D-Day 50th anniversary, The Gazette by thegazetteonline

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun,, June 5,1994

IOWANS REMEMBER THE INVASION OF NORMANDY JUNE 6, 1944

LongO'Si'W . 7 ml

Long o'se'W

Formlgny 2.4 m l '

L0t49'£l'30 N

<Lx*x—

\s^&

8-f

'J'

R5 11? o o z I

le g,

-fes-St)

•a

J fe • IX

3 "

s > r-

i 9»

»e>»

.'M

g s

167

LengO'Se'W 68... LongCrsi'W 69

CONSTRUCTION ACTIVITY 669902

VALLEY OF RIVER RUQUET

RUINS OF HOUSE -

_______- ============= ^^

-Mer)

•

RUINS 684897

OURS

, „ . AO and air photo exkilom.fr (1000 metw).

SS;^^-—===== NOTE to COXSWAIN or NAVIGATOR Building landmarks, especially near the beach, may be de stroyed before any craft land. Terrain feature*, therefore, are much more reliable for visual navigation from panoramic ihoreline tketch above. Green (olid and broken lines with letter at each end on chart above refer to Beech Gradients on re. verse side of this sheet. Also on reverse side are Sunlight and Moonlight Table, data on Inshore Currents and Tidal Stages.

1000 MET

Contour,

.Kown (hown

are -atJ10- -meter «

i ...LS,I. : « 1 3 re.

™

_ .

^-i...

—•• — ••

.„

Ii METER METER •

000 YARDS

••••mT—

—" 10

above mean sea^ METER SCALE YARD SCALE

S T r s T ^ ' . q - o r . ^ t h . mop. •-

—

••',.,„

.nnHrnf

Wttudt ond longltud. .quart, on I n . mop.

LONGITUDE SCALE L

" ™ ,„ „, i a l v msosure seconds These sco... con b. used to o c c u r o ^ y m LATITUDE SCALE

so"

r u r o

o f

loMud. or longliud. using .. /Vf*

THEN THIS SHEET BECOMES

RESHm^"

Detailed maps of sections of the Normandy beaches and nearby towns were used by Allied forces on D-Day. This map is among the memorabilia Adolph "Tope" Topinka of Cedar Rapids has from his service as a combat engineer officer. "Bigot" is a code word. T O P : An American soldier wades through water to reach the Normandy beach on June 6, 1944. RIGHT: Gen. Dwight Eisenhower led the Allied invasion and, in 1964, returned to Normandy. B O T T O M : American troops and trucks splash ashore on D-Day.

1 4A

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun,, June 5 , 1 9 9 4

"The long sobs of the violins of autumn. Wounding my heart with a monotonous languor." French poet Paul Verlaine BBC radio code for invasion alert (June 1). Invasion in 48 hours (June 5).

Secrets sifted for plan

Editor's note

he tide of history rises and falls with the waves made by individuals. On D-Day, June 6, 1944, thousands of American, British and Canadian soldiers waded ashore on the sandy beaches of Normandy and changed the course of history. Some were scared, some were fearless. Some were lucky, some were not. Some lived, many died. They charged into the teeth of defenses erected by German soldiers determined to hold their lines — soldiers who were also scared and fearless, lucky and unlucky. lowans were part of the Allied tide of armies that carved a beachhead in occupied France, then rushed across Western Europe in less

By George Sauerberg

Gazette staff writer

h e Allied i n v a s i o n of N o r m a n d y s e n t a message to Hitler. But the a t t a c k ' s success was due largely to m a n y detailed messages t r a n s m i t t e d to Allied h e a d q u a r t e r s in the preceding m o n t h s . Cal Mether, 69, of Iowa City, w a s a m o n g the m e n in A r m y Intelligence w h o typed r e p o r t s from u n d e r g r o u n d agents' messages after t h e y were decoded. The information included G e r m a n troop strengths, supply depots, d e p t h s of r i v e r s a n d tides. Mether, a r e t i r e d University of Iowa m e d i a instructor, was a n A r m y p r i v a t e in April 1944, w h e n he w a s assigned to t h e E n g i n e e r i n g a n d Topographical Section of G-2 Intelligence Division, S u p r e m e H e a d q u a r t e r s Allied Expeditionary Force, in London. " T h e r e a s o n I was t h e r e instead of N o r m a n d y w i t h the rest of the boys on the b e a c h e s w a s I could type," says Mether, w h o w a s n ' t shipped to F r a n c e u n t i l early September 1944. e t h e r says the work " w a s p a r t i c u l a r l y interesting because it gave t h e field c o m m a n d e r a feel for w h a t was a h e a d of h i m . " The m a p s , c h a r t s a n d other information t h a t Intelligence provided w a s invaluable to troops on shore. "It had to be very a c c u r a t e , " M e t h e r says. "We spent some time m a k i n g s u r e we h a d all t h e figures correct t h a t we w e r e p u t t i n g into t h e reports. "We w e r e g a t h e r i n g p h o t o g r a p h s people h a d been t a k i n g over quite a period of y e a r s of bridges and riverbanks. If we w e r e w r i t i n g u p a r e p o r t on a bridge, we not only h a d the photos people h a d t a k e n as t o u r i s t s b u t also t h e a i r reconnaissance p h o t o g r a p h s . All t h a t photographic information w a s flowing in a n d b e c o m i n g a p a r t of t h e r e p o r t . " T h e information w a s so detailed t h a t w h e n M e t h e r sees d o c u m e n t a r i e s or movies Cal Mether a b o u t t h e war, h e still Information valuable tries to see h o w w h a t h e k n e w t h e n fit into major battles. "We realized it w a s i m p o r t a n t w o r k , " h e says. " T h e s e c u r i t y l e c t u r e s we h a d e v e r y m o r n i n g r e m i n d e d u s t h a t we w a n t e d to keep o u r m o u t h s

shut."

M e t h e r s a y s it w a s difficult seeing fellow soldiers w a l k i n g a r o u n d London d u r i n g h i s offkluty h o u r s . "It's a n uncomfortable feeling to k n o w the obstacles t h a t those guys w e r e going to t u n i n t o , " h e says. On D-Day, M e t h e r ' s u n i t began m o v i n g to Teddington, England, because the t h r e a t of V-l "buzz b o m b s " — unguided G e r m a n missiles — aimed for'London h a d been detected. Looking back, how does h e view h i s role in the invasion? " A v e r y small cog, b e c a u s e t h e r e w e j e a lot of u s over t h e r e , " h e says. "I'd like to t h i n k we m a d e a difference."

Admiral keeps quiet in Iowa By Mark Martin 7

News intern

n t h e day before D-Day in 1944, P r e s i d e n t Roosevelt's m i l i t a r y chief of staff w a s not in Washington, D.C., or a n y w h e r e n e a r the w a r in Europe. He w a s visiting Cornell College i n M o u n t Vernon. Adm. William Leahy h a d come to Cornell to give the c o m m e n c e m e n t speech at graduation ceremonies. He was invited by Cornell P r e s i d e n t Russell Cole, a p e r s o n a l friend of Leahy's. Leahy was also on c a m p u s to inspect a Navy pre-flight t r a i n i n g camp t a k i n g place at t h e college. "It was a big thing to h a v e a person of t h a t s t a t u r e in town," says Cedar Rapids lawyer A.R. Kudart, w h o was a 14-year-old Mount Vernon resident a t the time. "He gave h i s speech, but says n o t h i n g about this h u g e event t h a t was to h a p p e n the next day, probably something h e h a d helped plan." After t h e speech, Leahy spent t h e n i g h t a t Cole's house, keeping h i s secret u n t i l the next d a y when the invasion of N o r m a n d y was a n n o u n c e d on radio. " T h e n e x t m o r n i n g h e told the Cole family all a b o u t w h a t was h a p p e n i n g , a n d h e gave t h e m a p r e v i e w of the m i l i t a r y ' s p l a n s for the day," J o h n Kirkpatrick, a n o t h e r M o u n t V e r n o n teen-ager at the time, says. K i r k p a t r i c k grew u p in M o u n t V e r n o n but now lives in Madison, Wis. His m o t h e r was a s e c r e t a r y at Cornell College. " L a t e r in the day, (Leahy) w a s out in town inspecting t h e y o u n g Navy r e c r u i t s while the world listened as D-Day took place. Obviously, W a s h i n g t o n felt t h a t h e w a s n ' t needed to m a k e decisions a t t h a t point. It w a s u p to t h e people in E n g l a n d , " K i r k p a t r i c k says.

than a year to overwhelm Nazi Germany. Some of their stories are included in this special section. The stories of many others are told at family reunions, shown in photographs pasted in crumbling scrapbooks or commemorated with a date chiseled on a gravestone. On this anniversary, the sacrifices of so many will be remembered by many more — all contributing to the tide of history. John Goodlove, Assistant Sunday editor

To obtain additional copies of this special section, contact: The Gazette, 500 Third Ave. SE, P.O. Box 5 1 1 , Cedar Rapids 52406; 3 9 8 - 8 2 1 1 .

AP photo

A soldier's comrades used his equipment to honor his death on a shell-blasted beach during the D-day assaults in June 1944.

