The Boys of Pointe du Hoc

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By Ronald Reagan

(Note: The following are remarks delivered by President Ronald Reagan on June 6, 1984 commemorating the 40th Anniversary of the Invastion of Normandy.)

We're here to mark that day in history when the Allied armies joined in battle to reclaim this continent to liberty. For four long years, much of Europe had been under a terrible shadow. Free nations had fallen, Jews cried out in the camps, millions cried out for liberation. Europe was enslaved and the world prayed for its rescue. Here, in Normandy, the rescue began. Here, the Allies stood and fought against tyranny, in a giant undertaking unparalleled in human history.

We stand on a lonely, windswept point on the northern shore of France. The air is soft, but forty years ago at this moment, the air was dense with smoke and the cries of men, and the air was filled with the crack of rifle fire and the roar of cannon. At dawn, on the morning of the 6th of June, 1944, two hundred and twenty-five Rangers jumped off the British landing craft and ran to the bottom of these cliffs.

Their mission was one of the most difficult and daring of the invasion: to climb these sheer and desolate cliffs and take out the enemy guns. The Allies had been told that some of the mightiest of these guns were here, and they would be trained on the beaches to stop the Allied advance.

The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers at the edge of the cliffs, shooting down at them with machine guns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After two days of fighting, only ninety could still bear arms.

And behind me is a memorial that symbolizes the Ranger daggers that were thrust into the top of these cliffs. And before me are the men who put them there. These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. And these are the heroes who helped end a war. Gentlemen, I look at you and I think of the words of Stephen Spender's poem. You are men who in your "lives fought for life and left the vivid air signed with your honor."

I think I know what you may be thinking right now -- thinking "we were just part of a bigger effort; everyone was brave that day." Well everyone was. Do you remember the story of Bill Millin of the 51st Highlanders? Forty years ago today, British troops were pinned down near a bridge, waiting desperately for help. Suddenly, they heard the sound of bagpipes, and some thought they were dreaming. Well, they weren't. They looked up and saw Bill Millin with his bagpipes, leading the reinforcements and ignoring the smack of the bullets into the ground around him.

Lord Lovat was with him -- Lord Lovat of Scotland, who calmly announced when he got to the bridge, "Sorry, I'm a few minutes late," as if he'd been delayed by a traffic jam, when in truth he'd just come from the bloody fighting on Sword Beach, which he and his men had just taken.

There was the impossible valor of the Poles, who threw themselves between the enemy and the rest of Europe as the invasion took hold; and the unsurpassed courage of the Canadians who had already seen the horrors of war on this coast. They knew what awaited them there, but they would not be deterred. And once they hit Juno Beach, they never looked back.

All of these men were part of a roll call of honor with names that spoke of a pride as bright as the colors they bore; The Royal Winnipeg Rifles, Poland's 24th Lancers, the Royal Scots' Fusiliers, the Screaming Eagles, the Yeomen of England's armored divisions, the forces of Free France, the Coast Guard's "Matchbox Fleet," and you, the American Rangers.

Forty summers have passed since the battle that you fought here. You were young the day you took these cliffs; some of you were hardly more than boys, with the deepest joys of life before you. Yet you risked everything here. Why? Why did you do it? What impelled you to put aside the instinct for self-preservation and risk your lives to take these cliffs? What inspired all the men of the armies that met here? We look at you, and somehow we know the answer. It was faith and belief. It was loyalty and love.

The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead, or on the next. It was the deep knowledge -- and pray God we have not lost it -- that there is a profound moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. You were here to liberate, not to conquer, and so you and those others did not doubt your cause. And you were right not to doubt.

You all knew that some things are worth dying for. One's country is worth dying for, and democracy is worth dying for, because it's the most deeply honorable form of government ever devised by man. All of you loved liberty. All of you were willing to fight tyranny, and you knew the people of your countries were behind you.

The Americans who fought here that morning knew word of the invasion was spreading through the darkness back home. They fought -- or felt in their hearts, though they couldn't know in fact, that in Georgia they were filling the churches at 4:00 am. In Kansas they were kneeling on their porches and praying. And in Philadelphia they were ringing the Liberty Bell.

