A tribute to the Men of D-day and my dad, a B17 pilot You done good boys!

I watched the wings of the jet plane touching the blue sky as we were flying across the Atlantic Ocean. You could say it was a trip back in time to June 6, 1944. On that day my dad, Stuart Watson, was lead pilot of his squadron of 11 B17 bombers of the 381st bomb group 8th Air Force http://www.381st.org/ . As they spread out the 4 squadrons each with 11 planes on the final turn to the Normandy Omaha beach, Dog Red Sector, he could see all manors of craft below carrying men and machine for D-Day. The battleship Texas just east of him was firing full broadsides of its 14” guns. Every bit of sea was covered with every size of craft available to the Allied forces that day. It was an incredible sight.

The date now is April 27, 2004 and we are returning from a University of Texas Alumni travel tour of the Normandy culture and history. Three of these days included trips to Omaha and Utah beach. This was the first time my dad had visited the area since D-Day. On June 6, 1944 the clouds covered the beach and most of the B17s dropped bombs long, delaying just a moment, fearing that American men were just below them on the beach. Unknown to them the landing craft were late due to rough seas. His plane carried 16 each 500Lb bombs that were supposed to carpet bomb starting out in the water and cascade up the beach taking out the obstacles and hit the German gun emplacements. As we rode in the modern bus the tour guide pointed out the still visible bomb craters in the lush green farm fields next to the coast. My dad expressed a long sigh of relief; all these years he had worried they might have taken out a village of innocent Frenchmen. Part of the brilliant Allied planning of “Operation Overlord” was to land in-between port towns where there were less people to allow the ground troops to work up the flank of the fortified towns. My dad’s bombs might have killed a few cows but missed any villages.

I had never heard any of these stories until my dad called me one day. He wanted me to go with him to see his 3ed showing of the movie “Saving Private Ryan”. While we were in line he began to talk. He told of how he had flown that day. He had been lead pilot. He said the bombardier at the last moment delayed the drop, fearing Americans were beneath the clouds. It had been a split second decision, one my dad had felt terrible regret about for years. If only his bombardier had asked him, he would have ordered them to stick to the plan. When the men hit the beach they found most of the guns intact and the Germans began to kill them before they could even get off the landing craft. The losses were heavy. My dad flew 25 of his required missions and went back to the States and then returned to finish with a final 47 missions. When he came back from the war, just like all the Veterans of WW2, they were ashamed that they had made it when so many other good men lost their lives. So they just went about creating for us the greatest nation and standard of living the earth has ever known. To talk about the war was bragging and a dishonor to all the better men that did not make it. The Greatest Generation. I never knew my own dad had been a War Hero.

My dad ended up retiring from Arco Oil Company and became a board of director with a small oil company called Harken Oil. They decided to buy out a small West Texas oil company that had several good oil leases. In return they put the owner on the Board of Directors, his name was George Bush. My dad often talked about what a memory Bush had, he remembered every persons name, family, kids, where they worked and went to school, that he every met. My dad would rave about what an amazing man George was, smart, kind, wise, religious, and humble. My dad walked 2 miles every morning at sun up. At one Harken board of directors meeting in NYC as he went out the door that morning George Bush was returning from his morning exercise run. As they met in the morning air, my dad said “George have you ever considered running for elected office?” George just smiled saying he had thought about it. My dad replied well you should, you would be a great benefit to the country.

He had come full circle, from Texas to WW2 to UT law school, Harken oil and 3 successful children. As we walked the American Cemetery at the Normandy coast we were moved by the thousands and thousands of crosses and stars of David. It was the most manicured grass and beautiful place I had ever been, hollowed ground. We walked among the graves for some time, attempting to take it all in. Back on the plane returning home I leaned over the isle and asked my dad, what was it you were saying there at the American Cemetery? I had noticed him talking when we had wondered ahead. “You done good boys! I told them “You done good boys!”

God Bless, and thank you.

I have to add, I am even more grateful that your father was an attorney of such character. There are too few, these days.

On a D-Day related topic, this link may interest you:

http://baby.indstate.edu/gga/gga_cart/frankfor.txt

It is in regard to how the stalemate at Omaha Beach was initially broken by the U.S.S. Frankford at approximately 10:00 A.M. beach time; it is a story not well-known. Of course, later in the day, other Navy ships moved in toward Omaha Beach and successfully shot up various German emplacements, but the Frankford got their first.

The Frankford moved in to within 400 yards of the water's edge.

The story at that link, above, is first told by a man who was on the beach, and then the story shifts to a man who was on the Frankford. This is a brief part of the story, from the ship's view, so to speak:

[W]e never had clear targets on the beach. Unfortunately, German camouflage was excellent, so from that distance we could not see who was where or pinpoint anything to shoot. Then LCDR Semmes decided we should go in for a closer look. The tide was in our favor at the moment. Navigating by fathometer and seaman's eye, he took us in close enough to put our optical rangefinder, ranging on the bluff above the beach, against the stops -- 300-400 yards away.
The camouflage on the beach was still good. We could not spot a target -- and frankly we did not know how far our troops had advanced. Then one of our light tanks that was sitting at the water's edge with a broken track fired at something on the hill. We immediately followed up with a five-inch salvo. The tank gunner flipped open his latch, looked around at us, waved, dropped back in the tank and fired at another target. For the next few minutes he was our fire-control party. Our rangefinder optics could examine the spots where his shells hit.
By this time, we knew none of our troops was on the hill, so we used the rangefinder to pick out targets, including apparently at least one artillery emplacement. We did have the satisfaction of seeing our soldiers take some prisoners out of one of those bunkers. When we had expended our limit, we returned to our screen station, but not before seeing our troops moving up the hill toward the crest.
- Owen F. Keeler

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