'Key' to D-Day in pocket By Dave Rasdal

the date a n d only E i s e n h o w e r k n e w t h a t , " Conrad wrote. NAMOSA — Eight m o n t h s He w a s b o r n n o r t h of Anamosa. before Allied forces invaded He enlisted in t h e A r m y in t h e beaches of N o r m a n d y , November, 1942, because h e knew J e s s Conrad, a farm boy from h e w a s about to be drafted. A n a m o s a , showed up at Allied After a t i m e h e became s e c r e t a r y h e a d q u a r t e r s in London. to the c o m m a n d i n g officer at Camp "My First day in the office they Sutton, Monroe, N.C. He a n d L a u r a h a n d e d m e a key," J e s s recalls. "I w e r e m a r r i e d t h e r e Dec. 24, 1944, asked t h e m w h a t it was for. They a n d later lived in Pomona, Calif., told m e it was the key to the safe before J e s s went overseas. t h a t held all the invasion m a p s a n d Laura, a Woman's Ordnance p l a n s for o u r department." Worker (WOW) stayed behind. She J e s s accepted the key, b u t h e was expecting t h e i r first child. d i d n ' t really k n o w w h a t to think. T h e days seemed to d r a g on "I t h o u g h t they were kidding, b u t without him, but at it did m a k e sense. I was least letters a n d n o t e s a M a s t e r Sergeant Chief k e p t t h e m in touch. I n Clerk a n d nobody would one, Conrad w r o t e a expect m e to h a v e the j o k e to her: "Did y o u key. But I did spend a h e a r about t h e m o r o n lot of t i m e looking over w h o moved to t h e city m y shoulder." because h e h e a r d t h e That's what the country was at war?" longtime A n a m o s a L a u r a Conrad l a u g h s b u s i n e s s m a n wrote i n a a t t h e joke e v e n n o w , a s letter to T h e Gazette she does at some of h e r last December, after h e memories. had gathered h i s " W h e n h e was in m e m e n t o s from World England, h e stayed in a War n. Conrad died private home," she April 8, a t t h e age of 71, says. " T h e l a d y w o u l d Jess Conrad after a two-year battle get h i m u p every In World War II with cancer. m o r n i n g a n d give h i m i | L J l e w a s p r o u d of tea. He h a t e d tea." h i s service," Conrad a r r i v e d a t says h i s wife, L a u r a , U t a h Beach seven days unfolding a l a r g e m a p after t h e fighting h a d of the English C h a n n e l b e g u n a n d counted 67 and Normandy. s h i p s t h a t h a d s u n k off T h e m a p shows the t h e beachhead. He m o v e m e n t of ADSEC drove a jeep off h i s s h i p (Advance Section and was handed a map C o m m u n i c a t i o n Zone) t h a t pinpointed m i n e s as it helped p l a n t h e o n the beach. largest a m p h i b i o u s After m a k i n g h i s w a y l a n d i n g in h i s t o r y . It across a bridge t h a t h a d would directly supply been bombed a n d t h e 1st, 3rd, 9th a n d , _ . rebuilt several times, h e 15th a r m i e s a n d the 9th ?°" ° w a s stationed in A i r Force, J e s s Conrad Died in April foxholes between Isigny wrote. and Carentan, near an advance air In M a r c h , after Gen. Dwight b a s e of P-38 a n d P-51 fighters a n d E i s e n h o w e r h a d t a k e n c o m m a n d of some b o m b e r s . T h e G e r m a n s would all Allied forces, the g r o u p moved strafe the a i r b a s e on t h e i r w a y to to Bristol, England. a n d from t h e beach. "We a t t h a t t i m e k n e w every " T h e anti-aircraft fire would pick detail of t h e invasion p l a n s except t h e planes u p as soon as they Gazette staff writer

r a

Gazette photo by Dave Rasdal

Laura Conrad of Anamosa displays some of the items her husband, Jess, saved from his service in World War II. Among the items on a map of the invasion of Normandy are his picture identification card and the letter sent to all soldiers from Gen. Dwight Eisenhower (foreground), Jess Conrad's Bronze Star (right), a French language newspaper (background) and photographs after Jess and Laura were married in 1942 and on their 50th wedding anniversary. crossed t h e h o r i z o n , " C o n r a d wrote. " A n e n t i r e sky filled w i t h t r a c e r bullets a n d n o w a n d t h e n a p a r a c h u t e coming down, covered by s e a r c h lights."

F u r t h e r inland, n e a r St. Lo, F r a n c e , h e experienced a 24-hour period of constant bombing. " W h e n we went through, t h e r e w a s n ' t a piece of a n y t h i n g m o r e t h a n 6 feet s q u a r e , " h e wrote.

Privy to plans, she prayed for fiance By Lynn M. Tefft Gazette staff writer

i r i a m " S u n n y " D r a h o s k n e w of the DDay invasion p l a n s , b u t she d i d n ' t tell a soul. While stationed in Algiers, N o r t h Africa, w i t h t h e W o m e n ' s A u x i l i a r y Corps eight m o n t h s before, D r a h o s worked a s a s t e n o g r a p h e r a t the Allied Forces H e a d q u a r t e r s , t a k i n g n o t e s from Gen. Dwight E i s e n h o w e r . H e r u n i q u e blend of s h o r t h a n d styles m a d e it impossible for a n y o n e besides herself to r e a d h e r notes, m a k i n g h e r a valuable asset to the general. In h e r job she w a s p r i v y to m u c h of the p l a n n i n g of the invasion. "It was one of the most wonderful experiences of m y life to be t h e r e in Algiers," s h e says. "I h a v e a lot to r e m e m b e r forever — good t i m e s and bau times — I was one of the pioneer women." On D-Day, J u n e 6, 1944, she was back in Cedar Rapids w o r r y i n g a n d w o n d e r i n g h o w h e r future h u s b a n d , Aldrich "Ozzie" D r a h o s , w a s doing in England. " E v e r y t i m e the p h o n e r a n g I t h o u g h t 'Oh my, oh my!' r e m e m b e r s Sunny, whose WAC division w a s the first to go over to the front. " B u t s o m e t h i n g told m e Ozzie would be all r i g h t . "

h e recalls. "We k n e w it would s t a r t a n y day, a n d we t h o u g h t it w a s g r e a t t h a t it started. But we j u s t told h i m to be quiet." Drahos, a n Air Force colonel w a i t i n g in a r e p l a c e m e n t pool, w a s assigned to fly over the invasion t h r e e d a y s later. He says it is simply impossible to describe w h a t w a s seen from the air. " I n e v e n t h r e e d a y s t h e r e w a s so m u c h destruction," h e r e m e m b e r s . "You could see it all from t h e a i r — t h e w a r s h i p s p u m p i n g w a r h e a d s into the fortifications — I n e v e r could describe it well to a n y o n e . " l t h o u g h the typical a i r p l a n e c r e w would fly 25 to 30 missions, D r a h o s ' was h i t by flak a n d forced to m a k e a n e m e r g e n c y l a n d i n g i n Sweden on its sixth. In Sweden, a s a n i n t e r n e d p r i s o n e r of w a r for five m o n t h s , D r a h o s stayed in a motel biding h i s t i m e u n t i l it w a s h i s t u r n to steal o u t of the c o u n t r y late at night. A "secret a i r l i n e " t h a t took D r a h o s out of Sweden w a s responsible for t r a n s p o r t i n g as m a n y as 3,000 people out, r i g h t u n d e r the nose of the enemy, t h r o u g h o u t t h e war. Ozzie a n d S u n n y w e r e m a r r i e d on Nov. 1, 1944, i m m e d i a t e l y after Ozzie r e t u r n e d from t h e war.

Miriam "Sunny" Drahos was a secretary to Gen. Dwight Eisenhower in World War II. Ozzie Drahos was in the Air Corps and spent five months as a prisoner of war. D r a h o s w a s asleep in a b a r r a c k s in Ireland w h e n the invasion of N o r m a n d y began. " T h i s guy c a m e in s c r e a m i n g , r e a l early i n the m o r n i n g , s a y i n g the invasion h a d b e g u n , "

"Our landings . . . have failed and I have withdrawn the troops.... The troops, the air and the Navy all did that bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame or fault attaches to the attempt, it is mine alone." Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, in press release to be used if invasion failed

Under fire, lost helmet no worry By George Sauerberg Gazette staff writer

ying on the nose of an amphibious truck, I.J. "Irish" Degnan — despite losing his helmet in the chaos — watched for deadly underwater obstacles and gave hand signals to the driver on their approach to Omaha Beach. Degnan, 75, of Guttenberg, was among members of his unit who each received a Silver Star for setting up radio communications on the beach on D-Day. Now a retired insurance and real estate agent, Degnan was a first lieutenant in the V Corps Information Detachment. The unit had been created for planning the corps' part of the invasion, which had been postponed June 5 because of a storm. The unit's mission on D-Day was to set up radio communications with the USS Ancon, the flagship for the task force invading Omaha Beach. Degnan

says his vehicle was the sole survivor of about 25 DUKWs, known as "ducks," on the LST (landing ship, tank) he was on. "On the morning of the 6th, we left the LST at 0400 hours (4 o'clock)," Degnan says. "The sea was still rough, making us about three hours later than planned." The DUKW made several attempts to land — finally doing so at high tide, when the water level helped the vehicle clear obstacles. "The underwater barriers had mines and other explosives attached to them, and if hit or bumped by a DUKW or other boats, the damage would be devastating and final. "To give directions to the driver of our DUKW, I lay on the nose of the vehicle and gave hand signals to help guide us around the obstacles. I could see the mines and explosives attached to the obstacles. We were truly blessed that we made it through this maze.

"Our DUKW had cans of gasoline strapped to the sides of our boat cabin. Because of the incoming fire, we decided to dump the cans into the water. This proved to be one of our better decisions, because our DUKW did receive machine gun fire through the walls of the cabin, f f l A f finally made it to shore, but for a short W time only. Our antennae stuck up in the air about 15 feet, making our presence a prime target. The infantrymen on the beach let us know in no uncertain terms that we were not welcome in their area. They waved us off, and I can still hear very clearly, 'Get that %#*&(§#$ radio out of here!' Their request or demand was justified because our presence was drawing enemy fire, particularly when we were running the radio. "We withdrew from the beach and ran approximately 300 feet parallel to the shore. We sent many messages to the Ancon. "We finally found a spot on the beach where we e

'Hell of a mess' on beach

'Nervous I wreck' with anger

By Brian Louis Gazette staff writer

aul Shimek Jr.'s voice cracks when he recalls the cacophony of shells and gunfire that raked Omaha Beach at Normandy June 6, •1944. " He remembers his fallen comrades lying on the beach and later seeing their bodies washed up again with the tide. Some of the soldiers were his • friends, guys in his outfit — "guys who he was talking with ; only hours before. ;• "I try to forget a lot of it," ,'says Shimek, 78, of West ; Branch. "I get too damned ^emotional about it. My face is <.getting wet from the tears." t He and his platoon, part of the ~lst Infantry Division, known as *-the "Big Red One," were part of "the landing. The time he hit the beachhead — 9 a.m. — is forever etched on his watch. It broke that morning, t He says the beachhead was loud, with no order. Confusion «> was the rule. It was insanity. <• "Everything was so mixed up there," he says. Shimek says he and one of his buddies who also lived through World War II were near each other on the beach, but it was hard to communicate because of the deafening explosions, yelling , and screaming. "There was so much noise, dust and smoke, there was . probably 20 feet between us but we couldn't even hear each other," he says. He says his squad tried to get near bluffs on the beach and set . up a periscope to see where German troops were positioned. He says it took almost all day to reach a ridge where the scope could be set up safely. With it, Allied scouts spotted German tanks lying dead in the fields because much of the surrounding area was flooded. Along with the immobilized Nazi tanks were many dead Allied paratroopers, who had drowned when they landed in the flooded fields. "We lost a lot of paratroopers," he says. "They never should have done it. A lot of mistakes were made. It was a hell of>a mess." ompared to others in the platoon, Shimek was an old-timer at 28 when he fought in the war. Most of the other troops in his platoon were in their teens or early 20s. Though he was never shot, he was hit with shrapnel numerous times. None of the wounds were •serious. Some of Shimek's toughest battles, however, came after the war. He says adjusting to civilian life after fighting for almost 500 days and five years in North Africa and Europe almost broke him. When he returned, he settled in Cedar Rapids and worked at Iowa Manufacturing for 32 years. After leaving that company, he worked in the horse business in Cedar Rapids. He retired in West Branch. For Shimek, war. is not. romantic or glamorous. To him, it seems no one has learned the lessons of the war he fought or others that followed. "It doesn't make sense," he says. "I don't think it's ever going to quit." .

were tolerated. There was continual machine gun ^ fire and incoming shells from German 88 cannons. "Col. (B.B.) Talley, (DUKW driver) Jim ^ Mildenburger and myself were on shore, trying to' burrow in a low ground depression to keep from being hit. Jim caught some shrapnel in his back .JU.and right shoulder. I found a medic, who So ft* evacuated him to England. *» "While on the beach, I noticed a helmet lying next to a lieutenant from the 1st Division. He didn't need it anymore. I took his helmet and wore it for the rest of my stay in Europe. "I wonder who he was?" Looking back on D-Day, Degnan says, "It's partially gruesome, but also exhilaration because we were doing something we felt at the time was necessary. It was really a matter of survival in the beginning. We knew what we were there for, and we accomplished our mission."

