The other day, as I was waiting for a friend to meet me for coffee, I started looking through old photos in my phone.
I was scrolling through the months and years at random, and I hit a bunch of photos from the summer that my family and I went on a trip to France.
I told this story related to this trip several years ago, but looking at the photos reminded me of it.
As part of the trip, we visited the awe-inspiring World War II D-Day sites in Normandy, the sites related to the landing operations on June 6, 1944, in Normandy–the Allied invasion.
We visited places such as Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.
It was a fascinating day–and deeply moving. It’s hard to grasp the magnitude of what happened there in June 1944. So much planning, so much courage, so much sacrifice.
I’ve spoken often about my “America feeling,” and no surprise, I experienced the America feeling as we visited the sites, and I experienced my America feeling all over again, just looking at the pictures, years later.
But something that’s true for me is that I feel ideas most deeply when they come to me through words. I can visit places, I can see things, but in the end, it’s writing that strikes me to the core.
And that’s what happened in Normandy, when I happened to come across a reproduction of a pamphlet called “A Pocket Guide to France,” and it happened again when I saw the photographs in my phone of some pages I’d read from that little pamphlet.
All over again, just as when I’d read them for the very first time, I couldn’t stop the tears coming into my eyes as I read the words of this small, light, pocket-sized pamphlet. And I get choked up again, reading them now.
It was, as it explained, a restricted guide issued by the War and Navy Departments in Washington, D.C., for soldiers going to France. Apparently similar pamphlets were given to soldiers headed to other countries, as well.
I’m always intrigued by documents like this–how they’re written and designed–so I started reading it. (Side note, one day, I’d love to publish a collection of unforgettable memos and reports. Ask me about the Enron letter that I love!)
When I picked up this pamphlet, I expected it to be full of bureaucratic, stuffy, approved-by-military-committee language, so I was first surprised by its casual, slangy language. It was obviously written so that lots of young soldiers would find it easy to read. It had several typos, so I suspect it was written in haste, to be ready in time.
The brief guide included sections on the history of France, the organization of French society, the food, helpful phrases, and the like. As you might expect, the guide also makes the point, at great length, that the soldiers should stay out of various kinds of mischief.
And here’s what really caught my eye—and gave me the America feeling. It was in a section headed, “You Are a Guest of France,” where the guide addresses a question that would obviously be of great concern to the U.S. solders: How would the French people view Americans? Here’s what the guide said:
Mostly, the French think Americans always act square, always give the little fellow a helping hand and are good-natured, big hearted, and kind. They look up to the United States as the friend of the oppressed and the liberator of the enslaved. The French trust both you and your country more than they do most other men and nations. Keep that trust.
I hope we will always keep and deserve that trust.
What a beautiful conception of the United States; that little military pamphlet describes my dream for my beloved, big-hearted country.
Not everyone shares that dream, but I do.