@GretchenPSmith@blueprintsmb22 Unfortunately, there are plenty people that have poor work ethic both above and below 50. I think it’s more common below 50 though. Lazy comes in all age groups
Thank you for the hundred’s of acknowledgements and comments regarding my father’s involvement in D-Day. I wish you to had gotten to know him. I wish I had more time with him. He died at the age of 65. I’ve now spent more of my life without him, than in his presence.
He was a hardworking individual, sincere, and had a fantastic sense of humor. He imparted many of these things and most importantly, respect.
I plan to acknowledge respond to all of you because YOU took the time to appreciate his bravery.
Please know this meant a lot to me…and I’m sure he’s in heaven yukking it up with his buddies, that HE made “a big splash” on X.
Thank you 🙏 It made our day.
(And he’s giving a 👍to @binzoboy for his new facelift 😉)
@cindygamiere Remembering & honoring D-Day & WWII heroes is probably the best way to keep history from repeating itself. I don’t want a future generation of young men like your father to have to do it again. Such a huge sacrifice they & their families made 🇺🇸
Most people know the Army stormed Normandy. The Navy bombarded the shore. The Air Force owned the sky.
Nobody thinks about the Coast Guard.
They should.
The United States Coast Guard is not a combat force. Their entire purpose, the reason they exist, is to save people from the sea. They are trained to swim into storms, to pull drowning sailors from sinking ships, to run toward disaster when everyone else is running away.
On June 6, 1944, the Germans gave them more drowning men than they had ever seen in their lives.
The Coast Guard brought 800 men to Normandy. Five major assault transports were USCG-crewed. Eleven tank landing ships. Twenty-four troop carriers running soldiers directly onto Omaha and Utah Beaches. The USS Bayfield served as the command ship for the entire Utah Beach sector, the nerve center through which an entire army was directed ashore. The USS Samuel Chase led the assault group landing the 1st Infantry Division, the Big Red One, onto the eastern flank of Omaha.
But the thing almost nobody knows about is Rescue Flotilla One.
60 small Coast Guard cutters, nicknamed Matchbox ships because of how easily they burned, were assigned a single mission: pull men out of the water. As the landing craft were torn apart by German fire, as soldiers drowned in the surf under the weight of their own equipment, as wounded men on the beach were swallowed by the incoming tide, Rescue Flotilla One was already moving.
Their swimmers jumped into the Channel. Tethered to their boats by lines, they swam toward the men going under, grabbed them, and dragged them back. They did this 2,000 yards from shore. Under active German machine gun fire. Under mortar fire. Under artillery.
Again and again, all day long.
Two miles offshore a lookout spotted men from a sunken British landing craft floating in the Channel. One cutter went to them and pulled 24 soldiers and four Royal Navy sailors from the water before they went under.
One Coast Guard LCI was hit 25 times by German fire and kept going. Coxswain Delba Nivens kept driving his craft toward the beach after a grenade caught fire aboard his boat.
By the end of June 6, Rescue Flotilla One had pulled 400 men out of the sea.
400 men who would have drowned. 400 men who went home. 400 men whose families exist today because a Coast Guardsman jumped into the English Channel under machine gun fire and refused to let go.
Out of 800 Coast Guardsmen at Normandy, 15 were killed.
Every branch that fought on D-Day deserves its place in history. But the men who spent that day swimming between the dead to find the living, tethered to a burning ship with the whole weight of the German army trying to kill them, did something that has no good word for it.
They saved people. That's what they were built for.
On the worst day in the history of the sea, they were exactly who they were supposed to be.
Good morning y'all happy Sunday!
Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them.
But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 19:13-14
His name was Roddie Edmonds.
Most people had never heard of him.
A quiet Methodist from Knoxville, Tennessee. A husband. A father. A churchgoing man who came home from World War II, raised his family, and never once bragged about what he had done.
The world almost lost his story completely.
December 1944.
The Battle of the Bulge.
