Editor's Note: Chad Lindskog will be traveling to Arlington National Cemetery to cover Carl Mann's funeral for the Courier & Press.

Freedom is a jealous woman.

She wants to be courted. She wants to be shown off. She wants people to take her out and appreciate her. She wants everybody to discuss and even brag about her.

If you aren’t willing to do those things up to and including the point of death, freedom will leave. She will go somewhere else that’s willing to fight for her and defend her and date her and talk about her.

At least, that’s what Carl Mann believed to be freedom. Tears would sometimes trickle down his face, beneath his glasses and World War II veteran hat, before he finished his story.

“Don’t ever let her leave here,” he would tell family and Evansville-area school children. “I’ve been places where she wasn’t, and those people wish they had what we have. Don’t let her go.”

Update: WWII veteran Carl Mann buried on D-Day 75th anniversary at Arlington National Cemetery

U.S. Army World War II veteran Carl Mann of Evansville attends the Memorial Day services at Alexander Memorial Park on Evansville's West Side in 2017. DENNY SIMMONS / COURIER & PRESS

Sgt. Carl Mann was a hero living among us for 96 years until his death March 30. He was awarded three Purple Hearts and seven Bronze Stars for his service in the 5th Infantry Division of Gen. George S. Patton’s 3rd Army. He was involved in all five major battles of the European Theater – from storming Omaha Beach on D-Day to being Patton’s eyes and ears during the Battle of the Bulge.

Mann, a native of Mount Vernon, Indiana, will be buried June 6 at Arlington National Cemetery on the 75th anniversary of D-Day, expected to represent perhaps the last large gathering of WWII veterans worldwide.

When soldiers made their return from war, their ships sailed into New York Harbor. All aboard were called on deck as they approached the Statue of Liberty. These brave, strong men had seen the worst things imaginable during combat, but this was their breaking point.

Everyone bawled. The sight of her was no mirage. They were home.

“Old lady, I’ve been to hell and back for you – and it was worth it,” Mann remembered saying to her teary-eyed.

This is a story of a man who directed our country in history’s worst battles and remarkably returned home to Southern Indiana to raise a loving family of seven children with his wife Dolores while working seven days a week until retiring on his 92nd birthday.

Not just for freedom but for all Americans.

From working a farm in the Great Depression to the front lines in Europe

Mann and his three siblings were raised on a farm during the Great Depression.

By age 6, he was put to work in fields behind mules. He didn’t stop for the next 86 years. That’s what his generation did, after all. Mann’s children recall Christmas usually being the only day he had off.

He had dreams of becoming an attorney and enrolled at Indiana University after serving as class president at Mount Vernon High School. He, like most 18-year-old freshmen, enjoyed independence during his first fall in Bloomington.

Then came the horrible news on Dec. 7, 1941: The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor.

America rallied overnight. Mann and three of his friends ventured to Downtown Evansville the next day to enlist in the Army. The line leading to the courthouse spanned several blocks.

He initially hoped to fight against the Japanese in the Pacific. Instead, he was sent to Europe to bring down Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.

Carl Mann after basic training Provided

Mann didn’t discuss his experiences overseas for almost 60 years. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, but rather, he returned home with survivor’s guilt, according to his youngest son, Miles.

Many of his friends weren’t as fortunate. More than 16 million Americans served in WWII, and 405,000 of them died.

“I would have gladly turned all of those awards in and never gotten them if all of my friends I served with got to come home,” Mann would say.

Thus, he moved on to a modest lifestyle as a devoted father and husband with shrapnel and bullets from war remaining inside his body. Mann worked mostly as an automotive mechanic at the old Sears Auto Center on South Green River Road, though he held a handful of other jobs ranging from bread delivery man to cab driver to owner of a Standard station on the corner of Washington and Weinbach.

He didn’t begin to reminisce with others until one of his grandchildren asked about 10 years ago which side of WWII he was on.

“He realized students weren’t being taught that in school any longer,” Miles said. “Here’s a guy who had been there and done that in World War II, you would think his grandkids would know. It was time to start letting us know.”

'Dad was our GPS' and it piqued Gen. Patton's attention

Even well into his 90s, friends and family could call Carl Mann asking for directions, and after a few seconds of thinking, he would give the most efficient route. It was almost foolproof. He knew the lay of the land.

“I still think about it when I’m trying to find a place today,” said his son, who carries his name, Carl Mann II. “Dad was our GPS. That’s how he sees.”

Mann’s ability to navigate is how he piqued Gen. Patton’s attention. He served as a forward observer, which the Army declared, in ground combat at least, “is potentially the most powerful individual.”

Forward observers were always the first to reach battlefields to serve as the eyes and ears of the commander. They were responsible for making the offensive as impactful and effective as possible to minimize wasted ammunition – and the loss of their fellow soldiers.