By Dick Hogan Gazette staff writer

" • -

teve Karras might have wondered about his luck 50 years ago. Karras says he was drafted into th6 '" Army during the first draft in 1940, though • he was not yet a U.S. citizen, and was among^ the first wave to hit Utah Beach on D-Day. •' But Karras' luck changed. The tank ; ~'\ commander-gunner survived D-Day and other battles. He was wounded — a nasty-looking •• shrapnel leg wound suffered around Christmas 1944 in Belgium when his tank was destroyed. Karras, 81, came to America from his native Greece during the Depression, settling-' in New York, then Chicago, before marrying a Cedar Rapids woman and moving here " after World War II. •'•"'] arras says his outfit was well-trained ; when they crossed the Atlantic by ship ^ to Liverpool. Then they trained some more. •"" "Always lectures. Showing us the enemy. " From the first day till D-Day we were so ""/ angry (at the enemy) we were a nervous wreck," Karras says. -y'~ D-Day dawned rainy and windy, he says, as-'" troops began charging ashore at Normandy. Karras was among the first wave on Utah Beach, manning his tank gun. "Utah Beach, it wasn't so hard as Omaha Beach. Omaha Beach, oh, they (the Germans) were waiting for them. "But us, thank God, it was a lot easier. I tell you, we had no fear of death or anything. We were ready. Our lives meant nothing. We were "We had no trained to do the job," Karras says. fear of death or~^ Gen. George Patton anything. We soon assumed command of 3rd Army were ready. Ouf^ and Karras says they lives meant "~1 met little resistance nothing. We ^ until about the fourth day inland. Initially, were trained ta£ J the Germans had do the job." moved most of their troops to the Omaha Steve Karras Beach area. "The biggest thrill . . . my division, the r~? 4th Infantry, we were the first ones to reach"-;. Paris. But our division commander says, 'Let's let Gen. (Charles) de Gaulle with his , Free French soldiers go through first,'" . Karras recalls. '!.' I Karras knows he killed enemy soldiers during battles in which his tank was involved. ; "To shoot a guy or kill a guy was nothin'. ..• He would do the same thing to us. They trained us how to kill or be killed. That's the,,, only way you can get back. „, j , " 'You kill that bastard . . . . Patton (says),, , 'or he'll kill you. If you want to go back to the states, kill that son of bitch there or he'll'.." kiU you.' " r. ut the tough former staff sergeant was not without a conscience. "When I came back (to the U.S.), for awhile' I couldn't sleep. Sometimes I had, you know» nightmares. I lost a lot of my best friends. You try to sleep and then all of the sudden ,,(,; you still think about the war, about Joe, Diekv and Harry . . . that you'd never see them w again." The nightmares over time became less „ frequent and finally stopped, Karras says. _•.;*,*• Reflecting on his World War II experiences:" and D-Day, Karras chokes up a little, but ••• says, "I'm proud. I made it and I'm very proud I'm still alive," though saddened by ,- , the friends who did not survive the war. "I was very proud to serve this wonderful-K country. Very proud to be an American." . , ;

j ;

;

\P photo

I N V A S I O N : American GIs clamber into a landing craft as they prepare to hit the beaches along France's Normandy coast in June 1944. An armada of landing vessels sits in the background under barrage balloons.

'Damned scared' on 3rd try By Dave Gosch Gazette staff writer

YOMING, Iowa — Two previous beach landings at North Africa and Sicily weren't enough to prepare Joe Kouba for Omaha Beach on D-Day. "That was our third beach landing, but (Omaha Beach) was a lot bigger," he says. "About the only thing I remember is I was pretty damn scared. On the beach there were dead guys and junk all over." Kouba does remember moving as fast as he could to avoid being a casualty himself. "We just tried to get inland as fast as we could and get cover. I couldn't believe bullets could get so close to you and not get you," he says. ouba, 77, of Wyoming, served with 1st Reconnaissance of the 1st Infantry Division. His troop was attached with the infantry division, and their duty was to locate the enemy. Finding the enemy wasn't difficult at Omaha Beach. "A lot of guys never made it to shore. I suppose it was the terrain. It was well defended," says Kouba. As the Allies eventually pushed across Europe, so did Kouba. His outfit would scout out enemy positions and transmit the information back to 1st Infantry

**We just tried to get inland as fast as we could and get cover. I couldn't believe bullets could get so close to you and not get you.

Joe Kouba

;;

;

Division headquarters. "The enemy was mostly retreating. They'd lose contact with them and we'd have to find them. Sooner or later, you'd find them. It was hard on the nerves," he says. Kouba lost two fingers and was shot in the shoulder while in a bivouac in Hurtgen, Germany. He earned the Purple Heart for that and also was awarded the Bronze Star. ouba remains humble about his war experience, often referring to himself as "this country boy." After the war, he returned to Wyoming, where he resumed farming. He also remains in contact with.

fellows from his outfit and gets together with them on an individual basis. This year his 1st Reconnaissance group will have its first reunion in Pennsylvania. He went on a battlefield tour in Normandy and Germany five years ago. He plans to visit Great Britain this summer. Kouba says he enjoys getting together with his buddies from the war. "Since I retired, I've been tracking and hunting these guys," says Kouba, who travels with his second wife, Vi. "It makes me feel good that these guys did well in life."

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun., June 5, 1994

"Almighty God: Our sons, pride of our nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor. . . . They will need Thy blessings. Their road will be long and hard. For the enemy is strong. He may hurl back our forces. . . .

17 A

They will be sore tried, by night and by day. . . . The darkness will be rent by noise and flame. Men's souls will be shaken with the violences of war." President Franklin Roosevelt, radio broadcast to nation

'Our job was to keep them alive' By Douglas Neumann Gazette staff writer

^ 7 \

Glen McClain of Brandon was a seaman gunner on a landing craft on the way to Omaha Beach on D-Day when the ship exploded.

•

y the end of D-Day, Emlin Stelling already v had been shot at by a German sniper, seen hundreds of casualties and narrowly missed being hurt or killed by a shell that killed 15 people nearby. The day wasn't as bad as Stelling thought it might be, serving as a medic with the 22nd Infantry Regiment of the 4th Division. "I didn't know if we'd ever make it out of the (English) Channel," the Atkins retiree says. "Many soldiers . . . drowned before ever reaching the beach. I figured once we were on the beach we were OK." The unit spent only about 15 minutes on Utah Beach before heading inland to establish a

beachhead. He met a famous officer during those brief moments on the beach. "After reaching the top of the beach walk on D-Day, I saw an officer scanning the French countryside with his binoculars," Stelling recalls. "To my surprise it was Gen. Theodore Roosevelt Jr., who had come in on the first wave. "I asked him, 'How do things look, sir?' And he

replied, 'Soldier, I think the Krauts know we are here and all hell is going to break loose in the next 15 minutes.' He was right." hat night, as Stelling was caring for a man with a head wound, someone started shooting at him from about 100 yards away. Others from the unit found the enemy — a German woman — in a tree and shot her dead. The relative safety Stelling says he felt on

D-Day may have been the result of expectations of what could have happened. "They told us there might be 90 percent casualties," he says. "We probably had 25 to 30 percent casualties."

Freda Davisson was a teletype operator working for Great Britain's Royal Corps of Signals the night of the invasion of Normandy. She met Robert Davisson of North English, in England. They married in June 1945.

telling led a group of five medics. Between his group and another similar medical unit, 21,000 S casualties were recorded in the 11 months on the

Reading between lines

peninsula. "Our job was just to keep them alive," Stelling says. "As soon as we could get them out, they were taken to a field' hospital. "We had some good days, and we had some bad days. I was no hero or anything. I was just tickled to make it back here after 11 months."

