The following blog is written by Ellen Womer, the daughter of Jack Womer, whose memoir ‘Fighting with the Filthy Thirteen‘ has just been released in paperback.
My fascination with my Father began very early, listening to him relate war stories to my family. He would describe what I later would discover to be horrific situations. Dad would use his sarcastic sense of humor to turn these stories into a hilarious comedy routine. I believe this ability was probably one of the reasons he survived the war.
I took him back to Europe in 2012. We met a wonderful group of men and women who organized Memorials, and reenacted events of WWII. These wonderful people took us under their wing, driving us to events, opening their homes , setting the stage for Dad’s favorite past time- telling his war stories! It warmed my heart to see the respectful expressions on the faces of these dear people who were so appreciative of what the US did for their Country and were bursting with admiration and respect. Dad was so thrilled to be able to have a new audience with whom he could share his stories!
I was so amazed at the thousands of enthusiasts who attended the D-Day week. Some were American, but most represented the countries who were liberated with the help of the United States. At one of the Memorial ceremonies we attended , I was overwhelmed when thousands of non-American voices sang the Star Spangled banner! Dad tried to lift up his arm in salute, and couldn’t hold it, so I steadied his arm, tears running down my cheeks.
We were introduced to the Round Canopy Parachute Team – a multi-National group of authentically trained paratroopers who reenact the D-Day jumps. I was overjoyed when Dad and I were invited to fly with a group of jumpers in a Vintage C-47 as they jumped over Normandy. I was wildly excited as the engines thunderously revved up , shaking the plane as it prepared for take- off. I was whooping and laughing along with the jumpers in my joy to be able to experience this with Dad- but he calmly looked out of the window, lost in his own memories, pausing once to turn to me and say, “What’s everybody yelling about?”
This wasn’t anything unusual for him- He had done this before!
We attended a Ceremony to Honor the American Navy on Utah Beach. It was a very rainy, windy day, but the reenactors, in authentic wool US Navy uniforms stood unblinking in the driving rain, at full attention as the Star Spangled Banner played over a portable loudspeaker. Dad was being kept dry with several beach umbrellas provided by his admirers. The intense rain caused the amplifier to short out, and the music stopped right before the crescendo of the last verse. Everyone looked confused for a moment, but my heart ,my Patriotism and respect for these dear people swelled as I simply COULD NOT allow our National Anthem nor this solemn Ceremony to be interrupted. I boldly marched in front of the crowd and finished the song, the crowd joining in.
“Oh, Ellie, it was so cold.”
These were the words Dad would inevitably repeat every Christmas Eve, deep in his own thoughts, eyes staring off into his memories of the Battle of the Bulge. I came to realize the significance of Dad’s statement as I was standing next to him at a museum that was staging scenes from that Christmastime, 1944. As I looked at the soldiers crouched down in the deep snow, the horrible realization , an understanding came over me and all the things Dad had been saying all these years finally came into focus- the lack of proper winter uniforms, not enough food, the exhaustion, driving ice storms, the relentless cold- and the blood and bodies in the snow. I was overcome with emotion, and turned to Dad, crying, trying to find the words to express my sorrow that he had to endure that, yet feeling such a respectful pride, I could barely endure it.
I am so overwhelmed and appreciative for the continued kindness from the wonderful people we met in Europe. After Dad died in 2013, I was determined to donate most of his memorabilia to the persons who made our trips so wonderful. These amazing people who drove us around in Vintage Willy Jeeps, prepared dinners, took us to banquets, invited us into their homes, did research to find the exact locations of Dad’s war experiences , took us up in planes, and Honored Dad as no one ever had, deserved to be bestowed with the valuables that were obtained at such a difficult price. The gratefulness expressed by those to whom I gave such treasures, is beyond description! One fellow cried as I presented him with Dad’s sweat- stained 101st Airborne cap. I gave Dad’s Paratrooper ring to the President of the RCPT – Our friend, Gregory was the only reenactor thin enough to fit into Dad’s Eisenhower jacket! He proudly wears it to ceremonies – Dad would be pleased to know he is remembered.
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