Neanderpundit

62 years ago, My uncle, Calvin Wyatt, was scratching his way across Omaha beach. As far as I can determine, he was not in the first wave- I believe he was in the 116th Infantry, from what information I was able to gather. Probably why he survived the war. He didn’t talk much about it. He talked instead about his fears, saw the homes and farms of the people of France and thought about his home and farm. Thought about how easy it would be for us to be attacked on our own soil. Thought about the horrors of war.

Calvin dragged his rifle and pack, wet and nasty, across that beach, up those hills. Waded through a tide of blood. Bodies and body parts. Omaha beach was a meat grinder, and he saw it with his own eyes.

Calvin was 20 when he hit the beach. Wiry and tough. A kid, who had his whole world ahead. Less than a year earlier he had stepped out of the county where he was born for the first time. Now,he’s setting foot on the european continent for the first time, bullets whizzing, mortars going off. He survived. He made it through.

There were other fights, no doubt. There were other moments of fear, but I imagine none so harsh as that moment on Omaha beach when he jumped out of that Higgins boat.

In Normandy, in a foxhole, on his 21st birthday, October 19, he caught mortar shrapnel in his right arm, which shredded him. And put him out of the action, once and for all.

Medicine in wartime france wasn’t much to speak of. They managed to put some of the pieces together. He lost the elbow permanently, and never bent that arm again, it ended up at a permanent slight angle. And it caused him some pain for the rest of his life.
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And Google hasn’t seen fit to even put a flag on the masthead.

My home browser is officially now Ask.com

Fuck google, and the whorse it rode in on.

Just so’s nobody gets the idea that this is going to be some professionally run convention with name tags and a tight schedule, let me clarify.

Itinerary:

Arrive in Chicago friday the 14th. Go to a restaurant. Eat. Drink. Yap. Go to a hotel or home if you live close by. Sleep.

Wake up with a pounding headache on the 15th. Decide the best cure for said headache is a trip to the range where the sound of blowing things up will drown out (hopefully) the hangover. Or make your head explode. I suspect there will be someone there with a grill, and that being the case, we can probably grill some burgers. If I have any idea how many people will show at that time., I’ll bring a cooler and and some supplies. I’m counting on other folks to bring stuff too.

I can get earmuffs and earplugs for at least a half dozen people, the range has rentals as well. Same with eye protection. This is a gravel pit, so stuff flies around.

Sunday: Wake up, go to mass or services if you’re so inclined, and have a large brunch. Eat, yap, maybe drink, go home. If you intend to fly, remember that clothes which have recently been to the range will have powder residue, and cause you grief at the airport. I like to have one clean set of clothing in a plastic bag, and when you change sunday AM, put your dirty clothes in a bag before taking a shower and putting clean clothes on. Years of experience prove this to be a valuable habit.

Everyone is responsible for their own wherabouts, though we will try to get some people to carpool, and if you fly in and rent a car, we’ll get maps to the range. Share a seat if you can.

Ok, if you want, print this out and write in your name, or copy paste your blog masthead.