For historians, D-Day was a turning point in the war against Germany; for men who were among the 160,000 Allied fighters who mounted history’s largest amphibious invasion, June 6, 1944, remains a kaleidoscope of memories, a signal moment of their youth.
Few are willing or able to return to Normandy for the anniversary. But listen to the stories of two who are making that journey that spans thousands of miles — and 75 years.
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The day before Dennis Trudeau parachuted into Normandy, he wrote his parents a letter saying he was about to go into battle.
“Everything is going to be fine and dandy,” he wrote. “After all, I’m not scared.”
Trudeau had joined the Canadian military at 17 and became a paratrooper, in part because they were paid an extra $50 a month.
He’s 93 now, living in Grovetown, Ga. But his memories of D-Day — and the day before D-Day — are undimmed.
On June 5, 1944, he and the other paratroopers sat on the tarmac and joked about how they’d be in Paris by Christmas.
Trudeau’s position was by the open jump door.
He prayed: “I just kind of told the Lord, ‘Let me see one more sunrise.'”
And then, he jumped.
Trudeau landed in water up to his waist in a flooded field. In the dark, he rendezvoused with other paratroopers. They were on the way to their objective when friendly fire hit — an Air Force bomb.
Thrown into a ditch, Trudeau heard a dying friend nearby, calling out for his mother.
Within hours, combat would be over for Trudeau. He was captured by German forces, and spent the duration in a prisoner-of-war camp. By the time the war was over he had gone from 135 pounds to about 85.
He returned to Normandy in 1955 to see the graves of eight platoon members who didn’t survive.
“They’re the heroes. They’re the ones who gave everything they had,” he said.
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There had been false starts ahead of the invasion of Normandy. But Vincent Corsini knew June 6 was different. Chaplains on deck encouraged troops to pray and troops were given a good breakfast.
Certain other D-Day memories are crystal clear: peeking out over the edge of the landing craft at the U.S. firepower directed at the beach. Machine guns splattering the water.
Tucked against the bottom of the hill overlooking Omaha Beach, he heard someone yelling for help from the water. Taking off as much equipment as he could, he ran back to the waves and found a stranded officer.
“As I was standing there looking at him, somebody up on the hill pulled the trigger,” he said. The bullet narrowly missed his ear, feeling like a “sonic boom,” as it passed. Corsini grabbed the officer and pulled him to safety.
He went back for the 50th D-Day anniversary and looked across a cemetery’s field of white crosses. His wife and members of the French Club he meets with monthly encouraged him to go on the 75th anniversary, at age 94.
His wartime experiences affected his life forever, he said.
“I wouldn’t change my experience for a million dollars,” he said, adding: “I wouldn’t go through it again for a million dollars.”
