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To the Crew of the USS Frankford (DD-497):
From conversations with several of you, it was obvious and only natural that you recall where you were and what you were doing during the early hours of 6 June 1944. But I don’t believe that you are aware of the results of that terrific bombardment that you poured into Omaha Beach, when you came in oh so close.
I landed on Omaha at the time of the landing of the first waterborne assault wave (H-Hour) plus three minutes. I was a member of a special demolition team of the 299th Combat Engineer Battalion, and our mission was to blow eight 50-yard gaps in all three rows of obstacles in front of the 1st Infantry Division’s eastern half of Omaha Beach.
But first, Allied forces were to hit the defensive beach positions with heavy air and offshore naval bombardment. This would lift at H-Hour, when 32 amphibious tanks were supposed to touch down on the beach to pick up the fire and try to keep the Germans, now reeling from the devastating bombardments, pinned down while we attempted to accomplish our mission.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go anywhere near the way they were planned. The air bombardment landed way inland, beyond the beach defenses. So did most of the naval shells. Because the shell and bomb craters that were to provide us cover when we set off our charges were practically nonexistent, only one of the amphibious tanks made it in. The others were swamped and went to the bottom shortly after being launched a mile or two out.
Nearly all units that landed missed their designated objectives, by anywhere from a few yards to a few hundred yards.
Casualties ran nearly 50% the first few hours. More than a thousand men managed to survive and reach the dune line. They were pinned down by such murderous machine gun, sniper, and mortar fire that any movement meant almost certain death. The many desperate attempts to advance even a few yards usually resulted in a casualty from an antipersonnel mine or machine gun fire.
I landed on the eastern end of Omaha and was fortunate to be where the sandy dune line was replaced by a rock formation that gradually rose from a few inches to more than a hundred feet high. It was about seven to eight feet high where I wound up and provided excellent cover from everything except mortars. As a result,
I faced the channel during the first few hours. All of a sudden, at about 1000 or 1030, I guess, a destroyer loomed out of a sea swarming with dozens of various size and type landing craft and DUKW amphibious vehicles. She was headed straight toward me. Even though she wasn’t listing or smoking, my first thought was that she had either struck a mine or taken a torpedo and was damaged badly enough that she was being beached. While I was coming up with my reason for the destroyer to head in, she started to turn right and, before she completed the turn to be parallel to the beach, all her guns opened fire. At the same time I saw smoke leave the gun barrels, shells landed a few yards above my rock cover. As the destroyer proceeded toward the western end of the beach, 1 continued to watch her and wondered how she could be so close without taking any artillery or mortar hits. I watched her go farther and farther from me and expected to see her pull out to sea at any minute, when suddenly I realized she was backing up and her guns had yet to pause since commencing fire. She backed up almost to where she had started, went dead in the water for the second time—still, to my knowledge, without taking u hit—and again headed toward the other end of the beach, with all guns still blazing. When she reached the western section of the beach, she pulled out to sea.
Until earlier last year I had no idea what ship she was or what became of her. 1 had seen the ship number, but I saw so many ship numbers that day that when that number would have meant something to me years later, I couldn’t remember any of them.
Many years later, after reading Cornelius Ryan’s book The Longest Day (Simon and Schuster, 1959) and seeing the movie, I realized that as authentic and all-
encompassing as his work was, he had not picked up lhe part that little old unnamed destroyer, which had earned a special place in my heart long ago, had Played the day she cruised back and forth off Omaha Beach.
I wrote to Ryan in the summer of 1974 and, without trying to explain the story in the letter, indicated that I had information regarding an incident that occurred on •J-Day that he apparently was unaware of and requested that he telephone me. His secretary replied, bating that she was certain that he would be interested, hut that at the moment he was in Europe. She suggested that I try to contact him when he returned in September to promote his latest book. Well, 1 procrastinated, and in December he died.
It wasn’t until last spring, after reading many books and articles covering the D-Day operation, that I found •Uore than a general mention of action involving destroyers on that day. In his book The Two-Ocean War (Little, Brown and Company, 1963), Samuel Eliot ^orison described a destroyer squadron that around late uiorning was ordered in closer as a result of the situa- l'°n on Omaha. He named the USS Baldwin (DD-624), Ihe USS Doyle (DD-494), the USS Emmons (DD-457), 'he USS Harding (DD-625), the USS McCook (DD- 496), and the USS Thompson (DD-627). But in naming the Frankford, the book mentioned that she went in " very close.
