After the speeches, the mayor led my mother and me over to the flag-draped stone. Together the mayor and I slowly rolled the American flag up the big granite stone, revealing the bronze plaque memorializing my father. We had brought a plaque in English, with my father's self portrait engraved on it. Here the mayor holds our plaque up to the blank space on the stone where it would be mounted above the French plaque.

Then my mother and I slowly walked around the circle of perhaps fifteen flag-bearing French veterans, shaking hands with each man, looking into each man's eyes. This was the emotional high point of the ceremony for me. We were all struggling to hold it together. Just as emotional was the playing of the "Star-spangled Banner" and the "Marseillaise" over a speaker system.

After the ceremony we all got in our cars and drove the short distance to Villers-Bocage where we were given a reception in the town hall, with hors-d'oeuvres and a local drink called pommeau, made from mixing Calvados (apple brandy) and apple cider. My family and friends chatted with the French as best we could. Linda and I had been taking a conversational French course, which helped, and a few of the locals spoke some English. A couple of reporters interviewed us for the local papers. The warmth and gratitude of the French people is impossible to exaggerate.

Afterwards we caravanned back to the old farmhouse we rented for the week in the tiny town of Hambye about 30 kilometers away. Now that the main purpose of our trip was past, we settled into a succession of days of sitting around the wood-stove, French cooking, and sight-seeing in the surrounding countryside, including a visit to Mont St. Michel.

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