“And in the three-quarters of a century since June 6th, no D-Day veteran has ever had to pay for his drink at the Café Gondrée.”
One, a co-worker, was a real friend. His unit took 97% casualties on Omaha Beach. He was among them, though his wounds were on day 3. He would point to the scar on his neck where the bullet went through. He woke in a hospital and last remembered collecting his own blood in his helmet, so "they could put it back in later". He had a very cute daughter my age, and I thought I should try to date her, but I held back in awe of him. I later found out that he was actually trying to make the connection. At his funeral, I learned that he 'rarely' spoke of his military history. I was surprised that he said as much to me as he did.
The second was a Ranger who stormed Point du Hoc. He was a close friend of my parents. I never heard him speak of his military history. I last saw him at my parent's fiftieth wedding anniversary.
The third was my next door neighbor for three decades. He was probably the most shy man I have ever met. He proudly put his American Flag on his front porch daily, and did tell of marching in on D-Day, and from there across France. That's all he ever said of it. He spent his last years in a VA home.
All are gone now.