confused and frustrated, just like we are, but yet trusting of the democratic process in the long run. They'd point to what happened here, and say "You're dealing with an election in the middle of peacetime. Come on."

Surely we can take a little uncertainty for a while, and then unite behind whoever is declared the winner.

It's the least we can do.

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As soon as we get to the memorial just before the cemetery, chimes ring twelve noon. OK, I think, that's fine; church bells are always nice. But then a set of electronic church bells follows that with God Bless America, then Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever. Oh, God, I thought, please stop. They go silent. Thank you.
Behind the memorial, there is "The Garden of the Missing" with a whole wall listing the names of those soldiers whose remains were never found or positively identified. The 1,557 names are in alphabetical order. I don't know anybody who died at Normandy, in my family or otherwise, but I naturally gravitate to my own last name. I follow down to the "S" columns to see if there is any "Stern" listed. There is one: "Lawrence Stern" -- my oldest brother's name. I take a picture of this to send to him in Arizona.
We see a group of about 30 Americans, mostly men but a few women. I talk to one of them and find out they're military, based in Germany, and that they are on a bus tour visiting the historical sites, including Normandy. Interesting that they would do this, but appropriate. You can't have enough sense of history.	GI's looking down on Omaha Beach
From where we stand, you can see where the cemetery starts -- a short walk. We start toward it and as we get closer, you can see how huge it is. The white crosses just go on and on, thousands upon thousands of them -- in perfect symmetry. I had seen the movie Saving Private Ryan with its opening and closing sequences set here, but viewing it on a movie screen is not the same as actually being here. It is appropriately rainy and overcast. But all the rain in recent days has kept the grass a bright green.
I am told that the German cemetery for its war dead down the road a few miles is much less impressive -- not kept up, the crosses not in alignment, a rather dreary place. Here the lawns are immaculate...
... the grave markers in perfect alignment ...
the shrubbery and trees pruned perfectly. I have some rather mundane suburban homeowner thoughts such as, "How do they trim the grass so close to the markers?" And, "How come there's no crab grass? They must spend a lot of money on maintenance here." But then comes the overriding thought: IT'S THE LEAST THEY CAN DO.
Some of the crosses mark remains without any identification. On them is written, "HERE LIES IN HONORED GLORY, A COMRADE IN ARMS, KNOWN BUT TO GOD."
The other crosses -- along with a few Stars of David -- have names on them, telling what state and part of the service the person was from.
They are from every state in the Union, with all types of ethnic names. This one says: EFRAIM LOEW, PVT 121 INF 8 DIV NJ JULY 3, 1944
Most of the crosses look exactly alike but one catches my eye, as it has a bouquet of flowers placed next to it. A son or daughter -- or maybe grandson or granddaughter -- must have been here recently. I walk closer to read what is written. It says:
WARREN K. CARNEY PFC 506 PRCHT INF 101 ABN DIV IOWA JUNE 6 1944