Finding Gilbert: The touching WWII D-Day story that spans four generations | Opinion

I am the keeper of a love story that began before I was born and now spans 81 years, two continents, two countries, two languages and four generations.

The story began in France, just after the D-Day invasion, in June 1944. My father, Lt. Donald Johnson, was a Seabee, a civil engineer and first lieutenant in the Naval Construction Battalion who spent five months on the Normandy coast that summer, on the cliff above the American landing beach code named Omaha.

My father’s part in the D-Day invasion changed his life. Years later, as I was growing up in the post-war “baby boom” generation, his stories about his time in France would shape the course of my life, and influence my passions and pursuits.

Dad would tell his stories about France as our family of six gathered around the yellow Formica table each evening for dinner. He loved to talk about how his high school French (being from South Dakota, the teacher had never even heard French), made “s’il vous plaît” come out sounding like “silver plate.” But he’d smile remembering the kindness and patience of the French people at his efforts to speak the language.

The story of Gilbert

My favorite story was about the orphan boy, Gilbert Des Clos. Dad spotted the skinny seven-year-old as Gilbert hung around the camp. He invited Gilbert to eat with him in the officer’s mess for lunch.

That became a daily occurrence, and soon Gilbert was riding with Dad in the jeep as he made his rounds. If my father left for the day, Gilbert would be waiting when he returned.

They became so close that my dad ultimately tried — unsuccessfully — to adopt Gilbert and bring him home. But dad and Gilbert had to say goodbye.

I was fascinated by the world dad’s stories created, of a far away place that my father wanted to remember and talk about.

Meanwhile, Gilbert’s presence hovered, slightly out of focus. And France, where it had all taken place, felt like somewhere I already knew.

My journey to France

In high school and college, I chose to study French. I would continue to study the language throughout my adult years, pursuing a passion I couldn’t explain.

Near the end of my father’s life, when he spoke about his time in France, his voice came out clear and strong. For those moments, he was 30 again, playing his part in turning the tide of World War II.

He spoke about Gilbert then, his voice soft and wistful. “I wonder what ever happened to him?”

Those words sparked something inside of me.

My father died in 1991.

In 1994, I stood on the cliffs above Omaha Beach, now the American cemetery, a piece of American soil, where over 10,000 American soldiers are buried.

I was there to write about my father’s part in the invasion for the 50th anniversary of D-Day, and to accept a medal in his honor. I learned that my dad had been a part of the largest land and sea invasion in the history of the world. His stories from my childhood came to life again.

“This is all so real,” I thought to myself. “And what if Gilbert is also real, and has been waiting somehow to hear from dad?”

Though I wasn’t even sure how to spell Gilbert’s last name, I put an ad in the Normandy paper to look for him. By a combination of miracles, synchronicity and providence, I connected with Gilbert on what would have been my father’s 80th birthday on the last days of my trip.

In our emotional reunion, French language skills became extremely important, as Gilbert and his family didn’t speak English. When I told him that my father had never forgotten him, he wept.

He had told his wife, Huguette, and his daughter and grandsons about the kind lieutenant who had loved him and wanted to take him home to America.

“Someday, someone will come,” he had said.

Keeping the story alive

When I found Gilbert, I vowed to never lose touch with him again. I have kept that promise. Our many reunions over the last 31 years have included a family trip to Normandy for a grand fête in the town hall, which even included the mayor.

Gilbert finally made the trip to America with his family, which included many fun family dinners celebrating him. We had a grand time that featured cable car rides, a visit to Universal studios, Hollywood and a trip to Tijuana.

I had 14 years with Gilbert before he passed away in 2008. At his funeral, I sat in the front pew with the family and placed a photo of Gilbert and my dad in 1944 on Gilbert’s coffin. Everyone in the church knew the story.

I visit the family in Normandy often and I speak with Huguette regularly. There are now four generations there who know the story.

My father never could have imagined that his stories of his time in France would live on almost 70 years later — and that, because of them, his beloved orphan would be united with his American family.

I believe that our passions can be guideposts to the deeper meaning and mysteries of our lives. My passions for French and writing led me to Gilbert.

In the end, it’s all about who you love and letting them know.

This story was originally published June 5, 2025 at 9:09 AM with the headline "Finding Gilbert: The touching WWII D-Day story that spans four generations | Opinion."