Something else helped the men of D-day; their rock-hard belief that Providence would have a great hand in the events that would unfold here; that God was an ally in this great cause. And so, the night before the invasion, when Colonel Wolverton asked his parachute troops to kneel with him in prayer, he told them: "Do not bow your heads, but look up so you can see God and ask His blessing in what we're about to do." Also, that night, General Matthew Ridgway on his cot, listening in the darkness for the promise God made to Joshua: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee."

These are the things that impelled them; these are the things that shaped the unity of the Allies.

When the war was over, there were lives to be rebuilt and governments to be returned to the people. There were nations to be reborn. Above all, there was a new peace to be assured. These were huge and daunting tasks. But the Allies summoned strength from the faith, belief, loyalty, and love of those who fell here. They rebuilt a new Europe together. There was first a great reconciliation among those who had been enemies, all of whom had suffered so greatly. The United States did its part, creating the Marshall Plan to help rebuild our allies and our former enemies. The Marshall Plan led to the Atlantic alliance -- a great alliance that serves to this day as our shield for freedom, for prosperity, and for peace.

In spite of our great efforts and successes, not all that followed the end of the war was happy or planned. Some liberated countries were lost. The great sadness of this loss echoes down to our own time in the streets of Warsaw, Prague, and East Berlin. The Soviet troops that came to the center of this continent did not leave when peace came. They're still there, uninvited, unwanted, unyielding, almost forty years after the war. Because of this, allied forces still stand on this continent. Today, as forty years ago, our armies are here for only one purpose: to protect and defend democracy. The only territories we hold are memorials like this one and graveyards where our heroes rest.

We in America have learned bitter lessons from two world wars. It is better to be here ready to protect the peace, than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent. But we try always to be prepared for peace, prepared to deter aggression, prepared to negotiate the reduction of arms, and yes, prepared to reach out again in the spirit of reconciliation. In truth, there is no reconciliation we would welcome more than a reconciliation with the Soviet Union, so, together, we can lessen the risks of war, now and forever.

It's fitting to remember here the great losses also suffered by the Russian people during World War II. Twenty million perished, a terrible price that testifies to all the world the necessity of ending war. I tell you from my heart that we in the United States do not want war. We want to wipe from the face of the earth the terrible weapons that man now has in his hands. And I tell you, we are ready to seize that beachhead. We look for some sign from the Soviet Union that they are willing to move forward, that they share our desire and love for peace, and that they will give up the ways of conquest. There must be a changing there that will allow us to turn our hope into action.

We will pray forever that someday that changing will come. But for now, particularly today, it is good and fitting to renew our commitment to each other, to our freedom, and to the alliance that protects it.

We're bound today by what bound us 40 years ago, the same loyalties, traditions, and beliefs. We're bound by reality. The strength of America's allies is vital to the United States, and the American security guarantee is essential to the continued freedom of Europe's democracies. We were with you then; we're with you now. Your hopes are our hopes, and your destiny is our destiny.

Here, in this place where the West held together, let us make a vow to our dead. Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for. Let our actions say to them the words for which Matthew Ridgway listened: "I will not fail thee nor forsake thee."

Strengthened by their courage and heartened by their value [valor] and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died.
Thank you very much, and God bless you all.


Ronald Reagan was the 40th President of the United States.

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Funny Friday: Atlanta Weather Update

This lady sums it up perfectly with her South Atlanta idioms. It almost makes the werewolf nostalgic for the time he spent in Atlanta. Nashville got hit by a snowstorm last night, and, although a few weeks old, the spirit of this report couldn't be more spot on.

David Bowie: Suffragette City (live)

The werewolf will be attending a belated David Bowie birthday party at Nashville's heralded Mercy Lounge venue this evening. Admission is free and a variety of local bands will be covering a spectrum of Ziggy's work. Should be interesting to say the least. Hopefully, no mellow fat chicks will be throwing this wolf's spine out of place.

Funny Friday: LA Story "Ordering Coffee"

The Rolling Stones: Jumping Jack Flash '68

Funny Friday: Steve Martin "King Tut"

The Vapors: Turning Japanese

Does anyone know what this song is really about?

Charging into 2011!

Happy New Year!

The werewolf wants to wish everyone a safe, splendid, and festive NYE. 2011 can't come soon enough.

Be forewarned, a werewolf will be on the lose in Nashville this evening. More may follow.

