D-Day: A name to remember
Within the military ranks, the terms D-Day and H-Hour are routinely used
for the day and hour on which a combat attack or operation is to be
initiated. They designate the day and hour of the operation when the day
and hour have not yet been determined, or where secrecy is essential.
The letters are derived from the words for which they stand, “D” for the
day of the invasion and “H” for the hour operations actually begin.
protocol meant nothing to a small town in the Texas Panhandle on June
6, 1944. The day was the first Tuesday after school was turned out for
the summer in Wheeler, Texas. It meant nothing to any of us. We had
never heard the term ‘D-Day.’
We had no idea D-Day was just a
common name routinely given to the date of every planned offensive
during World War II, or that it was coined in World War I before
the massive U.S. attack at the Battle of Saint-Mihiel in France.
kids in that little Texas town far up in the Panhandle knew nothing of
such procedure. For us, it was summer, free, joyous summer. As every
summer, the first couple weeks, we’d ride our bikes along the
hard-packed roads, through the forest the community called a park, jump
the creek, rumble over ancient, wood-plank bridges, and lie in the shade
after dinner (our noon meal) staring at the fluffy clouds drifting by
in the sky as blue as robin’s egg. If you used your imagination, you
could spot every animal on Noah’s ark.
After all these years, my
memory’s sort of shaky, but it was either Wednesday or Thursday of that
week that to my chagrin, I learned had had to chop corn the next couple
days instead of a carefree ride around town on my battered but trusty
New Departure bicycle.
Dad was overseas, and Mom had planted five
acres of corn that she planned on us selling in nearby Pampa and
Shamrock to earn some extra money.
So I wasn’t in a good mood,
and I probably chopped more corn stalks than I did weeds until she
caught me. The third time she yelled at me, she started looking around
for something to switch my legs.
To my relief, Papa Conwell drove
up about then. My brother, Sammy, was just a toddler, so Mom picked him
up and we hurried to the end of the row to see what Papa wanted. I was
hoping he wanted to take me out to his lake, but that wasn’t why he was
Wartime in a small town back then was much different than
it would be today. Everyone was caught up in it. Radios were always
turned to the news. Of course most of the news was weeks old, but for
the last month or so, rumors had been thick and heavy that something big
was going to happen. All the grown-ups speculated as to what might take
From the old boys down at the pool hall to the local
preachers, everyone thought he knew what the Allied Forces had up their
sleeve. Now, let me point out here that there was never any doubt in
anyone’s mind that America would win the war. No matter how long it
took, we would prevail. I wouldn’t want to repeat in mixed company what
some of those old-timers back then would think of us today.
Anyway, back to my story.
When we reached Papa’s car, he didn’t even say ‘hi’. All he said was ‘We invaded Normandy.”
only thing I understood in his statement was we. I wasn’t really sure
what invaded meant, and I certainly had no idea what a Normandy was. I
guessed it was a nearby town back south around Shamrock although I’d
never heard of it.
Mom was excited, and a bit frightened.
the next few days, our little town didn’t come to a standstill, but it
came as close as it could and still keep functioning. Crops had to be
looked after, animals tended, mail delivered, and such. Everything else
was just about shut down. Folks were glued to the radio while others
frequented the newspaper office.
Over the next few days, we
learned more. There was happiness and joy in our little town, and
unfortunately as the news came in, with it came some grief.
The Invasion of Normandy was epic, a savage battle that lasted for eleven months until May 1945 when Germany capitulated.
And then we turned the Lions of War loose on Japan.
Within a few months, it was over.
nearest train station was in Shamrock, sixteen miles to the south of
us. I’ll never forget that day we drove over and waited on the platform
for Dad to step off the train.
The Greatest Generation had
brought peace back to America and pulled a common name from military
obscurity and held it up for the world to forever recognize.