• U.S. Army PFC Lawrence S. Gordon was killed in Normandy on Aug. 13, 1944 in Normandy. He was mistakenly buried as a German unknown soldier in a cemetery in France. His family produced exhaustive research that pointed to Gordon’s whereabouts, but the U.S. military didn’t act on the case. Instead the French and German governments moved forward to exhume Gordon and identify him with DNA. (Courtesy of Gordon family)

    Finally Home

    The WWII Hero America Abandoned

    For more than 50 years, Army PFC Lawrence S. Gordon was mistakenly interred as a German soldier in a cemetery in France. The U.S. never corrected the mistake.

    U.S. Army Private First Class Lawrence S. Gordon—killed in Normandy in 1944, then mistakenly buried as a German soldier—will soon be going home to his family.

    But don’t thank the American military for this belated return. The Pentagon declined to act on his case, despite exhaustive research by civilian investigators that pointed to the location of his remains.

  • Kevin Lamarque/Reuters


    WWII Vets Storm D.C. Memorial

    A few gates won’t hold them back.

    About 90 World War II vets from Mississippi arrived in Washington, D.C., Tuesday, determined to visit the World War II Memorial—shutdown or no shutdown. When they reached the barricaded memorial, the red, white, and blue–clad gang—many of them in wheelchairs—just kept moving, knocking down gates to get inside. All national parks and monuments may be closed today, but these people fought the Nazis, dammit! They’re not going to let a couple of measly gates get in the way of visiting their memorial. 

    Read it at Business Insider
  • The "soldier" with the bazooka May 8, 1945. (Tony Vaccaro)

    The Good War

    A World War II veteran shares an unexpected photo, and story, with Iraq War veteran Phil Klay.

    A few years ago I attended a party for World War II veterans at a friend's home on the anniversary of D-Day. It was a relatively sedate affair: a few surprisingly short men from the Greatest Generation sitting around, trading stories about work and life—not much talk of war. Then one of the men, Tony, brought out a book of his photographs, black-and-white snaps he'd taken while he was with the 83rd Infantry.

    The photographs were, by turns, fascinating and beautiful and horrible, as war photos tend to be. And then I encountered one that looked less like an image of battle than of a crime scene. Almost casually, Tony pointed to the photo, leaned over toward me, and started talking about it. None of the other veterans paid much attention, as if they'd heard the story already, and Tony was nonchalant, as though his story wouldn’t be any particular revelation. It was a part of his war, the “Good War,” and he'd been living with it for 65 years.