Funny Friday: Some Idiot in the Projects

In light of my recent encounter with some idiots from the projects, this will be the send off Funny Friday for 2010. I usually don't like retreaded tires, however, this is just too good. Thank you, Antoine Dodson.

Otis Day and The Knights: Shamalama ding-dong

This song is epic on so many levels. Sometimes it makes the werewolf want to go to church naked.

I have long wanted to conversationally deploy "you put the ou mau mau into my smile" with a she-wolf.

The Rolling Stones: Honky Tonk Woman

Certain songs can never be listened to loud enough. Louder please!

Somehow the line "I just can't seem drink you off my mind" is truly timeless.

Holy Hell at the Holland House

“Is that a pistol?” B asked in a concerned tone as his eyes darted away from the frenetic fun banter of our trio to the front of the Holland House. With my back to the door, my head pivoted to make sense of the question. It all unfolded quickly. At the threshold silently stood a stocky black man, dressed the part of an urban hood, his face obscured by pantyhose, with a blunt looking long-barreled revolver leveled at the head of several patrons seated at the bar. The front door swung open and a second, nastier, pantyhose helmed black hoodlum, taller, leaner, and meaner than his partner, burst in wielding a cruel looking short-barreled shotgun. It was clear that he was in charge. For a fraction of a split second, I wondered if this was not some fantastic theatrical act from a 1970s vigilante film being orchestrated for the amusement of the patrons. The thugs were perfect replicas of those immortalized by Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood films in the 70s and 80s. Only there was no Harry Callahan to dispense the much-needed swift justice with his famous .44 magnum. There merriment of our earlier discussion quickly dissolved as the gravity of a new and hostile situation quickly materialized. Was this really happening?


The taller hood worked his way around the room, waving his squat shotgun in the faces of patrons, while screaming at them to get on the floor. There was an inhumane edge in his cold ghetto voice. The expletive laced threats were no joke for this one. He was no specter from the darkest depths of my imagination. Having surrendered any shard of humanity long ago, this hoodlum represented a chaotic destructive soulless force that one hopes to never encounter. The cruelness and loads of crazy were evident. (What kind of reasonable criminals target an establishment that processes most transactions with credit/debit cards and is not a cash heavy operation, has between 30-35 patrons of unknown background –Tennessee has very favorable conceal and carry laws, plus, with an establishment that serves booze, how many heroes lurk in the crowd – there is also a bar, wait, and kitchen staff spread across three or four rooms in an oddly shaped building? Too many unknown variables in this equation as far as I am concerned for sound criminal decision making, but then again that’s not my bag.) All control and power over my destiny was briefly ceded to this sub-human criminal scum. The socially lubricating effect of the three stiff cocktails I consumed were quickly negated by the adrenaline that coursed through my system. Face down on the floor, listening the cacophony of footsteps, expletives, threats, and demands for all the money were drowned out by the violently shaking of my left-hand and the turbo thumping of my heart as it beat faster than a hummingbird flaps its wings. I could feel my jugular pulse against the collar of my shirt. As the threats became more extreme, I actually wondered if this was the end of line for me. Was my passport of life about to stamped for the last time as a blast from some remorseless hoods gun ended it all? So many ambitions to realize, hatchets to bury, scores to settle, friends to laugh with, girls to love, and challenges to conquer remained. Nascent memories from my earliest years, random life moments never before recalled in detail, to cherished events all flashed in rapid sequence like frames on a film reel across my mind. If a shot reported, was I to bolt up and hurl my highball at the nearest thug, grab a piece of silverware and do what I could? I began to calculate all outcomes as best I could.

Just as quickly as it unfolded, it all ended. These thuggish specters were gone. Frayed nerves and rattled sensibilities lingered, but no physical harm came to any patrons. My left hand still shook with an epileptic violence new to my body. We were all speechless. I had done my best to capture physical details to report to the police, but I began to question how I conducted myself and what this bizarre and unpleasant sequence meant. It sounds stupid, but you never think you are the one in the ugly situation. Those are only news stories and other people are victims, not you.

Rage, fear, and resentment on levels I did not know I possessed all surfaced. It is a crippling blend of emotion that leaves one shaken to some sort of untapped core. There is also a gratitude that you walk away drawing breath. Life is precious.

