They called him “Doc.” As a pharmacist Mate 3, my father was the highest ranking medical officer on his ship, an LST (tank landing ship) used during WWII.
Dad graduated from pharmacy college at the University of Minnesota in June, 1941. Pearl Harbor was attacked six months later. My father knew he didn’t want to be drafted into the Army, so he enlisted in the Navy in June, 1942. He was twenty-four years old.
Dad did not go through traditional “boot camp” but was sent, instead, to the Great Lakes Naval Hospital, north of Chicago. His first assignment was the Brooklyn Naval Hospital, where my mother joined him. He then moved to the Naval Station in Geneva, New York, where he and my mother were married and where I was born. In June, 1943, Dad was sent to the naval base in Maryland. My mother and I went to live with Dad’s family in St. Paul.
Dad’s assignment, the LST 492, was his home for the next two years. The ship left Maryland and traveled to England to prepare for the first wave on Omaha Beach, June 6, 1944.
The following words are from an article written by David Chrisinger, published in the New York Times Magazine, June 5, 2019: “Most of the men in the first wave never stood a chance. In the predawn darkness of June 6, 1944, thousands of American soldiers crawled down swaying cargo nets and thudded into steel landing craft bound for the Normandy coast.”
My father’s ship was one of those landing crafts. When they reached Normandy, the doors to the LST swung open, rolling out tanks and army men into the ocean. As a medical officer, my father stayed on the ship with the other sailors, waiting to treat wounded American and German prisons of war, alike.
“Allied troops kept landing, wave after wave, and by midday they had crossed the 300 yards of sandy killing ground, scaled the bluffs and overpowered the German defenses. By the end of the day, the beaches had been secured and the heaviest fighting had moved at least a mile inland. In the biggest and most complicated amphibious operation in military history, it wasn’t bombs, artillery or tanks that overwhelmed the Germans; it was men — many of them boys, really — slogging up the beaches and crawling over the corpses of their friends that won the Allies a toehold at the western edge of Europe.” ~ David Chrisinger
Going through old files, I came across a letter, written by Lt. Commander, Ralph Newman, commander of the LST 492, to my mother on July 4, 1944:
“I would like to take this opportunity to write a few words about your husband, Robert. We point with some pride to the record of the good old 492. No one has so much as broken a little finger. And no one has more friends than Bob. The “doc” has the respect of his officers and shipmates, alike.’
From Normandy, the LST 492 traveled to North Africa, Italy and Sicily, with German POW’s still onboard. On August 15, 1944, they were part of the second D-Day, invasion, Operation Dragoon, an assault against German forces in Southern France that eventually led to the liberation of Paris.
After leaving the south of France in September, 1944. The LST 492 was assigned to the Pacific fleet, and traveled to Hawaii, Guam, the Philippines and the Wake Islands. The ship was based in Okinawa. Japan, when bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
When asked about his feelings about the Atom Bomb, my father later wrote, “I felt relieved that the war was going to be terminated and I could return to my family and my normal lifestyle. I was happy only for myself. I had no feelings for the eventual consequences of it. I suppose that was selfish. Now I’m don’t believe it was justified.”
My father was always a kind-heart, quiet man. I can’t imagine how difficult war must have been for him. But he has also a man who always did what he was called upon to do. Later, reflecting back on his time in the Navy, my father commented that at the time, he felt that WWII was necessary to defeat Hitler. But overall, he was opposed to war, which he labeled as “senseless.”
Every year, on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, my father took his trumpet out of its case, stood outside in the dark, and played Taps. I imagine he thought of his days on the LST 492 as those sweet sounds floated through the air, for all of the neighbors to hear.
