Jean Leiber Smith with the car that was always called "D-Day" because her sister, June Leiber Norman, had bought it on June 6, 1944.
A Car, A Child, A Letter, A Rapidly Beating Heart
June Leiber Norman of Affton was a bride, of three months:
My husband was stationed at Scott Field, and we lived with my mother in south St. Louis. My husband spent so much time riding the bus between Belleville and south St. Louis that we decided to buy our first car. On the morning of June 6, we bought a 1929 Chevrolet coupe; later that day, when we heard of the invasion, we decided to name the car "D-Day." We drove "D-Day" for 10 months, until my husband was shipped out, and then we sold it to my sister, who drove it for another year. I can't remember much about the cars I have owned since then, but I’ll never forget "D-Day."
Homer Poss of Highland was a soldier in the 82nd Airborne Division:
On June 6, 1944, at approximately 2:30 a.m., I was dangling from a parachute over Normandy, France. You were interested in incidents that were "poignant," "humorous," "offbeat," and "sorrowful." Add to your list any emotion you want. I experienced them all that day.
Peggy Kramer of Town and Country, then Peggy Fay, was a junior at what is now Webster University:
My family had moved in January 1944 from Huntington Drive in Normandy to North Meramec Avenue in Clayton. On June 6 when news flashes of the invasion came crackling over the airwaves, we stayed glued to the radio. A very dramatic announcer was relaying reports of the landings, the fierce fighting and the bombing in Normandy. Suddenly, my 7-year-old sister, Suzie, turned to my mom and said, "Boy, Mom, we got out of Normandy just in time!"
John J. Cantillon of St. Louis spent D-Day aboard ship in the English Channel with the rest of the 2nd Armored Division:
Just before the invasion, I wrote this letter to my parents: "Dear Folks, I'm censored, can't write a thing - just that I'm well - and sign my name. Can’t tell when its sunny, can't tell when it rains, all military secrets must secrets remain. Don't know where I'm going, don't know where I'll land; couldn't inform you if met by a band. Can't tell where we sail from, can't mention the date, and can't even remember the meal that I ate. Don't know for sure what I can do, except sign this envelope and mail it to you."
Paul M. Sanders of Spanish Lake jumped into Normandy as a 22-year-old with Company A of the 82nd Airborne Division's 505th Parachute Infantry:
The day before we left, every soldier got $20 in French francs. Naturally, we started playing poker, and I didn't fare very well. It didn't matter, though. I had no place to spend it. Then we got on the planes, and I parachuted in the wee hours of the morning into a pasture near Ste.-Mere-Eglise. My first encounter after hitting the ground wasn't with the enemy. It was with a French dairy cow. I felt as if I was back home in Macedonia, Ill.
The American cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach, on 172 acres donated by the French people are buried 9,286 Americans killed on D-Day and in the battles that followed. The deas include 22 pairs of brothers butied side-by-side and a father and son. The inscriptions on the headstones all face west, toward home. More than 1.5 million people visit the cemetery and memorial each year.
Harry E. Eschenbrenner of Ballwin was a sergeant with the 439th Troop Carrier Group at Upottery, England:
Because radio silence was necessary (we didn't want to warn the Germans), my job was to signal the start of each takeoff, using skyrockets and flares. Our planes were scheduled to be the first to drop their loads in France. I don't know whether our wing actually dropped the first paratroopers - but I've always thought it was possible that my signal actions may have started the D-Day invasion.
Ethel Cole of Lebanon, Mo., was Ethel Graham of Washington:
I supervised a group of girls working as clerks and stenos for the agency that operated cafeterias in the Pentagon. On D-Day, we were allowed to leave our office for an hour to go pray for a successful landing. We knelt with British sailors, French-sailors and civilians of all creeds and colors. On my right was a girl who had lost her father. On my left was a girl who prayed aloud for her boyfriend: "And keep him sober."
Nelson A. Reed of Ladue was 18, living in St. Louis as a freshly graduated high school senior:
My grandmother lived with us and would regularly rise early, get the Globe-Democrat from out front and take it to her room, all before my father came downstairs. When my grandmother thought there was no news of interest, she would say, "Nothing new on the Rialto." My father followed the war news with great intensity, and her taking the paper irritated him considerably. One morning in June 1944, she came downstairs, having left the paper in her room, and announced with her sweet if vague smile, "Nothing new on the Rialto." When the paper was later recovered, after my father left for work, it had a headline with five-inch letters: D-DAY INVASION. (Seven months later, I made my own landing as an infantry rifleman, on the German side of the Our River in the Siegfried Line.)
Everett P. Schultheis of Arnold was with Battery B of the Army's 467th Antiaircraft Artillery Battalion:
Our gun crew for the D-Day landing consisted of the following guys who shared the same postal code, "Lemay, 23, Mo." - Charles S. Bach, Alfred T. Hoffman, Norman Tallent and me, plus Calvin Rogers of Kansas City, Kan. Charlie, Al and I were still together when we celebrated VE Day 11 months later, and the three of us have maintained our close relationship to this day.
Mike Rudanovich of St. Louis was an Army corporal whose squad was attached on D-Day to a combat engineer unit:
If it had not been for the Navy, we would have lost Omaha Beach that day. And those men on the beach - they were something. Practically empty-handed, and they kept going. When I say we had nothing, that's the truth. Our tanks sank in the Channel, as did the artillery. Only the ships gave us cover. The men did the rest.
