Voices From D-Day

Frank DeVita was 19 years old on June 6, 1944. As a member of the U.S. Coast Guard, he helped ferry troops from a large military ship to a stretch of shore that was code-named Omaha Beach. DeVita and the troops traveled on a Higgins boat, which had a ramp that could be lowered so the soldiers could exit quickly. DeVita’s job was to lower the ramp—a dangerous task that exposed everyone on board to relentless German machine gun and mortar fire. On D-Day, he made 15 trips, delivering about 450 soldiers to Omaha Beach—the invasion’s deadliest piece of shoreline. In 2020, DeVita told Junior Scholastic about that day. He died in 2022, at 96 years old.

On D-Day, you were in one of the first boats to reach Omaha Beach. What was that experience like?
I’ll be honest with you, I was scared. Everybody was scared. The Germans had 33 machine guns where the water meets the sand, and they were firing at us.

My job was to drop the ramp on the front of the boat. But I didn’t want to drop it, because the bullets were bouncing off it. I knew once the ramp was open, the bullets would come into the boat. I dropped the ramp, and just like I thought, the machine gun fire came in, and 14 to 15 guys died.

It was hell. We had 90 percent casualties. And we lost six boats on the first wave. We started with 30 boats. 

How would you describe the scene unfolding before you on the beach?
It was complete pandemonium. People were screaming and crying. The bullets were like a swarm of bees around your head. Somehow, they missed me. I was very fortunate.

What happened when you returned to the ship after that first run?
I had to make a big decision. Do I go back [with another boatload], or do I let somebody else go in my place? I thought, if somebody takes my place and dies, how would I feel for the rest of my life? So I decided to go back, and I went back 14 more times.

You have received a lot of awards for your military service. Do you consider yourself a hero for your role during the war?
No, no, no. In Normandy, right above Omaha Beach, is a big cemetery. And in that cemetery, there are 9,400 people who died in Normandy. Those are my heroes. I’m not a hero. I’m a survivor.

What do you want kids to know about the war?
What we were fighting for was freedom. Kids have to understand there is nothing better than your freedom. When you’re free, the whole world is at your fingertips.

Slaughter, 19, was in the first wave of Allied soldiers to reach Omaha Beach. Under heavy gunfire, he made it across the beach and to the top of a hill with the few men from his squad who survived. Slaughter described his complex feelings at the end of that day. He died in 2012.

I looked out over the [English] Channel. I could see all those 5,000 [Allied] ships out there. It was an awesome sight. That gave us a little bit of courage. But I thought [for] sure we were going to get pushed back into the ocean [by a German counterattack] because we didn’t have enough men to do anything with. Nobody could possibly be trained for what we found that day. But you learn fast, you know. It’s a quick study when your life’s on the line.

Dabney, then 19, was part of the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion, the only all-Black unit of soldiers on D-Day. Their mission was to set up huge gas-filled balloons to prevent German planes from shooting at Allied forces on the ground. Dabney recalled his mood as his unit first approached the shore. He died in 2018.

You were nervous in a way, but also you were brave. [You thought] I’m going to have to try to make it. I’m going to try to help the guys on my crew. By being the chief [of my crew], I had to be brave. You couldn’t say you weren’t scared. You were scared because you didn’t know where you were going into. And you didn’t know whether you were going to come out alive or not.

Gellhorn, 35, was a respected war journalist but, as a woman, could not get permission to cover D-Day firsthand. Unfazed, she snuck onto a hospital ship headed for Normandy. During the invasion, she saw many wounded soldiers as they were brought on board from the beaches. Gellhorn ultimately made it to shore, the only woman to do so on June 6. She died in 1998.

It will be hard to tell you of the wounded, there were so many of them. There was no time to talk. They had to be fed, as most of them had not eaten for two days; their shoes had to be cut off; the nurses and orderlies, working like demons, had to be found and called quickly to a bunk where a man suddenly and desperately needed attention. It seemed to take hours to pour hot coffee from the spout of a teapot into a mouth that just showed through bandages.