'Should I have tried to save' fellow Gl? By Val Swinton Gazette Northeast Iowa Bureau

RANDON — Of the 370,000 Allied sol diers and sailors involved in the D-Day landing, the image of one is forever burned in Glen McClain's memory. He was a young GI, bobbing in heavy waves in the English Channel after his landing craft exploded, his equipment weighing him down. He and McClain, a seaman gunner on the same craft, were alone, the other survivors several hundred yards away. "There was this guy drowning out there, and he kept hollering at me to help him," McClain says. "To this day, i d ' t know if I should have tried or not to save **There was that guy. I don't know." this guy Weakened by the cold water and barely drowning out conscious, McClain opted there, and he to swim for a life raft. kept hollering at Fifty years later, McClain still is overcome with me to help him. emotion when he tries to To this day, I talk about that drowning don't know if I GI. His voice gets husky. His eyes fill with tears. should have "He was a long ways tried or not to away," he says. "And the save that guy. I waves were slapping him down. He'd come up and don't know.99 scream. But he wasn't Navy. He was Army. And Glen McClain he had all his equipment on." McClain was strapped to a 20mm anti-aircraft gun on an LCT (landing craft, tank.) The cargo was 200 GIs, four Sherman tanks and 16 crew members. The war ended quickly for them. On their way to Omaha Beach, the bloodiest of all the landing sites, their LCT passed over a sonar mine tethered to the bottom of the channel. The explosion blew the LCT to pieces. "I'll never know how I got out of that o n

thing. That's a mystery," McClain says. The explosion knocked him unconscious. The bitterly cold water of the English Channel quickly revived him. He was barely injured — cut on the nose and above an eyebrow. He doesn't even remember which one. When he came to, he was a long distance from where he had been. And that GI was screaming. "He just said, 'Help me, please,' " McClain says. "A Navy shrink told me I did the right thing. Sometimes you wonder. Maybe I could have saved him." Swimming to the life raft, McClain rescued two crew members. The rest were dead. His best friend, Bill Minter of Roanoke, Va., another gunner, disappeared. McClain saved another friend, Nick Vasiliou of Charleston, W.Va., a signalman on the LCT. He lost both legs to gangrene. Sitting in a corner of the life raft was a big redheaded GI, "screaming his head off," McClain says. Medics recommended each wounded man get one shot of morphine and no more than two. It took three shots to deaden this kid's pain. "He had his back broken, as near as we could figure," McClain says. "Finally, his head plopped down and he died. And it was a blessing, the way that poor kid was screaming." nother seaman in the life raft had his jaw and half of his tongue blown away. "And he was trying to talk to me that way. He did die. Before we got back to England, in fact. And it was a good thing, too." Finally, a hospital ship pulled alongside the raft and brought the wounded on board. McClain spent three months in a British hospital and another month in a castle. McClain, 69, a retired Deere & Co. employee, lives near Brandon. That brief moment off the coast of Normandy has stuck to him for 50 years. "It's just something that's ingrained in your mind and you can't get rid of it."

with deepest regrets' By Tom Fruehling Gazette staff writer

utch and Shorty were still newlyweds when he enlisted for the duration of World War II. They eloped in August 1942 and got hitched in Kahoka, Mo. A month later they had their vows blessed at Immaculate Conception Church in Cedar Rapids. By November, Clair "Shorty" Scott was an Army private, first in Little Rock, Ark., then at paratrooper school at Fort Benning, Ga. By the time he went overseas in May 1943, his wife Margaret, affectionately known to him as "Butch," was seven months pregnant. Shorty never saw his namesake, Clair Jr. The 21-year-old soldier was shot and killed when he and others from the 82nd Airborne attempted to drop into France behind enemy lines on D-Day and provide cover for the seaborne assault on Normandy. The last letter Butch received from her husband was from "somewhere in England." He thanked his wife for the crackers and cheese she had mailed and

Clair "Shorty" Scott was killed on D-Day, parachut ing behind enemy lines.

asked to ship him some gum. He also commented on the fine photo she had sent of herself and their baby. The picture was found in his shirt pocket when his body was recovered. "It won't be long, dear Butch," he had written her, "when we'll be together."

Instead, she received a "with deepest regret" telegram June 23, saying Shorty was a casualty of war. "I wasn't ready for that," says the 30-year employee of Woolworth's, who retired when the store closed in 1986. "This just can't be." I ow 73 and living in I Cedar Rapids, the war widow has kept just a few mementos. Most of the medals and other stuff went to her son, "Scotty." Butch has a painting of the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, where Shorty is buried in grave 16 of row 26. She has a letter in which she was informed she would be awarded $10,000 in insurance and another which listed her husband's $4.97 in war bond savings. She still has the photograph Shorty carried with him. And she has one showing a young, smiling soldier after he had recovered from wounds suffered in Sicily. "(D-Day) was supposed to be his last (parachute) jump," Butch says, "then he was on his way home."

By Lyle Muller G a z e t t e Johnson County Bureau

A B O V E : The village of St. Lo, France, on the Normandy coast, sustained heavy damage in the battle for France after D-Day. R I G H T : A medical truck makes its way in Normandy through craters caused by artillery shells.

saw an officer scanning the countryside with his binoculars. To my surprise it was Gen. Theodore Roosevelt Jr. I asked him, 'How do things look, sir?' He replied, 'Soldier, I think the Krauts know we are here and all hell is going to break loose in the next 15 minutes.' He was right."

By Douglas Neumann

I t was longest day of my life' By Val Swinton

coded. We didn't know what it was. We presumed what it was but we didn't know for sure. 9

Freda Davisson

working because it was her turn for the 10 p.m. to 8 a.m. shift. For all that D-Day was to mean to World War II, Davisson's work station was calm that night. There were no bursts of excitement. "I suppose there was in the main office but we were pretty busy," she says. At least she wasn't stuck at the Red Cross dance in the nearby town of Wormingford that night. Some of her friends were detained all night after glimpsing invasion markings on airplanes. Davisson has fond memories of those Red Cross dances. She met a U.S. GI, Robert Davisson of North English at one of them. She and Robert were married at her home village of Eldwick, in West Yorkshire, in June 1945 and moved to North English after the war. He died in 1989.

'2 worst shots' try to kill each other point-blank

Emlin Stelling

ELWEIN — The infantry had a saying about bullets and artillery, says Bob Allen, a rifleman who landed on bloody Omaha Beach in Normandy on D-Day. "If you got hit with a bullet, it had your name on it," he says. "But artillery fragments didn't have your name on it. It was addressed, 'To whom it may concern.' " The artillery on Omaha Beach did not get Allen. The bullet with his name on it came from a German machine-gun pistol in Castle, Germany, two weeks before the end of the war, and went through his right ankle. Allen was in Company A, 18th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division, known as the the "Big Red One." Of the original 300 men in his company who landed on Omaha Beach, only six were left when Allen was wounded. One hundred died or were wounded when they landed June 6, 1944. "It was the longest day of my life," Allen says. Allen was quoted as saying that in the best-selling book, "The Longest Day," written in 1962 by Cornelius Ryan. Allen thought maybe Ryan used the quote to name his book, but he found out later Ryan credited a German general with making the statement. llen, 69, of Oelwein, a retired teacher and girls' basketball and softball coach, talks plainly and matter-of-factly about his role in the famous Normandy landing. Though Allen was 19 and had never seen combat before when he landed on Omaha Beach, he does not remember being frightened.

"ft was all

OWA CITY — Freda Davisson knew from the teletypes she was handling that D-Day for Operation Overlord, the invasion of Normandy, was on the night of June 5 and early the morning of June 6, 1944. She could read between the lines, despite being unable to read what specifically was on the teletypes. "It was all coded," says Davisson, a teletype operator working for Great Britain's Royal Corps of Signals that night. "We didn't know what it was. We presumed what it was but we didn't know for sure." Her hunch was right. The European invasion was beginning and she was handling important communications for a southwest England air base in Colchester. "We were just ready to get the thing over with," says Davisson, who now lives in Iowa City. "I don't remember ever thinking we wouldn't win." avisson was a British citizen then, drafted in 1942 into the Women's Branch British Army to serve her country. Her base had been bombed by the Germans a few days before June 6. "It was just kind of a routine thing. They kept coming in every night," she says. "I suppose we were lucky we didn't get bombed really bad. We came close several times. I guess our number wasn't on the bomb." She remembers the loud rumbling noise in the sky the night leading to D-Day and pulling the black curtains a tad to sneak a peek. "There were hundreds of airplanes headed south," she recalls. It was luck of the draw that linked Davisson to the vital secret communications required to pull off the invasion. She was

If you got hit with a bullet, it had your name on it. But artillery fragments didn't have your name on it. It ifas addressed, 'To whom it may concern.'

Bob Allen At left: As 19-year-old in Belgium

"It's hard to describe. Here's one thing I always told everyone. It came back to you some • of the things they taught you in basic training," ; he says. "You react like they taught you to." e remembers the confusion of that first day. "So many shells were exploding. Bombs going off and so forth. It was very confusing," he says. "You see fellas getting hit every day. You never really got close to anybody. The military, they knew if you got close to anybody, it could • affect you mentally if he got hit." The soldiers were told, to get to high ground as soon as possible when they landed on Omaha Beach. Allen says he got off the beach and onto , high ground in about 30 minutes. They were loaded down with equipment,

particularly ammunition, because they did not know when they would be resupplied, Allen says. One thing he was not loaded down with was food. All the GIs took ashore was a long, thick, bittersweet chocolate bar. One bite would kill hunger for hours, Allen says. His bar lasted three days. Asked if he was struck with a sense of history as his landing craft made its way toward Omaha Beach, Allen says no. "It brought back fond memories of home," he says. "I wished I was anywhere else but here."

Bob Allen of Oelwein landed on Omaha Beach in Normandy on D-Day.

en years ago, during the 40th anniver sary celebration of D-Day, someone from Delmar Harmon's family asked him if he had anything to do with the invasion. "When I heard that I thought, 'My God, I haven't told them anything,' " Harmon says now from his Independence home. "I'm not ashamed or anything," he says. "I just always felt like everyone has experiences, and no else really wants to hear them." But prompted by that question 10 years ago, Harmon detailed his military service from May 1942 to September 1945 in a 60-page memoir. The first-written and most gripping section is about his role in Normandy: Harmon's unit, the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, was to drop behind Utah Beach early the morning of June 6, 1944, to secure causeways connecting the beach to the interior of the peninsula. But less than a third of the unit dropped in the correct location. Two planeloads, including Harmon's, ended up miles north of the target. t daylight, the men not lost or killed during the drop began marching south toward their original destination. Harmon led. Along the road, a German stood up in the ditch about eight feet from Harmon, and they both fired. "The impossible happened — we both missed. (I) got up and walked over to the ditch. The German stood up and we both fired at even closer range and both missed," Harmon wrote. Harmon chides himself often in his writing for foolish decisions and for missing those shots: "It seemed doubtful the rest of the German army would wait while the worst shot in each of the two armies continued this charade." Ultimately, Harmon's sergeant shot the German. "I walked over to the ditch, and there was the first dead man I had seen due to combat." He saw his second combat death moments later. "At last I was smart enough to calmly aim at one spot and squeeze off a round. There was no question that I hit him. Looking back on it now, I find I have no feeling one way or another. I had, and still have, no desire to take a life. But he would have done as much for me."

