Visiting the National Mall, we were touched by the reverence
the general public has for those who gave their lives for
freedom. We laid a wreath at the World War II Memorial, and
as the bugler played taps, all those visiting the memorial, many
of whom had formerly been snapping photos and chatting, fell
silent. We soberly reflected on the 400,000 lives lost in the
conflict—and our appreciation of their sacrifices continued to
grow throughout our journey.
As we researched our soldier at the National Archives, we
began to see how all these puzzle pieces fit together. Reading
the journals of members of the 4th Infantry, we could trace
the daily travails of the unit, including details of lives lost and
territory held. What took us by surprise was finding Robert
Follensbee’s name in a book where so few soldiers were
singled out. It turns out he paid the ultimate sacrifice on June
12 on “bloody hill” around the Montebourg area, after playing
an important part in capturing Cherbourg.
All the soldiers we saw in pictures at the archives remained
with us after we left D.C. behind. We would recall that they
never thought of themselves as contributing to history; they
were just there because they had to be. They fought for the
people they had left back home, for their brothers in arms,
and hoped to return to the hometowns they loved.
A few days later it was time to retrace Lieutenant Follensbee’s
steps in Normandy. When we arrived in France, even though
most of us were so tired we could hardly keep half an eyelid
open, we visited Pegasus Bridge, site of the first Allied D-Day
landing by the airborne division. There we learned about the
efforts of the French to aid the Allied forces. In fact, throughout
our travels in France we were greeted graciously; the French
seem to have never forgotten the help they received from the
Allies. When we traveled to St. Mere-Eglise, we were stunned
to note that a church we stopped by had a parachute hanging
from its spire. On hearing the story of the paratrooper who
landed there and played dead while watching his friends
being gunned down, we were all struck by the cold reality of
warfare. That scene also gave us a better understanding of the
scars borne by those who fought in the conflict.
We visited Utah Beach, the northernmost beach of the
amphibious landings, on a day that was gray and rainy, just as
it had been on D-Day. As the waves crashed on the shoreline,
Waukegan High School student Andrea Flores stands at the Normandy
American Cemetery gravesite of Waukegan resident Robert M.
Follensbee, who was killed in action a week after D-Day. (Photo
courtesy of Waukegan Public Schools)
we tried hard to imagine Follensbee reaching the beach. At the
same time, as we took in the poppy fields nearby, it seemed
impossible this stunning setting had once been pulverized by
war. The countryside’s beauty amazed us: It was difficult to
comprehend that something so terrible could have occurred
at this spot.
In particular, our visit to Omaha Beach, the deadliest landing
spot, impressed us all with its haunting beauty. The soft sands
and gentle waves there were in striking juxtaposition to the
horrors we had read so much about. Each of the men who
came ashore, we realized, had been fighting for peace in their
own time, and also for later generations. They were everyday
heroes fighting for the future, winning for us the kind of
perfect peace we found at Omaha.
Our bus was collectively silent when we were on our way to
present eulogies for our soldiers at the American Cemetery.
NATIONAL HISTORY DAY 201