Cooper: The sacrifices of D-Day

A production still from the documentary "D-Day 3D: Normandy 1944" shows the D-Day landing at Normandy, France.
A production still from the documentary "D-Day 3D: Normandy 1944" shows the D-Day landing at Normandy, France.

On June 6, 1944, 75 years ago this week, around 156,000 Allied troops stared death in the face.

They were the soldiers and sailors who landed as dawn broke in Normandy, France, in an effort to establish a beachhead of freedom to confront a murderous fascist regime that had annexed much of Western Europe.

It was D-Day, the day that marked a turning point, the beginning of the end of World War II in Europe.

But for the soldiers of the invasion, it was an act of sheer courage.

Although the troops arriving in 6,900 ships and landing craft held the element of surprise, they faced an enemy that held the high ground and had planted some 4 million land mines along the Normandy beaches.

We can't imagine today the mixture of fear and adrenalin that each Allied soldier must have felt as his landing craft approached the beach and its ramp opened. The only option for each individual - lugging some 80 pounds of equipment - was to swim or splash onto the beach, where he would immediately be fired upon by an enemy behind fortified concrete bunkers he couldn't see, and to continue crawling, running and climbing toward that enemy.

Yet, up to 200 yards of beach remained before the first natural feature offered any protection. And then, for many, it was straight up a hill or cliff to confront that enemy nearly face to face.

“D-Day 3D: Normandy 1944”

“D-Day 3D: Normandy 1944” will be shown at the Tennessee Aquarium IMAX 3D Theater at 11 a.m. on June 6, 7 and 8. The theater lobby will host an exhibition of military equipment and memorabilia provided by the Charles H. Coolidge National Medal of Honor Heritage Center, including a backpack used by Medal of Honor recipient Desmond Doss. A World War II Jeep, owned by the family of Coolidge, also will be on display outside the theater. A speaker from the center will introduce each screening, and a portion of the proceeds will be donated to the center. Tickets may be purchased online at https://www.tnaqua.org/plan-your-visit/ticket-information/.

If you've seen the movies "The Longest Day" (1962) or "Saving Private Ryan" (1998) or the HBO mini-series "Band of Brothers" (2001), you have some idea of what the soldiers faced that day.

Bill Thomasson, a back-tax attorney for the city when he spoke to the Chattanooga News Free Press in 1979, knew exactly what the scene was like since he had been there. On the 35th anniversary of D-Day, he told of a mine-sweeper that immediately preceded his landing craft.

He had feared the planted mines more than German gunfire, he said, because even engine noise could trigger them. And then, only feet in front of him, the mine-sweeper "was blown to pieces."

Thomasson said his craft picked up the survivors and "forged ahead. We had a job to do, and we went ahead and did it."

His attitude of duty and willing self-sacrifice was like that of so many in the Greatest Generation in the midst of so crucial a war.

"I feel you go when your time comes," he said, "so you concern yourself with the details of what you're doing first and let the rest take care of itself."

Quinton Blevins, a Chattanooga watchmaker when he was interviewed by the newspaper in 1984, 40 years after D-Day, stuck to just such details when he exited his landing craft on Utah Beach. There was firing to his left and firing to his right but none straight at him. He made it onto the beach without incident and across a swamp before being nearly cut in two by a German machine gunner.

Although the bullet tore through his abdomen and exited from his back, he was able, after lying wounded for a time, to stand up and, boots squishing from the blood collected in them, to walk across an apple orchard to an aid station.

Duty, according to Blevins, was bound up in what he and other troops were told before they left for the invasion: "The future of Western civilization depends on you."

Another Chattanoogan, Russell Pickett, recalled for the Chattanooga Free Press in 1994, the 50th anniversary of D-Day, that he thought "the future" might work itself out "in a few weeks" after the invasion. As he readied for the trip, where he would be a part of the first wave on what turned out to be the bloodiest beach, Omaha, he said his company commander sat his troops down for a talk.

"This is the real thing," he recalled the man telling them. "If any of you want to go home, you can get up right now. Nobody will say anything or look at you funny."

"Nobody," Pickett said, "got up."

Hours later, he learned how real the day was when his landing craft hit a mine or was hit by enemy fire before it ever reached the beach. He was knocked into the water, rendered unconscious and was briefly paralyzed. The battle was over for him before it began, but days later he was able to rejoin his company.

No concrete number exists on how many Allied troops died that day, but the number is thought to be somewhere between 2,500 and 4,500.

Yet, they went into battle willingly. Scared, probably, but willingly. Because, as so many veterans of the day - on the ground, on the water or in the air - have said, that's what you did.

In our lives of relative richness (even the poorest of us), in our insular existences, and in our habits of putting ourselves first, may we find it within ourselves to be able to sacrifice for a greater good if the time ever demands it.

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