Gazette photo by Val Swinton

The march continued, and the regiment was besieged by mortar shells from the Germans. Harmon suffered minor injuries from one explosion, and then a bullet hit him in the leg. "I remember very clearly saying, 'I'm hit!' Not very original or very bright. I guess for the ^^mmm^mt^m first time I realized that I was mortal and could be in real danger," he wrote. armon made it back to the regiment and got treatment. But hours later most of the group were prisoners of war. The next day, Harmon was sent with the other wounded to a hospital in Valognes in the center of the peninsula. Later, the Germans moved Harmon and other patients to Cherbourg, just one day before the Allies captured Valognes. Harmon and the other **The impossible prisoners were rescued happened — we from Cherbourg harbor both missed. (I) after the German commander surrendered got up and walked about June 27. The next over to the ditch. day, Harmon enjoyed his first shave and bath since The German stood D-Day. up and we both Later that day, he fired at even closer visited a makeshift range and both graveyard. "One of my biggest missed. 9* shocks of the war came when I found the grave of Delmar Harmon my company commander. . . . I found three or four more graves of soldiers I knew," he wrote. In writing the memoirs, Harmon says he sometimes got up at 3 in the morning to write. He says there were "tears in my eyes" as he recalled little girls, faces and clothes smudged with dirt, sneaking cigarettes to prisoners in Cherbourg. "I wasn't as scared as I should have been," he says. "At the time there was a shock. It never really hit me until I was out."

18A

T h e C e d a r Rapids G a z e t t e : Sun., June 5, 1994

"Our landings . . . have failed and I have withdrawn the troops The troops, the air and the Navy all did that bravery and devotion to duty could do. If any blame or fault attaches to the attempt, it is mine alone." Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, in press release to be used if invasion failed

Taken prisoner, escapes

Wife at home, in the dark By Lyle Muller

Gazette Johnson County Bureau

OWA CITY — June 6, 1944, was Evelyn Monk's 10th wedding anniversary but she had to celebrate without her husband. She didn't know that Maj. Harold Monk had stormed Omaha Beach earlier that day, or that he had been forced to swim to shore after the boat he was on was shot out from beneath him. Harold, a supply officer for the U.S. Army Engineer Special Brigade, reached shore two hours after the first troops landed in Normandy. "I had no knowledge of where he was, what he was doing, whether he was alive," Evelyn recalls. Evelyn was one of thousands of family members back home who wondered day to day whether their spouses and loved ones across the sea were alive. Harold Monk survived D-Day and returned home to Iowa City, where he and Evelyn were the parents of three children. Harold developed heart problems and died at age 45 in March 1954, three months shy of his 20th wedding anniversary and the 10th anniversary of his Normandy landing. In 1945, Harold Monk Evelyn relied Swims to shore on news reports to learn about D-Day. She assumed her husband was there, although Harold had been meticulous about censoring his own letters home to ensure that he gave no hints of the pending invasion. "I would write and ask questions and he would write back, saying, 'Evelyn, you keep asking me questions and I can't answer them.' " Evelyn learned near the end of June 1944 that Harold was OK, but through a round-about way. He was featured in a New York Daily News article that was reprinted in the Chicago Tribune. A cousin found the article and told Evelyn. "All I could think of was he still was alive," Evelyn says. "I knew he was alive and had made the landing." hen a letter from Harold arrived. He told his wife about reaching shore by 8 a.m. and facing heavy artillery fire all day. A good friend of his died while swimming to shore, he wrote. After the war in Europe ended in 1945, Harold remained on active duty in England before the Army shipped him home in November. He was an assistant in the Johnson County Engineer's Office until his death. "When he got back he just did not want to talk about the war," Evelyn says. "He wanted to forget the horror." Evelyn shows no regret as she reminisces. She speaks with pride about her husband's role in the invasion of Europe. "I'm his widow and I think he was a great American," she says.

'ht dtolar iUpiife <Eht)*ttt EXTRA Allies Land on French North Coast Iowa

x-i.vit-n p R t s s

f FIlAK H\PW.

r. «2 -NUMIIFIt M'.l

I'smu rmas

INTM^U'UIML

HIAH

Gen. Montgomery Leads American, British and Canadian Forces in Great Assault on German Army

Ike Directs Message to Europeans! 1

SUPHEME HEADQUARTERS,

ALLIED

EXPEDITIONARY

FORCE, (API—American, British gnd C a n a d i a n troops landed !n | northern Trance T u e s d a y morning, launching the greatest over s e a s military operation in history with word from their supreme commander. G e n e r a ) Dwight Eisenhower, that "wo will a c c e p t nothing except lull victory over t h e German mastoni of the con tinent." The

~»-~ invMion,

which

Eiienhow»

culled

"« !

' , ' " ,

(

)

„ ' , ' , ' ' ' " . ' ;

iwkh

mr*n

l i m e (2:32 a.m., c e n t r a l w a r lime) In '

•

ihii o n e i c n l e n c e c o m m u n i q u e No. 1.

I ',

" U n d e r t h e c o m m a n d of G e n e r a l E i i e n h o w e r ,

;

Allied n a v a l t e r c e l l u p p n r l e d by itron*. air forcei t

SIUEF

".V*: ,V'[' *

^ . ,' ', '.,',.,,„,

' (Ctst-mita

Reporting the news

'.'i.'.'- !-<i

'\ 1

I b e e * n l a n d i n g Allied ormtt-t i h i t m o r n i n g on Ihe

"„'",'.. ,'" "

j".„",'-'.'.'

' n o r t h e r n c o a i l of F r a n c e . .oilioumrd inaniriil<>

\ \ " ",y.7>"'n"]

>'.'".i''< '-<->»

Pi(t I. Col M

FINAL

Iowa Wflothar—-

CENU j>a:ixTArtn m tu7ti

A, l*TtX.**TU*ALirTT*

ALLIES SMASH INLAND

A B O V E : The Gazette published this extra edition early on the morning of Tuesday, June 6, 1 9 4 4 , an No Bravado 1 nouncing the invasion In Yankees' a of Normandy by the Al Shining Hour lies. RIGHT: This final edition for the after noon Gazette was pub lished later that day. Censorship rules by the Armed Forces re stricted reporting. on the D-Day landings. News reports were de layed days, weeks and sometimes months by censors before being relayed to America.

Invaders Advance on Broad Front ""'''I'""

;

'Drlvg Going V As Planned -Churchill,

Opposition Surprisingly Slight in North France; Allied Casualties Smallj SUPHEME HEADQUARTERS. ALLIED j EXPEDITIONARY FORCE—Th a AWa» load-' t d In tba Hartnaody taction at otnlhwatt Franca *or)y Tuaadoy, and by araniacf hod •mothad thai! way Inland oc « broad Iron), making good a gigantic ait and **a lavailon aqatait unaxpactadlr *Ugbl Gannon oppoal>

- ' ; F.D.R. o n R a d i o '"

S*r»ic».

T o n i g h t : Pray.r r^'tcnM

Curtain-Rcruwr '

Air A l t a i * S

Hart Luck, folk*

• June 5, 1944 — About 1700 (5 p.m.) weighed anchor and joined the convoy for crossing the Channel. Fairly rough crossing but no apparent seasickness. • June 6 — D-Day and we landed with the infantry about 1100 (11 a.m.) slightly to the left of the St. Laurent-sur-Mer entrance. Hot on the beach but soon were able to get inland. Toward evening had worked to the right and was placed at the 32nd Field Artillery command post to take missions. Battery did not come ashore. • June 8 — Joined the battery in the morning and glad to see everyone after several days. Moved with battalion for position between Asnieres and Longueville. Went forward as observer for 1st Battalion in evening and did first firing that night on stream crossing south of Ecrammeville. Tanks, machine guns. Effect unobserved. • June 11 — Our observers locate many targets south of Ste. Marguerite-d'Elle and we do our first large firing. . . . Go out to observe for the 2nd Battalion and remain with Bob Davis them 2 or 3 days. Battery "Cannot lose" moves to position near St. Jean de Savigny and I go forward to observe for 116th. Am replaced by Lt. Pfefferle and on next day he is nicked in leg by bullet. • July 4 — Our Independence Day, so at high noon every artillery weapon in action here in Normandy fires one round in recognition of that day. We have a long way to go yet, but we cannot lose. • July 7 — Presented with Bronze Star for action on June 24 and 25 (no diary entries for those days) when out with patrols firing artillery. • July 11 — With C Company on the line in observation post. Enemy makes a breakthrough. Captures Aites and myself, but we escape and return to our lines. • July 16 — Pfc. Aites and myself are awarded Purple Heart for wounds received on 11th. • July 25 — Been seeing some good movies. Also saw a show with real French girls. Not too bad.

Shells' screams signaled 'duck'

long Wait Is Over; Common Impulse to Prayer Sweeps America on Fateful Day :.

By Mark Martin News intern

By Dick Hogan

. . ? . y

(

* It all seemed like a dream. Like it never happened. William King and listened to my radio and in a large explosion I got hit. I spent six months in the hospital," says King, a Cedar Rapids native. King believes his shrapnel wound to the ankle was caused by a mortar. It happened just 45 minutes after he hit Utah Beach. "I didn't even get to fire a shot. My dad asked me when I got home what'd I done, and I said, 'I just went along for the ride.' I went in there with the idea I might get killed, but after I dug my foxhole I said, I'm not going to get killed.' Yet, I got out of it. I just had the feeling I wasn't going to get killed that day. In our outfit we only lost one man killed — an artillery forward observer," says King, now 79. ^

"1?

Cut down without firing single shot illiam L. King charged ashore onto Utah Beach two hours after the Allied D-Day invasion began, beginning an odyssey in which he never fired a shot nor saw anyone killed during 18 months in Europe. King was an Army sergeant. But his job that day was shore fire radio control operator working with the Navy and a naval lieutenant. If inland troops needed cover fire, King could call for salvos from three ships sitting offshore. "That morning," King recalls, "when we landed we. couldn't get off the beach. There was a traffic jam. The naval lieutenant and jeep driver disappeared. I jumped out and dug a foxhole. (Then) I said to myself, 'What am I doing in this foxhole?' We were told if (German) General Rommel was there he'd run his tanks right down to the beach and shoot us all. So I got up out of mv foxhole

Gazette staff writer

ob Davis, 75, of Mount Vernon, escaped the . Normandy invasion with his life twice — once on the beach and once as a prisoner. Davis was a second lieutenant, a forward observer, in the 110th Field Artillery Battalion of the 29th Infantry Division on Omaha Beach. He and a U.S. private were captured July 11, 1944, but escaped about an hour later. Davis had a concealed 6-inch knife, and amid confusion caused by U.S. artillery fire he and the other American killed the soldier taking them back to German lines. After the war, Davis worked in agriculture-related businesses and as an assistant bank cashier. Following are excerpts from his war diary:

great c n n a d e . " v . m a n n o u n c e d nt 7 : 3 2 p.m. C r « n - | i

Gazette staff writer

By George Sauerberg

W e a t h e r -

King was sent to the American 52nd General Hospital at Kidderminister, England, but no doctor checked his wound for two weeks. "After about two weeks a doctor : said 'I think it's time for you to be discharged.' I said, 'Well, that may be so, but I think you'd better take a look at the wound.' He took a look at it and it hadn't healed a bit."