The genesis of the evening occurred at the gym earlier in the afternoon. Word of mouth reviews had raved about the Holland House as a hot new Nashville destination. Being in East Nashville (the wrong side of the tracks), the Holland House had an allure of the new and exotic to it, a bold venture to rival Nashville’s legendary artisan cocktail and drinking saloon, The Patterson House. It all started with the question posed to B, “How would you feel about an East Nashville adventure tonight?” I thought I was being funny. Words sometimes manifest in the strangest ways.

This memory is still fresh from last night. I registered just over an hour of sleep last night and my nerves are only now beginning to settle. It's good to be blogging today.

The Rentals: Please Let That Be You

It all makes sense around the 40 second mark.

Dire Straits: Expresso Love

Select lyrics of note:
She call me just to talk
She's my lover she's a friend of mine
She says hey mister you wanna take a walk
In the wild west end sometime
And I get trouble with my breathing
She says boys don't know anything
But I know what I want
I want everything

RIP: Lily

A cherished friend recently quipped that during one's lifetime a person is lucky to have one good spouse, two good horses, and four good dogs. That certainly leaves a generous margin for error on these things, but it resonated. The holidays ended on a sad note for the werewolf this year. His family's cherished and loyal standard poodle, Lily, was put-down after over ten years of loyal and resolute service. A combination of cancer, hip-dysplasia, and arthritis had wrecked unholy havoc on her in cruel ways. Ever the stoic, her last days were defined with a tail that wagged, a snout that kissed, and the sassy attitude that made her truly remarkable. She was neither exceptionally sweet, nor mean; rather she embodied a consistency and stability in her mannerisms that allowed for a large degree of comfort in observing her execute her routine. The bond between man and dog is sacred and pure in ways that can't be captured in a few mere sentences. Anyways, dear Lily's departure leaves a void and reminds the werewolf how lucky he was to have had such a fine beast in his life for the last decade.

Merry Belated Christmas and Happy Holidays

The werewolf wants to wish you all a very merry belated Christmas, where ever you all are. I hope Santa and the snow elves were generous and everyone came out ahead, however that is measured. The werewolf spent the Christmas holiday without regular internet access and rather enjoyed being detethered. 2011 looms fast on the horizon.

They've Gone Plaid

Plaid has been on the mind of late. The werewolf has been invited to a coveted local Scottish themed party in late January, where the requisite attire is plaid heavy. There are incetntives to being particularly devoted to plaid outfits, etc, and the werewolf always makes it a point tot rise to the occassion when needed. Although I am told I am of partial Scottish extraction, my family is so divorced from its roots, that tracking down a particular clan plaid would involve engaging family members best avoided. Also, from a stylistic perspecitve, my few articles of plaid attire, two ties, and a casual shirt, are treated as accents and not anchors in my wardrobe. A kilt is being heavily considered, along with various assortments of plaid themed attire. Are there any recomendations on doing plaid to nines without breaching levels of gaudiness? Just wondering...

The Holidaze

Being morose around the holidays goes beyond being acceptable; it is a righteous and just disposition. Facing the ritualistic façade that still governs my immediate family is dreadful. Acting the loyal house-slave to empty traditions with forgotten meaning, struggling to find a common conversation point beyond the family pets, and straining every muscle of emotional discipline not to lash out at the intrinsic phoniness of the whole exercise is all very tiring. Yet, the hierarchy of loyalties and obligations that govern WASPdom demand that we willingly walk into a good old-fashioned nightmare and play our parts with every shroud of dignity and decency that can be mustered. For all of the pain felt in other places, executing my duty with samurai like precision almost negates the massive emotional downside. Almost. Years ago, I grew disillusioned with the pomp and circumstance of the holidays when all of the aforementioned became clear. While the myth of “happy holidays” was shattered like crowbar striking cheap china, I will acknowledge all of the hard work that certain adults put into place shielding younglings from the obvious void. As I grow older, the days become a “daze,” and I look forward to searching for a shroud of optimism that the next year will usher in a revelation that could potentially liberate me from the tired and drained holiday routine that came with adult life. Perhaps the werewolf is just channeling something that Scrooge knew only too well. Bah-Humbug!

Dire Straits: Skateaway