Czesława Kwoka, a 14‑year‑old Polish girl, was murdered at the Auschwitz-Birkenau extermination camp on March 12, 1943. She was killed by an injection of phenol directly into her heart.
Just before her death, she was photographed by fellow prisoner Wilhelm Brasse, who later testified that the SS guard struck her in the face before the photo was taken, the bruise on her lip is visible in the image.
In that haunting portrait, we see the terrified face of a child who did not speak German and had lost her mother only days earlier. Czesława was one of approximately 230,000 children and young people murdered at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
The original black‑and‑white photograph, preserved at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum in Oświęcim, was later colorized by Brazilian artist Marina Amaral, who was deeply moved by Czesława’s image and sought to share it with the world in color.
Ray’s Rock - Omaha Beach
On the morning of June 6, 1944, 23 year old Staff Sergeant Arnold “Ray” Lambert came ashore with the first wave of the 1st Infantry Division on the eastern side of Omaha Beach. At this small patch of concrete he saved nearly 20 lives:
The division came under intense fire from several German bunkers surrounding the entrance to the Colville Draw (one of two exits off Omaha Beach). Ray, a medic, immediately went to work.
He was shot in the arm. Moments later he was hit by shrapnel in the leg, but Ray kept pulling men to safety. He pulled nearly 20 wounded soldiers to cover behind this 8ft wide obstacle, treating each soldier before going out in search of others.
After several hours under fire, while pulling a wounded soldier from the ocean, he was struck by a landing craft. It dropped its ramp on top of him, breaking his back. He fell face down in the water, drowning. The craft backed up and nearby soldiers pulled an unconscious Ray to safety, eventually evacuating him off the beach.
Remarkably, Ray had already earned two Silver Stars and three Purple Hearts in Sicily and North Africa, prior to landing in France. But here in Normandy his war would end.
He awoke in a hospital back in England a day later. In the next bed over was his brother, who had also been wounded at Omaha.
When asked about his work on D-Day, Ray simply said, “I did what I was called to do.”
Ray Lambert passed in 2021 at 100 years old. He exemplified the best of American grit and why remembering this day is so important.
On June 6, 1944, a 56-year-old general with a secret walked onto Utah Beach under fire, armed with a cane and a pistol.
The secret: his heart was failing. He had hidden it from the army doctors so they wouldn't pull him from the mission.
His name was Theodore Roosevelt Jr. Son of the President. He had begged three separate times to lead the first wave ashore at Normandy before his commanders finally said yes.
When his landing craft drifted 2,000 yards off course, every instinct said redirect the following waves to the correct zone. Instead, Roosevelt walked the beach himself, alone, under artillery fire, cane in hand, reading the terrain.
His verdict: "We'll start the war from right here."
He then stood on that beach and personally greeted every regiment that landed after him, pointing them inland, cracking jokes under shellfire, steadying 18-year-olds who had never seen combat. He did this for hours.
Years later, Omar Bradley was asked to name the single most heroic act he had ever witnessed in combat.
His answer, without hesitation: "Ted Roosevelt on Utah Beach."
Roosevelt's son, Captain Quentin Roosevelt II, also landed at Normandy that same morning. He was named after his uncle, Quentin Roosevelt, who had been shot down as a fighter pilot over France in World War I.
Three generations. Three wars. One family.
Theodore Roosevelt Jr. died in his sleep 36 days later. Heart attack. The thing he had been hiding finally won. He never learned he had been awarded the Medal of Honor.
He was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery.
In 1955, his family had his brother Quentin, killed in WWI, exhumed from where he fell in France and reinterred right beside him. Quentin is the only World War I soldier buried there.
Two brothers. Two world wars. The same French soil.
Their father had once said: "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."
Both of his sons did exactly that.
Lo que comen los hijos de López Obrador vs lo que comen los acarreados a los eventos del Zócalo.
El contraste entre Morena premium y Morena de calle, del Bistec con láminas de oro a la torta de jamón.
The last "modern" game I ever played was World of Warcraft, from 2004 to 2010, the end of Wrath of the Lich King.
I know there were MMORPGs before (and after), but when the original World of Warcraft launched in 2004, it felt closer to "perfection" than any game before or since.
Nothing has changed that feeling to this day. What changed was the game itself after the death of Arthas in Wrath of the Lich King.
The original WoW felt so vast, so open, and so alive - it’s hard to put into words. There was no hardcore min-maxing yet (at least not to the same degree as today), no speedruns, no parsing record chasing, no gear score requirements in the early days. If you were really pro, you connected with friends or guildies via Ventrilo.
There was no WeakAuras, no threat meters, no Questie guiding you.
You quickly learned that even the most expensive vendor gear was trash compared to quest rewards.
You had to walk from Elwynn Forest to the Redridge Mountains - and if you dared peek across the river into Duskwood, the spiders there would one-shot you (I’m sure we all did that).
The first time you equipped a green item! The first time you swapped it for a blue! And the envy of seeing someone with purple gear, omg!
Saving up for a mount and the catharsis when you could finally afford one!
The first time you entered the Deadmines, the foolish solo attempt on Hogger only to realize instantly it was a death sentence.
Stepping into Alterac Valley battlegrounds and being in awe of its size.
Wiping on Ragnaros again and again before finally killing him, and the sheer joy of celebrating together with your guild.
The excitement and awe of entering Naxxramas for the first time, struggling to down Patchwerk, the teamwork, the slow progress, seeing Sapphiron dead on the frozen ground and being moments away from Kel’Thuzad… so close!
It truly felt like a massive world - not just in size, but in stories. The announcement of The Burning Crusade and the Dark Portal appearing in the Blasted Lands; you couldn’t wait to walk through it.
Then the ultimate climax when Wrath of the Lich King launched, eventually facing the most badass character in gaming history: Arthas.
World of Warcraft was magic. Until it wasn’t. Just like Blizzard was once the greatest game studio of all - until they weren’t.
Warcraft used to be tough, glorious and epic... now it's pink Disney fluff.
Nothing has recaptured that feeling from 2004 to 2010. I wonder if anything ever will again.
I sometimes watch the trailer of the original WoW. It still hits close to the (gamer) heart…