Our American Hero

A few reflections about a family friend who landed on Omaha Beach 80 years ago today.

I wrote this post back in 2013, but thought it was appropriate to republish it here on this 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings.

Over the weekend this country lost another American hero from World War II and my family lost a dear friend.  Joseph Weiner was 17 years old when he landed on Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944.  From there he fought his way across Europe. Along the way, Joe was awarded two Purple Hearts and five Bronze Stars.

I first met Joe when I was still in high school. What I remember more than anything else was his friendly smile and his sharp sense of humor. Joe’s jokes were always the life of the party, often bordering on the inappropriate. I will never forget him asking me to think about the theme of a local shopping center that included a BJ’s, Siemens, and Dicks all on the same strip.

Like most kids growing up along the Jersey shore I spent most of my free time during the summer months on the beach. Growing up in a beach community you eventually learned where to look for certain people and Joe was no exception. I could always count on Joe sitting in the same spot with his wife Esther, his step-daughter Janeen, and often with my parents as well.

My favorite days, however, were when Joe was alone and we had a chance to talk.  During my high school years it was the war in Europe that held my interest and imagination. I knew that Joe served in the war and that he took part in the Normandy invasion. I wanted nothing more than to talk with Joe about his experiences, but early on I understood that this was not going to happen. 

Joe offered little more than a short list of battles he had taken part in and I did my best to respect his privacy. Even after Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan was released Joe showed no interest in revisiting his past or returning to Europe to walk along Omaha beach and other European battlefields.

The one exception took place on the beach years later after my wife Michaela and I had met. It was just the three of us. Perhaps it had something to do with Michaela being German, but Joe began talking for what seemed like hours about his war experience.

What he shared, however, was not landing on the beaches of France or being surrounding by Germans at Bastogne during the battle of the Bulge. Instead, Joe shared what he remembered about a weekend furlough in Paris in late summer 1944.

It certainly wasn’t the kind of war story that I had anticipated as Joe described spending the weekend above a bakery with two young French girls. At one point a woman seated close by, who was previously distracted by a magazine, desperately strained herself to pick up every last detail from Joe’s story. It was that good. In that moment Joe was 17 years old again.

At the end of our day together my wife thanked Joe for his service, not simply for helping to liberate her country, but for making it possible for the two of us to meet. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about my wife’s words. Regardless of how Joe remembered his experiences in Europe, I hope Michaela’s words brought him some comfort.

Thank you, Joe. We are going to miss you.