Remembering D-Day

Yesterday was the 75th anniversary of the June 6, 1944 Allied invasion of Normandy. On that day, I was 3 months older than Max is now - he will be 11 on June 12th; I turned 11 on March 2, 1944. My father was a chaplain in the U.S. Army. On June 6, he was still Assistant Post Chaplain at Fort Lewis, Washington. But on June 19, 1944, he received an overseas assignment, by June 26th, he was in England, and on August 20th, he sailed on the Jane Long to France, conducted a service on board ship, and landed near Utah Beach and Ste. Mere Eglise, critical locations in the Normandy Invasion. By then, of course, over a million troops had landed in Normandy and the battle lines were well to the east. Dad's regiment was 1314 Engineers - assigned to repair the roads and bridges damaged or destroyed by the invasion. It was composed of all African-American enlisted men with white officers. He spent the fall and winter in Normandy, sleeping in a tent and traveling by jeep to various locations where the regiment was scattered, conducting services and counseling individuals. So my D-Day will be August 21 (or possibly 22), the day my father landed on the beach in Normandy.  Fortunately, there were no German machine guns aimed at him. Many 11-year-old boys lost their dad or their brother on June 6, 1944. My heart goes out to them. I did not lose my dad,  but his absence from 1942 to 1945 profoundly affected my life and development.

Chaplain Barney Crockett

Dad's tent and jeep in Normandy

Dad's driver, Cpl. Alton Jones of Brooklyn, NY

Investigating the ruins of  battle in St. Lo

Members of 1314 Engineers