ing left the hospital and England Dec. 20, 1944, for Paris. He was near the front in a replacement depot for the southern Battle of the Bulge. After time there, he was sent back to Normandy to work in a Signal Corps outfit. King finished his tour with a quartermaster outfit as a medic, returning to America on Oct. 7, 1945. King visited Normandy in 1970 with his wife and plans to go in September with his sons. "It all seemed like a dream. Like it never happened. It was so long ago." I

onald Wharton learned one lesson very quick ly June 6, 1944. The loud, shrill noise of an incoming shell meant hit the dirt. "As a 21-year-old private in the Army, I didn't know much, but you learned to duck as soon as you heard that sound," Wharton,, of Marion, says. Wharton served in the 991st Treadway Bridge Company, which had the dangerous task of building bridges over French and German rivers as Allied troops under Gen. George Patton advanced through Europe. On D-Day, Wharton's company went ashore early in the day to build bridges to enable tanks and jeeps to get to paratroopers who had landed inland earlier. "I had just gone into the Army recently, and I remember being very impressed at the mechanical power of the United States," he says. "All the tanks, jeeps, planes and ships around that area was the most fantastic display of machinery I'll ever see." Wharton says D-Day came as somewhat of a surprise to him. "We all knew there was an invasion planned, but not when," he says. "We were in England, and we'd go out on training missions in the area. One day, instead of taking us back to England like usual, they dropped us off the coast of France. The next day, we were at Normandy." hroughout his 18 months of service in Europe, Wharton and his company continually built bridges across rivers and valleys as battles raged around them. "First, we would bring up trucks with eight or nine pontoon boats," he says. "We'd take those down and give the infantry guys rides across the rivers by dark. We'd start building at daylight, while the infantry and the bigger guns behind us tried to clear out the area." Wharton, how 72, retired from Plumb Supply Co. in 1983. He has lived in Marion since 1962 with his wife and two sons. He says he will never forget the fright of working under fire. "1 remember as the shells were flying over us, a buddy of mine says 'If you ain't scared now, you don't have any sense,' " he says. "Believe me, I was scared." „ ,

Gazette photo

William King of Cedar Rapids holds maps of Normandy.

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun,, June 5 , 1 9 9 4

19A

"They're murdering us here. Let's move inland and get murdered!" Col. Charles Canham, rallying troops on Omaha Beach

After landing, '1 crisis after another' By Dick Hogan Gazette staff writer

odies of American soldiers still , bobbed in the waves as 1st Lt. Charles Beard and his men sloshed through ocean waves toward Omaha Beach on D-Day+2, June 7, 1944. "It jarred you because they were your buddies," Beard says of seeing the casualties. "You had to accept it and keep moving," he adds. "I didn't miss going in first," recalls Beard, 77, of Cedar Rapids. "I guess at that point you felt that whatever had gone ahead of you made your mission a little safer. We didn't have any choice. "I suppose my most vivid recollection of that day was . . . as it got light, to see that armada of ships lying in the channel. It was just unbelievable. Ships

Charles Beard "Pretty fortunate"

of every size. Overhead there was considerable air activity. You could hear the long guns back of us shelling into the mainland. "We had to move in pretty rapidly to relieve the units of the 82nd. So we didn't stay on the (Omaha) beach. It wasn't too safe a place either. They were clearing it of mines and obstacles out in the water that we had to get by. "From then on it was almost one crisis after another. You were almost glad to see it get dark so you wouldn't be quite so exposed," Beard says. Beard, a Dallas Center native, had finished law school and was in the ROTC at the University of Iowa when World War II broke out. He was wounded July 24 and evacuated to a field hospital, then to England. It

"I was never aware that I killed anybody. You were firing maybe at an area, or an object, or at something you were suddenly aware of that looked to be very dangerous. Charles Beard to keep something from coming back to you.

took him two months to catch up with his unit in southwest Germany. Beard says he fired his rifle a lot, "But I was never aware that I killed anybody. You were firing maybe at an area, or an object, or at something you were suddenly aware of that looked to be very dangerous. You were trying to fire at it

"While I saw a lot of action I was pretty fortunate not to have been in the rifle companies. Those guys took it. Many of them are still over there," Beard says quietly.

'Mary Jo' led Marauders By Dave Rasdal Gazette staff writer

t 4:12 a.m., June 6, 1944, Major Jens Norgaard, 27, of Iowa City, sent his B-26 Marauder down the runway at the Ninth Air Force Bomber Base in England. He was the first of 600 Marauder pilots to take off on that early morning because he was to lead the invasion of France on D-Day. Aboard the plane was Ivan "Cy" Peterman, a foreign correspondent for the Philadelphia Inquirer. "We lift into the night and I can't see anything at all," he reported. "The plan is worked to the second; we cut out a pattern under Pilot Jens Norgaard's expert hand

Gerald Wiltse "Part of history"

Weather plotters had idea

Every 20 seconds, another Lead pilot plane followed. The 344th Bomb Group was leading the 9th Air Force Silver **There are Streek spouts of flame Marauders in the mission of a and belching lifetime. \smoke which "We're over \ seem to leap at the coast and it's getting I us like some daylight now, angry monster and through the storm I now see writhing the English horribly and Channel below," Peterman trying to continued. follow. It is He talked terrible in about the thousands of sheer ships leaving destruction. white wakes Ivan Peterman, "like a wedding gown's train," Philadelphia and the Inquirer formation of planes "stepped neatly down behind us, the wingmen almost touching." At 6:08 a.m., the "Mary Jo," named after Norgaard's wife, dropped her bombs on French soil just beyond Utah

By Dave Gosch

Jens Norgaard

Gazette staff writer

The D-Day crew of the "Mary Jo," the first of 600 B-26 bombers to fly over France on June 6, 1944, included, left to right, James Parish, bombardier; Louis Offenberg, navigator; and Jens Norgaard of Iowa City, pilot. beach. They hit the German targets below less than a half-hour before the land invasion began. "An awesome spectacle is spreading below," Peterman wrote. "The bombs, carpeting the target, are bursting like the bubbles on a vat of nitric acid. "There are spouts of flame and belching smoke which seem to leap at us like some angry monster writhing horribly and trying to follow. It is terrible in sheer destruction . . . ," he wrote. The plane turned around and headed back to England. D-Day was over for the crew, but the war raged on.

Norgaard had become a father just two days earlier when his son, Anders, was born in Iowa City. A day later he was promoted to lieutenant colonel and would fly several missions after that. n one, near the end of July, Capt. James Parish, his bombardier, died after being hit by flak. "I think when he lost James Parish — that was his best friend and he lost him in his arms — he didn't want to talk about the war," says his daughter-in-law, Geraldine Norgaard of Belle Plaine. "When he told us about it, he was shaking and he had tears in his eyes,"

she says. Maybe that's why the Iowa City high school football star and end on the University of Iowa's Ironmen team of 1939 rarely discussed the war. When he died in 1989 the medals he won — including the Croix de Guerre, France's highest honor for a foreign soldier — were stuffed in the back of his closet. After the war, Norgaard returned to Iowa City before getting a job with Amoco Oil Co. in Whiting, Ind. He became manager of the facility in 1972, a position he held until retiring in 1981. He died in 1989 at age 72.

In 'din, howl' of battle, ingenuity wins in the air. But he also saw thousands of other ships. "You felt safe enough," Topinka says, dolph "Tope" Topinka saw a de adding that he thought, "Look at all cisive contrast in World War II: the friends I've got behind me." American ingenuity prevailed "That's where you get the courage," over German "straitjacketed" thinking. "The ingenuity was incredible," says he says. "You do your job." To help him navigate, Topinka Topinka, 83, of Cedar Rapids. He was looked for a church steeple in the town an Army major in the 1121st Engineer of St. Laurent-sur-Mer. The steeple was Combat Group when the invasion of on his maps, but it had been destroyed Normandy began June 6, 1944, but, by naval bombardment. So he had to because of casualties among senior rely on other details, such as summer officers, he was made commanding homes on the beach. It took four officer of the 1110th Engineer Combat attempts to land before he did so near Group after he landed. Vierville-sur-Mer. He received a Bronze Star for his The Allies literally left no stone role in building a floating bridge in unturned in planning the invasion. Germany in the spring of 1945. Topinka used his ingenuity to get his Intelligence sent operatives on night raids to gather samples of sand along troops onto Omaha Beach on D-Day. the beaches, Topinka says. The The naval officer on the bridge of Topinka's LST (landing ship, tank) was engineers then could tell whether it would support their vehicles. wounded by shrapnel and temporarily In Normandy, Topinka saw one of had to go below. Topinka remained on the more unusual sights of the war. the bridge and guided the ship in. "In preparation for our advance, the The retired chemical engineer Air Force was dropping bombs," remembers "the din and the howl" of Topinka says. "The Germans were just the invasion. Behind.him, he saw a ahead of us. One of the unfortunate sinking Allied ship with its stern high By George Sauerberg Gazette staff writer

**You felt safe enough. 'Look at all the friends I've got behind me.' That's where you get the courage. You do your job. 99

Adolph Topinka At left: As officer in 1942

cattle happened to be in the way. The concussion threw it up into a tree." Topinka got the medal for his part in preparing materials for the bridge over the Rhine River near Bonn, Germany. "You have to use some ingenuity to perform the requirements of doing this stuff in impossible situations, for all practical purposes," he says. "All that time, we were under fire from German 88s (cannons). ) \

"It baffles you how well the group thought and worked together. "Compare that to the German straitjacketing. Their discipline was so different. They were so methodical, so hide-bound, they would hit a road (with shells) at regular intervals," he says, explaining how his driver could tell when it was safe to move forward. "You could check the time between the rounds. We'd know where to be."