Carl Mann in October 1944. Provided

Most of their fighting took place in no-man’s-land because they wanted to draw the least attention. They infiltrated German-occupied towns, wiping out snipers hiding in the towers of prominent churches.

There were generally five people in his group — Mann, two snipers, a radio man and a lookout — so they had an agreement that if anything ever happened to one of them, they would want to be left behind to avoid dragging the others down.

“All of them took turns getting shot,” Miles Mann said. “All of them were picked up.”

One of Mann's Bronze Stars came after he and an older man in his group, a sniper named Pop Cecil, were separated. The other three were gone. Cecil was wounded and told Mann to leave him behind because he couldn’t walk. Mann wouldn’t. He let his commanders know through code he would do his best to care for Cecil until help arrived.

"He dragged that guy and carried him around for three days," Miles Mann said.

According to Mann, there were 28 forward observers in the 3rd Army. He was one of three who went home.

Serving with Frank Smith, the man who trusted him with his life

War is hell.

War is something men endure because freedom means so much to them that they are willing to sacrifice their lives. They experience things worse than they could ever imagine because freedom can be taken away at any time.

Something funny happened every day, of course. Mann said he did laugh. But he gravely remembered stopping to care for men who had fallen in combat. They would pray together and he even attempted to baptize them.

Mann served three years alongside Frank Smith, an English literature instructor at the University of Pennsylvania. They trusted each other with their lives and knew nearly everything about one another.

By December 1944, it seemed as if WWII was all but over. Mann and Smith were eager to return home. That was until the German army launched a counteroffensive intended to cut through the Allied forces in a manner that could turn the tide of the war in Hitler's favor.

On Dec. 16, three German armies of more than a quarter-million troops launched the deadliest and most desperate battle of the war, known as the Battle of the Bulge.

Smith died in the fighting.

“That’s the way it goes,” Miles Mann said. “Dad would give it all up to not have Frank shot that day.”

That’s why Mann always loathed when anyone – politicians or whomever – was compared to Hitler. Those analogies rankled him to the core. He felt those people had no concept of how evil Hitler truly was.

Because Mann was at the front of the offensive line, he also was the first to reach the large, iron gates of two concentration camps. Germans who occupied them knew they were under siege and fled upon opening the gates.

The helpless, malnourished prisoners inside came flooding out. Some collapsed to the ground and laid prostrate with their face in the dirt while grabbing Mann’s ankles to tell him, "Thank you.”

They were free. Those moments were the manifestation of why Mann and millions of others enlisted.

Reuniting with Lady Liberty, falling in love with his pen pal

Camp Myles Standish, a U.S. Army base in Taunton, Massachusetts, facilitated the departure of about a million U.S. and Allied soldiers. That’s where Mann left U.S. soil and headed abroad in 1943.

But first, on Valentine’s Day, he and one of his friends went to see a movie. It was a double date. His friend had a girlfriend, and her friend, Dolores Therrien, accompanied Mann. They laughed when they realized they met outside a burlesque near the theater.

That was the only date, but they wrote to each other throughout his initial months in Europe. Then Mann stopped writing. He sensed his chances of returning were not good and felt it was unfair for her to have to wait for him.

When it became apparent he was going to come home, he began writing again with the hope she would forgive him. She did, considering she, too, was contributing to the cause of winning WWII by working in a shipyard.

Carl and Dolores Mann pose on their wedding day, Sept. 1, 1945. Provided

Carl Mann greeted the Statue of Liberty in May 1945 and shortly after reunited with his pen pal. He married Dolores Therrien on Sept. 1, 1945, and they lived in Massachusetts for about five years before moving back near his roots in Southern Indiana.

Carl and Dolores raised seven children: Susanne, Carl II, Kim, Gordon, Michelle, Miles and Melanie. Dolores died in 2010 and is buried at St. Joseph Catholic Cemetery next to her late son, Gordon, a priest who died at 59, one month before his father.

For the first time, Carl began opening up

During the last decade of his life, once he finally began to share his tales, Carl Mann visited Mater Dei High School and other local elementary schools annually to instill a true sense of history.

Carl Mann in June 2018. Provided

He was a great storyteller and gave students a tremendous sense of patriotism.

“He moved the entire crowd,” said Mike Goebel, one of Mater Dei’s social studies teachers. “He left them totally quiet and in awe of his story.”

Mann emphasized freedom, liberty and the Constitution. He didn’t mince words, but he was funny. He became emotional when he spoke of his faith and the moments spent consoling fallen brothers as they slipped away. He urged students to know their government leaders.

He bridged the gap between generations, genuinely relating to high school students about how he once shared the same dreams they have today. He was basically their age when he went to war.

“I always tell my students, 'We search for role models, we search for heroes, and Carl Mann would be the last person to ever say he was a hero,'” Goebel said. “He always left classes with the statement that the heroes were the ones who were left behind."

