@ninavars I worked as a waiter for almost 20 years. Disgusting behavior. “I have to tip out to the bar and kitchen, so tip me on the side so I can fuck my fellow workers.” I’d fire him on the spot.
June 5, 1944. 3:30am.
Eisenhower woke to howling wind and hard rain. At 4:15am, in a water-soaked tent, his meteorologist James Stagg told him: there's a 24-hour break in the storm coming. One window. Miss it, and the next date is June 19.
He had 5,000 ships and 160,000 men already moving toward France.
He said: "OK. Let's go."
That evening at 8:30pm, he drove to Greenham Common to stand among the paratroopers of the 101st Airborne. He had just been privately briefed they could expect 80% casualties. He didn't show it. He walked through the crowd, shaking hands, asking names, asking where men were from.
One soldier, Lt. Wallace Strobel, said Michigan.
Eisenhower smiled. "Oh, Michigan. I used to fish there. Great fishing in Michigan."
Witnesses said his eyes were wet when he got back in the car.
That night, alone, he wrote four sentences and stuffed the paper in his pocket:
"Our landings have failed to gain a satisfactory foothold and I have withdrawn the troops. My decision to attack at this time and place was based upon the best information available. The troops, the air and the Navy did all that Bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame or fault attaches to the attempt it is mine alone."
He misdated it "July 5." His mind was somewhere else.
Meanwhile, across the Channel, Field Marshal Rommel was in his staff car rolling through Germany toward home. His wife Lucie was turning 50 tomorrow. He had brought her a pair of shoes from Paris.
The Germans had no Atlantic weather stations. Their meteorologists had told high command: no invasion is possible in this weather. Rommel genuinely believed they had weeks.
The paratroopers jumped at midnight.