Courtney Weast of Mehlville was in the signal Corps’ 563rd Air Warning (Radar) Battalion:
A few weeks after D-Day, we were trudging up a hill on a muddy trail. The rain showed no sign of letting up, and everybody was grumbling. Then I noticed a change in the mood. A big GI truck was slowly rumbling past our column, shifting gears. It was filled with dead soldiers packed like cordwood, and they all had their boots removed. From this point on, not a word of complaint could be heard.
Arthur S. Geren of Columbia, Mo., was a high school senior in Wyandotte, Mich.:
The seniors were taking final exams for graduation, but in our civics class, the teacher announced that in view of the events of that day, we would not be taking the final exam. Instead, he went on to review the way the Germans had conquered and taken over so many countries. Finally, we asked how we would pass without a final. He said, "Everyone will pass." The day will always be easy for me to remember, because it was my 18th birthday. Two months later, I was in the Army.
Verla DeBeer of Riverview was 1st Lt. Verla Kallemeyn, an Army nurse in England:
Early in the morning of June 6, we were awakened by the constant droning of planes flying out in perfect formation. Later, they sort of limped back, rarely in any formation at all. That night, we got our first trainload of patients, anything and everything - officers, enlisted men, sailors and German POWs. The one I remember most clearly was a young sailor who kept saying, "Two years of preparation for 20 minutes!" I'm sure 20 minutes was enough war.
Norman Tiemann of Chesterfield had already seen combat in North Africa and Sicily with his buddies in the 2nd Armored Division:
We were on the southern coast of England on June 6, waiting to cross the Channel. We knew this would be a rough landing. And then, when we went across Omaha Beach, I saw painted on a German gun emplacement the words "Kilroy Was Here." I knew we would win the war.
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The Church at Ste.-Mere-Eglise contains two stained glass windows honoring the U.S. paratroopers who descended on the town and liberated it from German soldiers the night of June 5-6. This one shows St. Michael, patron saint of parachutists, surrounded by Allied military insignia and the Cross of Lorraine, the symbol of French resistance in World War II.
Leslie Laskey of St. Louis:
My combat engineer unit landed at Omaha Beach early on D-Day, but my most vivid memory is of a few nights later. We were moving inland through an orchard, and the apple trees were in full and fragrant blossom. We "'stopped near a church that the Germans had used until they were bombed out. Now the Germans were bombing back, and the bombs were literally raising the dead from the churchyard cemetery. I still remember it as The Night Of Blossoms And Bones.
John D. Willey of Champaign, Ill., was a sailor aboard LST 540 off Juno Beach in the British sector. This is from his diary entry for June 6, at 7 a.m.:
One soldier got killed, or drowned. He is floating face down in the water, his rifle still on his back. The tide is taking him out to sea. Nobody is making any effort to rescue him. Everybody is on his own, I guess.
Shirley Ann Hirth of Kirkwood was working for the Katy Railroad and living with her parents in Clayton:
When I returned home from work, the florist delivered the most beautiful bouquet I have ever received. It was from my Jimmy, the love of my life, who was in the invasion forces. I called Jimmy's mother - and she, too, had received flowers. I had mixed feelings; it was rather frightening, because the message I got from the flowers was, "If I don't return, these flowers will remind me of you." My thought was, "Will I ever see you again?" Fortunately, I did.
Dorothy McFerron of north St. Louis County was 16-year-old Dorothy Malatich, a student at Central High School in St. Louis:
My sister was a riveter at McDonnell, and four brothers were in the service, two of them with the 101st Airborne Division. On D-Day, the papers and the radio just exploded with the news. My brothers in the 101st, Roger and Christ, jumped somewhere in Normandy; both got Purple Hearts and other medals. Three years ago, they died within six months of each other. They will always be heroes, along with the rest of those who fought.
Thomas F Smith of Fenton was a medic with the 1st Infantry Division's 18th Infantry:
As this 50th anniversary approaches, my flashbacks are more frequent than in the years immediately following the horrors. The morning darkness, the stormy water - I was a tech sergeant and was in three invasions and five campaigns in World War II, and nothing I experienced was so frightening and so severe and bloody as D-Day on Omaha Beach. When I reached the beach, I immediately began trying to save the wounded, running from one to another. One of the saddest memories is trying to wrap the wounds of an officer who had lost both legs. God was with me all the way, because I came out of it without being wounded. I am married to the girl who kept those letters coming, and we have eight children, and I pray with all my heart for those who gave their lives there for all of us.
Jane Siemers of Florissant, then Mary Jean Coppedge:
It was one of the happiest and saddest times of my life, as I had become engaged to Kenneth Siemers, my sweetheart since high school. But then he was shipped off to Europe with the 94th Fighter Squadron, "The Hat in the Ring" unit, and I didn't hear his voice for 31/2 years - and 31/2 years is a long time to wait. On D-Day, those of us left at home united in prayer. Kenny came home in May of 1945 and we were married July 22; we had 48 years of happily married life. I lost Kenny with cancer last August, and I told him, "Now it's your turn to wait for me."
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