Miles Mann He would look at my boys, who are now 19 and 26 years old and he kept saying, ‘I hope this country comes together, but I hope it’s not on your backs.’ Quote icon

“He was a hero," added Goebel, the father of an Army Captain.

Mann longed for his country, but he said during his final years he didn’t recognize it anymore. He didn’t think we as Americans help each other anymore. But people sure used to. It was necessary because their freedom was at stake.

Although Republicans and Democrats have argued since long before WWII, they found a way to cooperate in dire times. Mann believed diversity isn’t what made America great. Rather, it was our unity for having come from such diverse backgrounds.

“He would look at my boys, who are now 19 and 26 years old,” Miles Mann said, “and he kept saying, ‘I hope this country comes together, but I hope it’s not on your backs.’”

Leaving his survivor's guilt at the WWII war memorial

Carl Mann relinquished 73 years worth of angst on October 25, 2015 — his 93rd birthday — when he boarded the Honor Flight of Southern Indiana, a nonprofit program that takes veterans to visit war memorials in Washington D.C.

He had declined two previous opportunities. When he finally accepted, he shared even more about his past. It’s a rewarding opportunity for any veteran who receives the chance.

Carl Mann sits at the WWII Memorial with the rest of his Honor Flight Class. Provided

Mann left his survivor’s guilt there when he finally saw the WWII memorial. Miles was his guardian for the flight, and during their visit, they encountered two women in their mid-20s at the Vietnam Women's Memorial.

The women spotted Mann’s WWII veteran hat and said they were from Norway. He told them he helped liberate a concentration camp there.

Carl Mann pictured at the Vietnam Women's Memorial. These two women are from Norway, where Mann helped liberate concentration camps. Provided

One of the girls then dropped to the ground and laid prostrate while grabbing Mann’s ankles, which were resting in his wheelchair.

“Thank you for what you did,” one of them said in broken English. “If you didn’t do it, my freedom wouldn’t be good.”

She then got up and hugged him in appreciation of what he and the Allied forces had done about 45 years before she was born.

There she was again. Freedom.

Gazing out at his final resting place, knowing 'that's what freedom cost'

Carl Mann shook his head during the Washington D.C. trip as he gazed across Arlington National Cemetery, the final resting place of over 400,000 men and women.

“All this,” he said. “That’s what the price was. That’s what freedom cost.”

Mann’s credentials qualify him to be buried at Arlington, even if his family continues to complete his collection of Purple Hearts and Bronze Stars, seemingly all separated in sock drawers, cigar boxes and other places unknown.

Carl Mann II There was a long period of time when he felt closer to his brothers in the military than he did to his blood brothers. Quote icon

He wanted to forever be alongside people who thought the way he did.

“There was a long period of time when he felt closer to his brothers in the military than he did to his blood brothers,” his son, Carl II, explained. “People who haven’t been in combat might not understand that. Those that have been don’t need to explain.”

Carl II served in the Vietnam War. He and Miles had a few frank conversations with their father about where Mann would be buried, but they agreed to see his wishes through.

“(Our family) might not want him there because it’s not convenient to drive 12 hours to see the burial plot for your father or your loved one,” Miles said. “It’d be nice if he was at St. Joe’s Cemetery where we all are here.”

Mann transformed overseas. Once you’re in the middle of war, you lose some of yourself. Part of you never leaves those horrors.

The American forces landed 73,000 troops on D-Day, June 6, 1944. As part of the second wave, Mann was one of 34,250 to storm Omaha Beach at Normandy. Allied casualties were at least 10,000 with 4,414 confirmed dead.

Miles Mann (left) and Carl Mann visited the WWII Memorial during his Honor Flight in 2015. Provided

Mann survived to tell gruesome stories about belly-crawling as bullets whizzed past his head and between his fingers. He spent too many nights later in life experiencing PTSD. He would be back in the middle of battle, seeing the faces of his fallen brothers, still hearing their screams.

On the 75th anniversary of D-Day, it’s important to honor the courage and sacrifice of those who secured freedom for all of us.

Fittingly, it’ll also mark the celebration of Carl Mann’s life, one he almost didn’t get to fully live because he cared so much about freedom, he wouldn't let her leave. All six of his surviving children will make the trip.

“We’re bringing him home,” Carl Mann II said about his father, the World War II hero.

on Twitter: @chadlindskog.

Arlington National Cemetery

► The national cemetery was established in 1864 during the Civil War on the grounds of Arlington House, which had been the estate of Confederate general Robert E Lee's wife Mary Anna Custis Lee.

► Final resting place of over 400,000 men and women.

► On average, 25 burials are performed each day.

► Covers 624 acres of land and more than three million tourists pass through annually.

► Burial is generally limited to active, retired and former members of the armed forces, Medal of Honor recipients, high-ranking federal government officials and their dependents. Criteria include: