William J. Clinton
42nd President (1993-2001) Remarks at D-Day 50th Anniversary Ceremony
U.S. National Cemetery (Above Omaha Beach)
Colleville-sur-Mer, France -- June 6, 1994 | |
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THE PRESIDENT: Mr. Dawson, you did your men proud
today. General Shalikashvili, Mr. Cronkite, Chaplain, distinguished
leaders of our government, members of Congress, members of the Armed
Services, our hosts from France, and, most of all, our veterans,
their families and their friends:
In these last days of ceremonies, we have heard wonderful words of
tribute. Now we come to this hallowed place that speaks, more than
anything else, in silence. Here on this quiet plateau, on this small
piece of American soil, we honor those who gave their lives for us
50 crowded years ago.
Today, the beaches of Normandy are calm. If you walk these shores on
a summer's day, all you might hear is the laughter of children
playing on the sand, or the cry of seagulls overhead, or perhaps the
ringing of a distant church bell -- the simple sounds of freedom
barely breaking the silence -- peaceful silence, ordinary silence.
But June 6th, 1944 was the least ordinary day of the 20th century.
On that chilled dawn, these beaches echoed with the sounds of
staccato gunfire, the roar of aircraft, the thunder of bombardment.
And through the wind and the waves came the soldiers, out of their
landing craft and into the water, away from their youth and toward a
savage place many of them would sadly never leave.
They had come to free a continent -- the Americans, the British, the
Canadians, the Poles, the French Resistance, the Norwegians and
others -- they had all come to stop one of the greatest forces of
evil the world has ever known.
As news of the invasion broke back home in America, people held
their breath. In Boston, commuters stood reading the news on the
electric sign at South Station. In New York, the Statue of Liberty,
its torch blacked out since Pearl Harbor, was lit at sunset for 15
minutes.
And in Newcastle, Pennsylvania, a young mother named Pauline Elliot
wrote to her husband, Frank, a corporal in the Army, "D-Day has
arrived. The first thought of all of us was a prayer."
Below us are the beaches where Corporal Elliot's batallion and so
many other Americans landed -- Omaha and Utah, proud names from
America's heartland, part of the biggest gamble of the war, the
greatest crusade; yes, the "longest day."
During those first hours on bloody Omaha nothing seemed to go right.
Landing craft were ripped apart by mines and shells. Tanks sent to
protect them had sunk, drowning their crews. Enemy fire raked the
invaders as the stepped into chesthigh water and waded past the
floating bodies of their comrades. And as the stunned survivors of
the first wave huddled behind a seawall, it seemed the invasion
might fail.
Hitler and his followers had bet on it. They were sure the Allied
soldiers were soft, weakened by liberty and leisure, by the mingling
of races and religion. They were sure their totalitarian youth had
more discipline and zeal.
But then, something happened. Although many of the American troops
found themselves without officers on unfamiliar ground, next to
soldiers they didn't know, one by one, they got up. They inched
forward and together in groups of threes and fives and tens, the
sons of democracy improvised and mounted their own attacks. At that
exact moment on these beaches, the forces of freedom turned the tide
of the 20th century.
These soldiers knew that staying put meant certain death. But they
were also driven by the voice of free will and responsibility,
nurtured in Sunday schools, town halls and sandlot ball games. The
voice that told them to stand up and move forward, saying, "You can
do it. And if you don't, no one else will." And as Captain Joe
Dawson led his company up this bluff, and as others followed his
lead, they secured a foothold for freedom.
Today, many of them are here among us. Oh, they may walk with a
little less spring in their step and their ranks are growing
thinner, but let us never forget -- when they were young, these men
saved the world. (Applause.)
And so let us now ask them, all the veterans of the Normandy
campaign, to stand if they can and be recognized. (Applause.)
The freedom they fought for was no abstract concept, it was the
stuff of their daily lives. Listen to what Frank Elliot had written
to his wife from the embarkation point in England: "I miss
hamburgers a la Coney Island; American beer a la Duquesne; American
shows a la Penn Theater; and American girls a la you."
Pauline Elliot wrote back on June 6th, as she and their one-year old
daughter listened on the radio, "Little Deronda is the only one not
affected by D-Day news. I hope and pray she will never remember any
of this, but only the happiness of the hours that will follow her
Daddy's homecoming step on the porch."
Well, millions of our GIs did return home from that war to build up
our nations and enjoy life's sweet pleasures. But on this field,
there are 9,386 who did not -- 33 pairs of brothers; a father and
his son; 11 men from tiny Bedford, Virginia; and Corporal Frank
Elliot, killed near these bluffs by a German shell on D-Day.
They were the fathers we never knew, the uncles we never met, the
friends who never returned, the heroes we can never repay. They gave
us our world. And those simple sounds of freedom we hear today are
their voices speaking to us across the years.
At this place, let us honor all the Americans who lost their lives
in World War II. Let us remember, as well, that over 40 million
human beings from every side perished -- soldiers on the field of
battle, Jews in the ghettos and death camps, civilians ravaged by
shell fire and famine. May God give rest to all their souls.
Fifty years later, what a different world we live in. Germany, Japan
and Italy, liberated by our victory, now stand among our closest
allies and the staunchest defenders of freedom. Russia, decimated
during the war and frozen afterward in communism and Cold War, has
been reborn in democracy. And as freedom rings from Prague to Kiev,
the liberation of this continent is nearly complete.
Now the question falls to our generation: How will we build upon the
sacrifice of D-Day's heroes? Like the soldiers of Omaha Beach, we
cannot stand still. We cannot stay safe by doing so. Avoiding
today's problems would be our own generation's appeasements. For
just as freedom has a price, it also has a purpose, and it's name is
progress. Today our mission is to expand freedom's reach forward; to
test the full potential of each of our own citizens; to strengthen
our families, our faith and our communities; to fight indifference
and intolerance; to keep our nation strong; and to light the lives
of those still dwelling in the darkness of undemocratic rule. Our
parents did that and more; we must do nothing less. They struggled
in war so that we might strive in peace.
We know that progress is not inevitable. But neither was victory
upon these beaches. Now, as then, the inner voice tells us to stand
up and move forward. Now, as then, free people must choose.
Fifty years ago, the first Allied soldiers to land here in Normandy
came not from the sea, but from the sky. They were called
Pathfinders, the first paratroopers to make the jump. Deep in the
darkness they decended upon these fields to light beacons for the
airborne assaults that would soon follow. Now, near the dawn of a n
ew century, the job of lighting those beacons falls to our hands.
To you who brought us here, I promise, we will be the new
pathfinders, for we are the children of your sacrifice.
Thank you and God bless you all. (Applause.)
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