ANCHESTER — D-Day could have come a day earlier and not been as successful had it not been for a lot of guys like Gerald Wiltse. Wiltse was part of the 21st Mobile Weather Squadron stationed at a base near Grantham, England. His group was responsible for plotting weather maps so Allied forecasters could tell commanders of the conditions expected on certain days. "The senior weather adviser \. for Eisenhower called it off for one day. Actually he advised Eisenhower, who called it off," said Wiltse, of Manchester. "The ; next day was perfect." Wiltse, 75, knew something was cooking in the days before the invasion. "I was the chief observer of the detachment. I was plotting special weather maps. We all knew something was coming, but we didn't know just when." Wiltse suspected D-Day was near when he saw groups of paratroopers being taken to the showers. He didn't even know they were on the base until then. .-. Wiltse knew the day had come when he saw those same soldiers marching toward C-47 transport planes. "It was sad seeing these young •' kids being boarded onto the C-47s," he said. "Because you knew a lot of them wouldn't make it back." Eventually a voice came over the loudspeaker saying that the Allies had landed on the coast of; France. "You're a part of history then," he said. n the days following D-Day, airplanes shuttled the wounded back to the base and supplies out to the front. Eventually, Wiltse's unit moved east as the Allies advanced. After the war, Wiltse returned to the state and attended the University of Iowa on the GI Bill. He then returned to his hometown of Manchester and operated a successful insurance firm until he retired. Wiltse still sees the guys in his unit when he goes to reunions. He has also made several trips to Europe and has seen the Normandy cemeteries. "You see those crosses and Stars of David. There's 9,000 in one cemetery. It's a beautiful place, but. . . .," said Wiltse, his voice trailing off.

20A

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun., June 5 , 1 9 9 4

"Take me out to the beachhead, Take me out with the troops. Put some Spam and jam in a sack,

So it's one, two, three shots you're dead, At the old beachhead." Invasion song sung to tune of 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game'

Walk on beach reveals death

Part of moment in history

By Mark Martin News intern

By George Sauerberg Gazette staff writer

I don't think that we'll ever get back; So it's shoot, shoot, shoot for the Gen'ral, If we don't win, it's a shaaaame;

en. George Patton congratulat ed Al Hieronymus and shook his hand when he received the prestigious Croix de Guerre medal. Hieronymus, 76, of Iowa City, was awarded the military honor from the French for his bravery as a radar officer in a U.S. 90-millimeter anti-aircraft artillery battalion in June 1944. He received the medal in January 1945. His battalion had been stationed in southwestern England. It landed at Colleville-sur-Mer, on Omaha Beach, seven days after D-Day. "I was very much surprised when I saw him up that close," Hieronymus says of Patton. "He was very skinny, very freckle-faced, and he had a weak, high-pitched voice." Those weren't characteristics most soldiers at the time associated with Patton. "That was a moment I have remembered very vividly," says Hieronymus, retired director of the Iowa Basic Skills Testing Program and former professor of educational psychology statistics and measurement at the University of Iowa. Hieronymus was a first lieutenant when he earned the Croix de Guerre. He also received a Bronze Star from the United States for his efforts to keep guns firing during the campaign that liberated the Normandy port of Cherbourg from the Germans in late June 1944. Using a jeep, he went to each of the 115th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Gun Battalion's five positions and made sure the radar and aircraft identification system were working properly. "I was out every night with my jeep driver," he says. "I didn't know where I was going most of the time, but we managed to keep all the radars on the air and keep everything firing. I guess Al Hieronymus you'd say I Work pays off earned (the medals) just for sticking my neck out more than anything else." ater in the war, Hieronymus was promoted to captain and was made commanding officer of the battalion's A Battery. For most of the war, his unit traveled with the 4th Armored Division as it swept through Western Europe under Patton's command. "We ran like hell during the daytime and fired all night," Hieronymus says. "(Patton) was a very arbitrary man and demanding. At the time, we were griping about all the things we had to do. Probably at the time and certainly later on, we were very proud to be a part of the 3rd Army." He says of the war, "To me, it wasn't real — just like it never happened, something I just read about or saw a movie about. I've been recording as many video programs as I can."

avy seaman Le Roy Whannel will i never forgot his walk on Omaha Beach on June 9, 1944, three days after D-Day. "The Army had already been there to clean up, and they had stacked the dead bodies all on top of each other, like piles of cordwood," says Whannel, who served on the USS Pinto. "I couldn't help but think of all the parents, wives and friends of those GIs who would never know how these kids died. It was very sad to see." Whannel, a Traer native, served in the Navy for four years during World War II. His ship helped keep areas in the English Channel off the coast of the beach clear for incoming ships during the invasion and for one month afterward. During the three days of intense fighting in the area, Whannel's ship pulled disabled crafts out to sea to be repaired or sunk. In the months leading up to the invasion, Whannel's ship helped gather

cement blocks that would later act as weights for sea bouys to mark lanes for landing areas. "We all knew something big was coming in the months beforehand," he says. "I remember visiting with GIs who were to be part of the first wave the day before the big day. If they were scared, it was hard to tell because of all the wisecracking. But people were anxious for something to happen." Whannel's boat arrived in the Le Roy Whannel Normandy area "Very sad to see" about 1 a.m. June 6. His ship was positioned between the battleship USS Iowa and the Omaha beachhead that was to be invaded. "It was a very dark harbor we pulled

into because there was a total blackout in effect," he says. "We sat on deck and watched the beach being bombed. As the first rays of light spread over the area, we saw the first wave of troops attack the beach." hannel watched as the USS Iowa fired its big guns at the bluffs along the beach where German troops fired on the Allies attempting to cross the beach. He credits the Air Force for providing important coverage for those on land. "We had amazing coverage," he says. "I only saw four or five German planes the whole time, and they were shot down. It looked like those four or five planes against a thousand. Our planes covered us like an umbrella." Whannel, 80, was owner of Whannel Hardware and Home Center in Traer before he retired. He has four children. He says his D-Day memories still seem vivid after 50 years. "The invasion was something that had to be done, but it is an experience I'd never want to relive."

**The Army had already been there to clean up, and they had stacked •••I the dead bodies alt: on top of each other, like piles of. cordwood. I •., t. couldn't help but ' think of all the parents, wives and friends of those GIs who would never know how these kids died. It was very sad to 99

see.' Le Roy Whannel

Battle not all bravery By Rick Smith Gazette staff writer

ew men were brave, says Robert Elliott, and there was little glory in the D-Day morning 50 years ago. Elliott was a 24-year-old Navy radioman on that early morning, one of a 65-man crew on a subchaser boat, in the midst of an armada headed from England to the Normandy coast at Omaha Beach. The nighttime trip across the English Channel was rocky and seemed to take forever, says Elliott, of Cedar Rapids, a retired pressman. "I was scared," admits Elliott. "And I would imagine everybody who took part in the D-Day invasion was scared." The role of Elliott's small sub-chasing boat — the PC 564 — was to listen for German submarines and then help prevent them from getting through the front line of boats and ships to the troop ships and destroyers that came behind. But, in the end, and much to the surprise of Elliott and his crewmates, there were no German submarines that morning. So Elliott and his comrades found themselves turned into something of listeners and onlookers as the invasion unfolded. n the pitch-black early morning, Elliott at his radio position was an unwitting listener to some of what was being said on the beach. "I can still hear the Army sergeants yelling over their radios for the troops to keep going. And the only way they could do it was to cuss them out," says Elliott. "It wasn't like

Photos by Robert Elliott, Cedar Rapids

Crew members of a small subchaser boat man a gun in the midst of the armada headed from England to the Normandy coast at Omaha Beach on D-Day.

Robert Elliott

Landing craft organize in the English Channel before heading toward Omaha Beach on D-Day.

it was in the textbooks. It wasn't all bravery and heroism. People wouldn't risk their lives like that for bravery. They did it because it was a job. And it had to be done." By dawn Elliott could see the beach up ahead, a mile or so . distant, where Allied troops were gaining a hold while others fell in their tracks. Thousands were injured or dying. "They were just small little figures, but you could see them drop," says Elliott. "It was a different world, but only in a bad sense, not a good sense. It was like a world you were not a part of. Like somebody else's world." lliott and his subchaser crew survived D-Day unscathed and continued on in the months ahead to patrol the coasts of England and France. In that role, on the night of March 9, 1945, his boat was hit by German fire, disabled and forced to beach. Some of the crew died, some were taken prisoner of war, and he and a few others made their way to the French coast and safety. Elliott was hospitalized, • but had no serious injury. Eventually, he rejoined the same subchaser. At war's end, he was the only member of his . original 65-member crew to 1.^ return to the U.S. on the boat. But it is what he saw on D-Day* — up ahead on the beach from what proved for him a safe perch out at sea — that makes him ; shudder each time someone gets him remembering it. "It's like something that never happened because it was too • ,^ unreal," says Elliott. '

Close calls follow death of boyhood friend

Glenn Beresford

World War II

Gazette staff writer

INTON — Glenn Beresford of Vinton had heard the rumors that something big was about to happen. On that day in 1944 when his unit was sent 40 miles to Southampton, England, he knew the day was rapidly approaching. When he saw the airplanes, he knew it had arrived. "We came out of the barracks and there were these planes, coming and going. The sky was full of them. Some of them had big holes. We watched as one plane exploded." Beresford says chills ran up and down his back, not knowing that his best friend would be killed in a few days. For four days Beresford awoke each morning expecting to hear the call. On the fifth day, it came: "You've got two hours to get on the boat." hen his unit — the 158th Headquarters Detachment Quartermaster Mobile — landed on Omaha Beach, the fighting had moved a half-mile inland. Most of those who had died had been removed from the beach. "The thing that I remember, the thing that's still with me today," he says, "is the smell of death. It was everywhere. It was in your nose, in your clothes, in your teeth, in

Beresford

By Dave Rasdal

"The thing that I remember, the thing that's still with me today is the smell of death. It was everywhere. It was in your nose, in your clothes, in your teeth, in everything. You couldn't even eat. 99

Glenn Beresford, remembering beaches off Normandy everything. You couldn't even eat." But like the other 10 enlisted men and five officers in his unit, Beresford went on. As Allied forces began to retake northern French soil, the unit coordinated the action between 50 trucks and 150 men hauling supplies back and forth to the front. At times Beresford was a mile from the fighting, at other times he was a quarter-mile away. He remembers the close calls, the flying bullets and the death of his boyhood friend, infantryman Norm Newton, just 10 days after D-Day. Newton and Beresford grew up in rural I

Vinton, attended the same school and served in the war. As an infantryman, Newton moved into St. Lo, France, a town that had been leveled by shelling from U.S. ships. A bullet took his life. Beresford has visited Newton's grave in Vinton and knows that he could have lost his life, too. In particular, there was the time a sniper's bullet whizzed just six inches from his nose. At the time, Beresford was in his mid-20s. The war raged on and lives were lost every day. To maintain his sanity, he maintained a sense of humor. He laughed about the close call.

