Give me a booty call

On June 6, 1944, a 56-year-old general with a secret walked onto Utah Beach under fire, armed with a cane and a pistol. The secret: his heart was failing. He had hidden it from the army doctors so they wouldn't pull him from the mission. His name was Theodore Roosevelt Jr. Son of the President. He had begged three separate times to lead the first wave ashore at Normandy before his commanders finally said yes. When his landing craft drifted 2,000 yards off course, every instinct said redirect the following waves to the correct zone. Instead, Roosevelt walked the beach himself, alone, under artillery fire, cane in hand, reading the terrain. His verdict: "We'll start the war from right here." He then stood on that beach and personally greeted every regiment that landed after him, pointing them inland, cracking jokes under shellfire, steadying 18-year-olds who had never seen combat. He did this for hours. Years later, Omar Bradley was asked to name the single most heroic act he had ever witnessed in combat. His answer, without hesitation: "Ted Roosevelt on Utah Beach." Roosevelt's son, Captain Quentin Roosevelt II, also landed at Normandy that same morning. He was named after his uncle, Quentin Roosevelt, who had been shot down as a fighter pilot over France in World War I. Three generations. Three wars. One family. Theodore Roosevelt Jr. died in his sleep 36 days later. Heart attack. The thing he had been hiding finally won. He never learned he had been awarded the Medal of Honor. He was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery. In 1955, his family had his brother Quentin, killed in WWI, exhumed from where he fell in France and reinterred right beside him. Quentin is the only World War I soldier buried there. Two brothers. Two world wars. The same French soil. Their father had once said: "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are." Both of his sons did exactly that.

NIXON:– and I'll tell you something, Bob, nobody's thought of this. Nobody. I had it last night, up in the residence, couldn't sleep, and I went down and I made myself this, this thing. HALDEMAN: A thing, sir. NIXON: Pineapple. Chunks of pineapple. In the Kool-Aid. You put the chunks in and they go down, they sink, see, and you've got the, the red and the yellow, and you drink it and you get the pineapple at the bottom. Nobody's done this. HALDEMAN: I'm fairly sure people have done this, sir. NIXON: Who. Name one. Name one person. [EIGHT SECONDS OF SILENCE] HALDEMAN: I can't name a specific– NIXON: Because there isn't one. This is mine. Now here's the thing, Bob, and I want you to think about this before you give me one of your – your looks. The Catholics. The ethnics. The, the...you know. Your blue-collar fella in Scranton, in Cleveland. He sees the President of the United States drinking a jar of this, this...out of a jar, Bob, not a glass, a jar, because that's what these people do, they keep the empty jam jars...he sees that, and he thinks, that's a regular guy. That's a fella who understands. HALDEMAN: Understands pineapple. NIXON: Understands sacrifice. Understands thrift. You don't throw out the jar. [DOOR OPENING] KISSINGER: Mr President, the briefing on the– is this a bad time? NIXON: Henry. Henry, sit down. Tell him, Bob. HALDEMAN: The President has invented pineapple Kool-Aid. KISSINGER: I beg your pardon? NIXON: Pineapple. In the Kool-Aid. [TWELVE SECONDS OF SILENCE] KISSINGER: And this is...we are discussing this in place of the communique from Zhou Enlai.