Roddie Edmonds had been on the Western Front less than a week when his unit was surrounded by German forces. Thousands of American soldiers were captured during Hitler’s final major offensive.
Edmonds became one of them.
What followed was brutal.
A forced march through freezing snow.
Men collapsing from exhaustion.
Packed into rail cars with almost no food or water.
Days of starvation and cold before arriving at Stalag IX-A, a German prison camp.
As the highest-ranking American noncommissioned officer there, Edmonds was responsible for 1,292 prisoners.
Then came the order.
All Jewish soldiers were to report separately the next morning.
Everyone understood what that meant.
Separation was not administration.
It was a death sentence.
That night, Edmonds gathered his men and gave a simple instruction:
“All of you. Every American. Outside in formation tomorrow morning.”
The next day, the German commandant arrived expecting a small group.
Instead, he found 1,292 American prisoners standing shoulder to shoulder.
Furious, he shouted:
“They cannot all be Jews!”
Roddie Edmonds answered with four words that would echo across history:
“We are all Jews here.”
The commandant pulled out a pistol and pressed it against Edmonds’s forehead.
He threatened to shoot him if he did not identify the Jewish soldiers immediately.
Edmonds never moved.
Instead, he calmly reminded the officer that under the Geneva Convention, prisoners only had to give their name, rank, and serial number.
Then he said this:
“If you shoot, you’ll have to shoot all of us. And when this war is over — which it nearly is — you’ll be tried as a war criminal.”
The commandant lowered the gun.
Turned around.
And walked away.
About 200 Jewish-American soldiers were saved that morning because one man refused to divide his men into categories worth protecting and categories worth surrendering.
But Edmonds wasn’t finished.
Weeks later, the Germans ordered the prisoners onto another forced march through the snow.
Edmonds knew many would die.
So he secretly told his men to make themselves appear too sick to travel — eat dirt, grass, whatever it took.
When the Germans came, the Americans stayed behind.
Nearly all the prisoners forced onto the march died.
Edmonds’s men survived to be liberated by General Patton’s forces in March 1945.
And then?
Roddie Edmonds came home and said almost nothing about it.
No speeches.
No interviews.
No book deals.
He worked. Went to church. Raised his children.
He died in 1985.
His family knew he had been a POW.
They had no idea he had saved hundreds of lives.
The truth only resurfaced decades later after his son discovered his wartime diary and began contacting survivors whose names were written inside.
Again and again, they told the same story.
The same frozen morning.
The same pistol.
The same four words.
“We are all Jews here.”
In 2015, Yad Vashem recognized Roddie Edmonds as “Righteous Among the Nations” — the first American soldier ever to receive the honor.
And in 2026, more than 80 years after that moment in the prison yard, his son accepted the Medal of Honor on his behalf.
No battlefield charge.
No dramatic explosion.
Just moral courage.
A man staring down a loaded gun and refusing to hand over his soldiers.
One survivor later said:
“That such people can exist gives you hope for humanity.”
They do exist.
Roddie Edmonds was one of them.
This man was at D-Day.
He was an Army Medic with the
European Theatre of Operations 795th Battalion.
He saw the carnage.
He dealt with the living and dying.
He’s my dad.
On June 6, 1944, James Earl Rudder '32 successfully led his men up the cliffs at Pointe Du Hoc as part of the D-Day invasion of Normandy.
Rudder would later become the 16th President of @TAMU, laying the groundwork for its transformation from a small, all-male military school to the premier institution of higher education it is today.
@ZubyMusic@kevinnbass We all have individual responsibility in life. However, “taking responsibility” doesn’t mean an innocent & decent person should be punished for the criminals in the group. It can also mean becoming a responsible leader to influence people from adopting a criminal lifestyle.
Today we honor the 82nd anniversary of D-Day, June 6, 1944, when Allied forces faced impossible odds on the beaches of Normandy and changed the world. Aggies were among the brave who stormed those shores, their sacrifice forever woven into our university's legacy of selfless service. That legacy didn't end on the battlefield. It lives on in every Aggie who answers the call.