The World War II Museum

National World War Two Museum logo in New Orleans, LA

There were three of us excited to have tickets for the world-renowned World War II Museum in New Orleans, Louisiana: my companion and me and a good friend from New Orleans. Our friend had told us a lot about this place, and for my companion, who is an avid reader about that era in our nation’s history, his excitement was palpable.

A perfect day to go, we thought, as the weather was conducive to being indoors, rather than out, because it was very windy, cold, and rainy, with predictions for worsening weather events for the day and night. Great for browsing this hall of history and being an observer of those who were involved in pictures and stories.

We were told that part of the fun was to get ‘dog tags’ for an individual, whether it be a soldier, doctor, officer, or worker on the home front to follow throughout the war and find out the individual’s fate. That was an added exciting element to this adventure, unless, of course, their fate would be short and sad.

We arrived early. But so did thousands of others. The place was packed. A near record-setting number of interested viewers. OMG! We had no idea how these masses would impact the viewings and enjoyment of this place. Rooms were small and intimate, good for a few individuals, but not for a crowd.

Photo by William Widmer for The New York Times

After the fabulous movie, produced and narrated by Tom Hanks, we started the tour. We encountered volunteers to guide us, telling us the best place to go for the dog tags that would not have long lines. Following that suggestion, we went up a flight of stairs in pursuit of the dog tags and met a man dressed as a German officer, or so it seemed to me, who was another greeter and someone to offer advice. Not only was the man dressed as a German officer, his accent was a definite heavy German one. His name was George and seemed to be incongruous with the element of that time and place. He was staunch and firm in his advice, telling us that he did not recommend seeking out the dog tags because it was so crowded that that experience would not be the same, and might not even work out. He seemed determined in his advice.

Mmmm! We each muttered, still wanting to follow the ritual. But when we entered the nearby section that would take us through the area about D-Day, where he suggested we start, we were so taken aback by the numbers of people crowded into the small room that might normally accommodate a half-dozen to be able to easily read the explanations beneath the photos in peace, that we tried to back up and leave. We could not. We had to follow the winding path of the story to get to the other end. I, being claustrophobic, panicked. I had to get out of there.

I told the other two that I needed to leave. They concurred but getting through the crowd was difficult. There were people of all ages. Families with children as well as many older individuals, as expected. Some of those older folks had canes, and some needed an assistant, adding to the fragile aspect of moving within the crowd.

Since I couldn’t readily read the information beneath the photos, I found myself more interested in watching the reactions of these people who were reading and looking more intently. They seemed to be closely related to the subject, perhaps because of hearing tales from their fathers or mothers or having lost loved ones because most of these elders seemed quite affected by the displays. I saw many tears from those who looked at the photos and read the words or had the words read to them, who seemed to show an in-depth sensitivity for that time. They would not be old enough to have fought in the battle, yet for whatever reason, each seemed to feel a great deal of emotion, as if he or she were immersed in this battle with all their hearts and souls. I wish I could have added condolences or words of relief, but I knew that this was something they had to get through themselves. I was just happy to see that they had support to give them the strength to move on and to share their angst, sadness, or whatever they were feeling without judgment.

Photo copyright NewOrleans.com

My companion later told us that while inside the D-Day area, he had begun feeling claustrophobia strongly, especially while wearing a mask and being unable to breathe easily. The crowds had exacerbated his discomfort and he was beginning to feel resentful and sorry for himself until he started looking more closely at the photos. He saw men pouring from the landing crafts that had dropped the tailgates for them to storm the beach for battle and realized how each must have been feeling at that moment, the fear, the anxiety, the adrenalin rush pouring through them, and the many that likely never made it out. His own discomfort at that moment seemed minuscule and not worth thinking about. He was able to maneuver the crowd much easier than to leave.

The museum consisted of four city blocks, with crosswalks from one building to the next, each having its own theme. It was quite an undertaking. Unfortunately, we were unable to get through it all, or even a large part of it, since it was impossible to give each area the proper time to ingest and appreciate each section with the multitude of others trying to do the same.

Our friend, who had been to the museum three times, was astounded by the amount of people, thought the weather had been responsible for those astounding numbers, and felt bad that we couldn’t fully appreciate what we were there to see.

We found out that we could go the next day, show our receipt and just pay a small amount to continue our adventure, but we chose to wait another time to return to give this magnificent collection our undivided attention. We were not going to be in the area long and had other things to look at. Perhaps we’d return another year and go to the museum on a day that would be beautiful outdoors, which would not encourage others to move indoors. That way, we could give each and every display the honor it deserves by reading every word and looking at every photo of lives, and events that molded our history into what it is today.

Photo by Max Becherer for NOLA.com