"The beauty of our unit," he says today,.[ "was that everybody had a job. We just did it. And, when we had time to relax we did. "We had fun. It was a big adventure. But,'" I wouldn't recommend it." t home Beresford was reunited with his : wife, Janelle. They raised one son, ,. Bruce. After a short stint farming, Beresford spent 21 years driving a fuel delivery truck ; and another 15 years as a livestock feed salesman before retiring. Now 76 years old, Beresford received two medals signifying his service earlier this • year, 49 years after his honorable discharge from the service. Beresford will never forget the tense situations, the hell he and other troops went through and the times he missed the little <' things many take for granted today. ;• The K rations, packed in wax-coated packages similar to Cracker Jack boxes, were awful. They consisted of canned eggs, bad coffee and rock-hard crackers. Beresford once went eight weeks without eating even one slice of bread. When he finally tasted a fresh slice, he says, it was so soft and sweet and heavenly it was like biting into a piece of angel food cake.

The Cedar Rapids Gazette: Sun., June 5, 1994

21A

"Straight for me!" Maj. Werner Pluskat, German officer at Normandy, when asked by superiors where ships in English Channel were headed

'Right place' near 'Monty' By Lynn M. Tefft Gazette staff writer

ames Barnd says his role in the invasion of Normandy was a result of "being in the right place at the right time." Barnd, 75, of Marion, had been stationed with the American 203rd Military Police Corps in Taunton, England, since September 1943, using his motorcycle to escort convoys of commanding officials and generals from place to place. He moved to London in January 1944 to work as a clerk for Gen. Omar Bradley's 12th Army Group. His motorcycle-riding prowess earned him and two colleagues a unique opportunity: to join British soldiers as security officers for Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, riding ahead of him from place to place, securing his journeys. "We were like the Secret Service men of the president," says Barnd. or six weeks prior to D-Day, Barnd and the other two Americans were stationed near Portsmouth, England, with British Military Police training for their job. "We learned to live like Brits," says Barnd. "Started drinking tea six times a day. I don't even like tea." On the day of the invasion, Barnd and the others boarded an LST (landing ship, tank) with Montgomery. They were near Gold Beach around 6 a.m., but ran aground in shallow water a quarter-mile out and waited until 7:30 p.m. to get ashore. They disembarked in the dark and searched the landscape on

James Barnd With British in World War II

their motorcycles, looking for a suitable place to bring "Monty." They found a French chateau that was secured easily and brought him the next morning. By coming ashore at Gold Beach, Barnd says he didn't see much of the casualties suffered by Americans, who came in at Utah Beach and Omaha Beach, sites of the most American casualties. Barnd's tour of duty with Montgomery ended shortly after the Battle of the Bulge in January 1945. He remained with his original company in Verdun, France, until November 1945. He says he considers himself lucky to have been given the assignment he had. "Some members of my company went right into combat at Omaha Beach," he says. "But I ended up with security — which was duck soup — about the best job to have," he says.

Gazette photo by Pat McTaggart

Jack Wadsworth of Waukon was a member of a unit that rebuilt the French railway system destroyed by fighting in Normandy.

Soldiers made railroads run T By Pat McTaggart News correspondent

he first objective of a suc cessful campaign is to clear the enemy from the battlefield. A different mission is given to those soldiers who occupy the liberated areas. They must rebuild a war-torn country and ensure the adequate flow of supplies to comrades still engaged in battle. Waukon resident Jack Wadsworth belonged to a unit whose job was to rebuild a transportation system shattered by the fighting in Normandy. Wadsworth, a member of the 728th Railway Operating Battalion, graduated from the University of Iowa in 1941. While working as a railway surveyor in 1942, he signed up for the Military Railway Service, arriving in Great Britain in 1943. While in Great Britain, Wadsworth spent most of his time studying maps of the French railway system On June 7, one day after the D-Day invasion, the 728th set sail for the port of Cherbourg, France, one of Europe's finest commercial ports. "Cherbourg's harbor was practically in ruins due to German demolitions, and we had to wait for our boys to clear the wreckage. Our ship did not get sail again for about a month."

Upon arriving in Cherbourg, the railroad crews began repairing the damage created by Allied bombs and German engineers. "The damage wasn't too bad in the rail yard," Wadsworth says, "but bridges and rail lines in the countryside were in sad shape."

ince enemy locomotives had long been a prime target for Allied aircraft, the Railway Battalion brought their own engines from England. "I was a Tech/5 Instrument/Surveyor in A Company," Wadsworth says. "We were responsible for track maintenance, bridges and buildings. Once the rail yard in Cherbourg was operational, we started working on the main rail lines to the front." "The French rail system was out of date and strange to U.S. train operators, so we took over running the system and brought it up to our standards. We were also kept busy repairing tracks and clearing accidents." By November, more than half the supplies reaching Allied armies in Europe passed through the port of Cherbourg and over rail lines the 728th repaired. Wadsworth stayed in Cherbourg until early 1945, and ended the war in Furth, Bavaria. He arrived back in the states on Christmas Day 1945.

Battle of Normandy Foundation photo;

American soldiers raise the U.S. flag over a French town liberated during the battle of Normandy in the months after the D-Day ' invasion June 6, 1944. .

D-Day as it unfolded Editor's note: Excerpts from stories by the Associated Press about the D-Day invasion as reported at the time: By Roger Greene Associated Press war correspondent

N A BEACHHEAD IN FRANCE, June 6, 1944 (AP) — Hitler's Atlantic wall cracked in the first hour under tempestuous Allied assault. As I write, deeply dug into a beachhead of northwestern France, German prisoners, mostly wounded! are streaming back. But the Boche still is putting up a terrific fight. Shells are exploding all over the beach and out at sea as wave after wave of Allied ships, as far as I can see, move into shore. My escorting officer, Sir Charles Birkin, was slightly wounded three times in the first 15 minutes ashore and three men were killed within five feet of me. Our heavy stuff is now rolling ashore and we not only have a solid grip on the beachhead but are thrusting deep inland. The beach is jammed with troops and bulldozers for many miles, and now it has been quiet for 15 minutes, which apparently means the German big guns are knocked out. Our casualties on this sector have been comparatively light. I landed at 8:45 a.m. wading ashore waist deep in water under fire to find quite a few wounded and some killed on the beach — and Nazi prisoners, very stiff and sour-looking already coming back. Before embarking we were told there would be 10,000 Allied planes attacking today and there is every sign our air mastery is complete. So far not a single

German plane has been seen. The night-long channel crossing also was quiet until the last mile. Only a few hundred Nazis manned the beach defenses on this sector. They laid down a terrific machine-gun fire, but were quickly overwhelmed. As far as I have seen there is no sign of Hitler's vaunted Atlantic Wall with its massive concrete fortifications. German artillery deeper inland is very formidable, but the beach defences are piddling, rifle-slits and strands of barbed wire.

The 'thickest barrier'

ITH THE ALLIES IN FRANCE, JUNE 6,1944 (AP) — As far as we could see after advancing five miles inland, Hitler's vaunted "Atlantic Wall" is a myth. The thickest barrier I have seen is a crumbling old brick wall, two feet thick, along an apple orchard where I am sitting deep in the grass writing this story. The crackle of rifle fire some 500 yards away is intense, and every few minutes we throw ourselves flat and try to squeeze our whole bodies under our battle helmets as German shells burst in the orchard nearby. Aside from scattered pillboxes, barbed wire and silt trenches, the German static defenses so far have been practically nil, and in this sector at least we have seen nothing of the great concrete fortifications 12 feet thick which the Germans had boasted they had erected along this coast. Their mobile artillery appears their most formidable defense, and while their planes are fairly much in evidence they are only specks in the sky compared with

the great clouds of Allied bombers and fighters which sweep over our heads in endless waves. German death's head signs warning of "Minen" (mines) are frequent along the roads, but there is no evidence of the "millions" of mines which the Germans said they planted. We walk along with extreme care, however, along the center of the road, or along truck tracks where the way has been cleared. This has been a tremendous day. I crossed the channel in a small, heavily rolling LCI (landing craft, infantry) with 100 men. It was a rough crossing, but without attack by German U-boats, E-boats or planes. Not until we were about a half a mile from shore did the German shells begin dropping around us. Then they came thick and fast. They were bursting like mushrooms in the water all around us, black and ugly, as we slithered down the gangplank under packs that weighed more than 60 pounds and started a 50-yard wade ashore in water up to our waists. I fell on the slippery gangplank as it swayed, and went under the water, dousing my wrist watch, but the fall may have saved my life. When I scrambled to my feet seconds later I saw a receding spout of water left by a shellburst less than 10 yards away. The first Frenchman I met after landing said the Allied naval and air assault preceding the landings shook the whole countryside like an earthquake. "Alas," he said, "we had wine saved to greet the Allies, but now it is gone. Pouf —- bombs and wine do not mix. Veree sad."

Normandy cemetery a solemn site By Barry Stavro Los Angeles Times

ORMANDY COAST, France — From the sands of Omaha Beach here you can see a plateau a half-mile away. Many of those who died during the D-Day invasion now rest there, at the American Military Cemetery and Memorial. Two other American military cemeteries in France are larger than this one, but Normandy is where presidents come, and where this year a record 2 million visitors are expected. The cemetery's 173 acres were deeded to the United States by France in 1956. Once past the visitor's center, the cemetery suddenly opens up and your eyes move across the green field to rows of white marble crosses and Stars of David that stretch for 300 yards. There are 9,386 American soldiers buried here, from every state. The site is righteous and solemn, the grounds impeccable. Gravestones list each soldier's name, rank, military identification number, state he came from and date of death. One group of middle-age visitors knelt before a cross; I wondered if their father was buried here. On the eastern edge of the grounds is a reflecting pool, two American flags and a bronze statue called "The Spirit of American Youth." There are three large stone murals of military maps, one with red arrows showing the sweep of the Allies into Normandy! Nearby is a garden with a marble wall

National Geographic photo

This cemetery in Brittany, France, is the final resting place for 4,410 Americans who died in 1944 campaigns in Brittany and Normandy. with names of 1,557 missing in action, or whose remains could not be identified. An inscription reads: "Comrades In Arms Whose Resting Place Is Known Only To God." In the cemetery there is also a small chapel, atop the door is the Congressional Medal of Honor. Three Medal of Honor winners are buried here, including Gen. Theodore Roosevelt J r . Outside the chapel are these words: "Think Not Only Upon Their Passing Remember The Glory »

Of Their Spirit." Hedges block the view from three sides of the cemetery. But to the north is a clear look at Omaha Beach below, with walkways leading to the sand. It was so chilling here that I didn't have much to say. I noticed keep-off-the-grass signs at the cemetery, and I was told they were meant to chase off picnickers. It was hard to imagine anyone eating here. For all the tourists present, it was solemn, almost silent.