Lo and behold, just a short time later 1 found the Frankford's first reunion notice listed in the VFW magazine’s monthly reunion listings, at which time I called the contact person.
You who served in the Frankford know where you were and what you did on D-Day, but maybe you are unaware of the following. Although only my opinion, I believe that somewhere records can be located and researched that will in fact substantiate this opinion.
Regardless of the time of arrival, nearly every living person on Omaha was pinned down from the time he reached the dune line until after you made your "cruise.” Not long after you swung out to sea, there was movement on the beach, which eventually enabled the infantry to advance up the slope onto the flat land and beyond. Before your cruise, there had been only dying and scratching for cover for several hours. Virtually no one had advanced.
Part of the proof of that is the fact that you were able to pour several hundred rounds into a visible area nearly two miles long that should have been breached long before you arrived. Had it been, you would not have been able to lay in one round where you did.
Another part of the proof is the log of the U. S.
First Army’s 1st Infantry Division, compiled on board the USS Ancon (AGC-4) in the channel off Omaha. All radio communications received and entered into their log during the first few hours were so negative that the personnel there must have been near tears.
Another item can be verified. Ryan’s book mentions that General Omar Bradley, commanding officer, First Army, on board the USS Augusta (CA-31) somewhere in the channel late that morning, believed that the Omaha situation was so critical that he contemplated trying to evacuate Omaha and diverting everything headed for Omaha to Utah and the British beaches. At about that time, the communiques started to contain messages stating that things were beginning to move on Omaha. Eventually these were followed by word that men were off Omaha and attempting to advance.
Again, this occurred after your “cruise.”
The movie The Longest Day depicted a couple of scenes that apply to this situation. First it showed a person bringing an officer messages containing favorable news from some of the other beaches. The messenger then was asked if the news from Omaha was any different than it had been and received a reply something like “No, nothing on Omaha.” In the second scene, which had the same scenario, the officer stated that “you and I know that without Omaha the whole operation is in jeopardy.” Apparently, and I’ve never been able to determine why, Omaha was the key beach.
Why am I so interested in the Frankfordl Well, I'll tell you. There is no question, at least in my mind, if you had not come in as close as you did, exposing yourselves to God only knows how much, that I would not have survived overnight. I truly believe that in the absence of the damage you inflicted on German emplacements, the only way any GI was going to leave Omaha was in a mattress cover or as a prisoner of war.
Of all the men on Omaha at that time, to my knowledge, none have come forward with similar remembrances. I believe the reason is that except for a few in the same general area that I occupied, with the rock formation for cover, all of the others were pinned down and either did not witness your feat or only caught a fleeting glance.
I sure wish someone would delve into research or come forward with some information. I believe the information is available that could substantiate the fact that the Frankford by herself turned the Omaha Beach landing around and possibly did the same for the whole Normandy invasion. Sound a little far fetched? Don't believe it.
Well, I’ve rambled enough and will close this that started as a simple congratulations, good luck, and thank-you message.
My best to each and every one of you and many, many, many thanks,
Cordially,
James E. Knight
From the Seaward Side
I was the gunnery officer of the USS Frankford (DD-497) when she took part in the initial operations at the Normandy beach on 6 June 1944. The Frankford was the flagship for the screen commander and was commanded by Navy Lieutenant Commander James Semmes. Her activities passed into memory until the reunion group started receiving letters from soldiers such as James Knight who were on the beach.
Let me give a little background from the seaward side. Initially the Frankford was engaged in setting the screen. Most of the other destroyers in the screen were released quite early to augment the gunfire support at the beachhead. About midmorning, they had expended their bombardment ammunition allowance and returned to the screen. Obviously, the job was not over. The Frankford was released from the screen and ordered in to provide support wherever it was needed on Omaha Beach. We proceeded in to probably 1,000 yards and tried to contact our shore fire-control party.
For reasons that became obvious later, we 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 Commander 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 hatch, 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 that none of our troops were 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