On June 5, 1944, Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower gave the final order for D-Day, the June 6 landing of the Allied Forces on the beaches of Normandy. Eisenhower famously said, “Ok, let’s go.”
Or he said, “Let’s go.” Or he said, “Ok, we’ll go.” Historians still debate the exact wording today.
In 1994, Bill was invited to sail to Normandy on the historic World War II Liberty ship, SS Jeremiah O’Brien. The occasion was the 50th Anniversary of D-Day.
On D-Day 1944, the O’Brien made eleven crossings of the English Channel, carrying personnel and supplies to the Omaha and Utah beachheads. Fifty years later, it took three years, thousands of volunteer hours, and big monetary donations to get the Liberty ship in seaworthy condition to sail from San Francisco to Normandy and back.
The crew would be a mix of “old salts” (like Bill, average age 70) and young cadets from the California Maritime Academy. Of the more than 5,000 ships that formed the original D-Day armada, the O’Brien would be the only Ocean-class ship returning to Normandy 50 years later.
When I heard Bill’s plan to go to Normandy on the O’Brien, I had another plan.
The Royal Viking Sun was making a trans-Atlantic crossing from Montreal to Paris, with two days in Cherbourg for D-Day ceremonies. I worked on Bill to sail with me in comfort on the Sun. Finally, he relented. “Ok, Sandra, let’s go” he said, or something like that.
To prepare for the voyage, Bill went on Jenny Craig and dropped 15 pounds. I signed us up for five ballroom lessons at Arthur Murray in Santa Barbara.
At sea, May 24–June 4
Thanks to Arthur Murray, Bill and I danced every night aboard ship. Maxene Andrews of the Andrews Sisters signed copies of her book, Over Here, Over There, and sang with the ship’s orchestra.
The majority of passengers on the Sun were World War II vets who had stormed the Omaha and Utah beaches or parachuted from the air as part of Operation OVERLORD.
During the 14 days at sea, some vets shared their memories, most did not. I’ll never forget the dear man who opened his wallet to show me an old, wrinkled black-and-white photo. He was pointing his rifle at a dozen German soldiers with their hands raised. “I don’t look it, but I was scared to death,” he said. One of our tablemates was with the heroic 2nd Ranger Battalion who scaled the cliffs at Pointe du Hoc. He did not want to talk about it.
June 5-6, Sainte-Mère-Eglise, a Re-enactment of Paratroopers, D-Day Ceremonies
Our neighbor in Santa Barbara, Dr Warren Austin, was an Army doctor at Overlord. He wore his WWII Army uniform to the 50th Anniversary events.
In Cherbourg, we boarded a bus for the 25-mile drive to Sainte-Mere-Eglise. On June 6, ’44, hundreds of paratroopers from the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions parachuted in and around the town. Their mission was to clear the ground between the sea and Ste-Mère-Eglise, so the troops landing on Utah Beach could advance rapidly inland.
Private John Steele of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment became a legend when his parachute got caught on the church spire in town. He was shot in the foot and hung there in pain for two hours pretending to be dead before the Germans noticed he was still alive and cut him down. One story has Pvt Steele escaping from the Germans in Ste-Mère-Eglise. Another story claims he was taken prisoner for two years, then escaped. Red Buttons later portrayed Pvt Steele in the 1962 movie The Longest Day.
On June 6 at 0430, the American flag was raised in front of the Town Hall, making Ste-Mère-Eglise the first town in France to be liberated from the Nazi occupation.
We boarded the bus again and headed to a nearby field where we watched a re-enactment of paratroopers from the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions, plus 38 Overlord veterans. Now in their 70s and 80s, one veteran said to Bill and me, “When I jumped 50 years ago, I was scared to death. This time, I was only half scared to death.”
WWII veterans aboard the Sun had priority booking for D-Day ceremonies at Pointe du Hoc and the U.S. Cemetery. However, the night before, notices were sent to the cabins that all shore excursions were cancelled. No explanation given.
On D-Day, the atmosphere aboard ship was solemn. Veterans were remembering the horrific events of June 6 and the days that followed. Veterans were upset about being shut out of the ceremonies. Bill and I watched the ceremonies on CNN in our cabin. Eventually we received a letter of apology from the Shore Excursion Manager explaining the excursions were cancelled due to certain French dignitaries who decided to attend the ceremonies at the last minute creating a need for additional security. That was reason enough for some veterans to remember why they still disliked the French.
Europe: Fourteen Weeks, Twelve Cities, Three Harry’s
Harry’s in Paris. It must’ve been morning based on the Bloody Marys.
After the D-Day ceremonies, Bill and I stayed on in Europe for 14 weeks. In Paris, we attended the American Ball at the Hotel Intercontinental and danced to Big Band music by the Glenn Miller Band.
Bill reactivated his 1950s charter membership in Harry’s International Barfly Association and we imbibed expensive Martinis at three Harry’s – Paris, Florence, and Venice.
When we returned home, Bill admitted – albeit a bit sheepishly – that crossing the Atlantic on the Royal Viking Sun was a heckuva lot more comfortable than sharing bunk quarters and chowing down with a bunch of shipmates.
