Home Page

Ship Specs

Ship History

Ship Photos

Crew Photos

Crew Today

Ship's Log Part 1

Ship's Log Part 2

Ship's Log Part 3

Coxswain Duties

Soldiers' Diary

Soldiers' Story Part 1

Soldiers' Story Part 2

Action Reports

D-Day Story

D-Day Photos

Citation

Related Sites

USCG Posters

Sign Guestbook

View Guestbook

At 3:45 in the afternoon Chief Boatswain's Mate Charles Campen, USCG, of Hertford, North Carolina, told us in the crew's quarters that at 5 p.m. sea watches of four hours on and four hours off would go into effect. We didn't have to be told what this meant. A stranger among us would never know from our hilarity, yelling and horseplay that we were about to participate in one of the greatest undertakings in history. In fact I don't think anyone thought of it historically at the time. I know I didn't. But there was a general excitement underneath our playfulness, and also optimism touched with some feeling of tenseness. I didn't go around asking everybody how they felt and no one asked me. But I know for myself I had a feeling of something like stage fright, or more accurately, the feeling a high school boy often gets just before the vital game with a rival school. As for the Army and Navy men we were carrying, they gave no real outward sign of what they were thinking. On the whole I would say everyone was exceptionally calm and ready. Various army officers gave their groups a talk and last minute instructions in the troop compartments. Certainly there was nothing overly dramatic. Things just continued to go along as they had, smoothly. For us, our last orders were to be sure to wear our gas suits at all times, our heavy impregnated shoes and socks and keep our gas masks with us.

We left the docks in the midst of evening chow. I remember Eugene J. Snarski, seaman first class, USCGR, of (12883- Sparling Street) Detroit, Michigan, whom we called "Jeep" although he was long and lanky, sliding down the ladder to his unfinished meal and good humoredly complaining:

"I don't know why we always have to shove off just in the middle of chow, especially when we have some white bread for a change." Modest "Jeep", who received the Purple Heart previously for wounds he sustained in the Salerno, Italy, invasion aboard another Coast Guard manned LCI, was later to be the most badly wounded of our crew.

After eating I went above with my camera and found we were just entering the outer harbor, which in reality was no harbor but a large bay. Everywhere the ships were beginning to take their positions. LCIs, LSTs, transports, destroyers, escort vessels, even cruisers and battleships. All the LSTs had a large barrage balloon flying above them and the LCIs looked topheavy with the mass of troops on deck. We all watched the memorable sights of the vast flo-tillas of ships stretching in every direction.

As we stood out into the channel our group formed into what seemed like three endless columns of LCIs. Then later as we left the bay astern our three columns were joined by a flanking fourth column of the famous little 83 foot Coast Guard cutters and a long line of huge transports beyond. On the horizon were destroyers and other escort vessels. The wind was brisk and it was definitely chilly topsides. The heavy clouds gave a dull gray hue to the water, except for the white breakers. Our ship rolled a bit and some of the soldiers stood near the rail as they began to feel that queer sensation in their stomachs.

At first we hugged the coast line but as twilight set in we began to ease away from the high cliffs of Southern England. At 8:30 P.M., on a course of 110 degrees - ESE - we watched 74 planes fly over high in the clouds. They were P-38s. This was the largest concentration of planes at one time we had seen, although all evening bunches of Spitfires had flown over. Those planes made us feel more secure and were always a grand sight. Off our port quarter now we could make out in the evening haze more ships of task forces and amphi-bious flotillas coming out of other harbors.

INVASION ... SHEPARD ... 7

At 9:30 P.M. I went below to warm up and get some more film equipment. The crew off watch was trying to sleep in the crowded quarters, but they were having a hard time because of the early hour, the excitement and laughter. I decided that I might as well shave since no one was in the head at the time. I only cut myself once, which I thought was good going for the way the ship was pitching in the choppy channel sea. On my way back to the crew's quarters I looked down a troop compartment hatch and saw a group of soldiers rolling the dice, enjoying themselves. But most of the soldiers were just waiting quietly, with their own silent thoughts.

At 10 P.M. I went back up to the conning tower to find it still cloudy and cold and windy. The officers and men in the conn, which on an LCI is open to the sky shoulder high, and the highest part of the ship, seemed to be in a good mood, eating candy and cracking jokes. The Captain said it was his opinion that the morale of the troops was the highest of any invasion they had been through and everyone agreed. Chief Campen pointed out to me the grow-ing number of LCTs coming out from land. There were so many it was impossible to count them all as they dotted the horizon. At 10 P.M. the Skipper went be-low for a while and turned the ship over to Warrant Boswain James C. Cubbedge, USCG, watch officer, of (3565 NW 36 Street) Miami, Florida. The order was also passed to keep a special lookout for the dangerous German E-boats, which have a habit of sneaking in on channel shipping and doing damage with their torpedoes.

Soon I decided that the best place for me was in my "sack" if I was going to be up in the early hours of the morning. So I went below and crawled into the bunk. I couldn't go right off to sleep but the last thing I remember was the one shaded light hanging down over the mess table, swinging back and forth and sending its faint rays over the tiers of three bunks, most of them filled with sleeping forms, relaxed and trusting and not knowing what hell they would be facing in less than 10 hours.

* * * * * *

On through the blackness of the cloudy night the ship sped across the channel in a great armada of ships. I slept soundly, dreaming and hearing nothing until 3:40 A.M. - June 6. Suddenly awakened by the clanging of the alarm bell - general quarters - I sprang out of my bunk and tried to dress with record speed. Like everyone, I had slept in my clothes except for the outer gas suit and my heavy shoes. I was the last man to scramble up the dark ladder, after grabbing my camera and film.

Climbing up to the conn as the night wind whipped the spray across the deck, I could just make out the dark form of the ship and hurrying figures. Once I got up, though, I could see bright flashes in the distant horizon ahead and some flares closer by. Apparently the Skipper had sounded general quarters as a precautionary measure when the flares went off. A few minutes later secure from general quarters was given and the crew on watch from midnight to 4 went below.

Now in the distance ahead, along the French coast, we could see sharp flashes of brilliant explosions and heavy anti-aircraft fire and hear the deep rumble of the blasting and firing. As my eyes became more accustomed to the darkness I could make out the dark shapes of landing craft and ships surrounding

INVASION ... SHEPARD ... 8

us. We had finally reached our objective and now the LCIs were slowly following each other in a long circular movement. The beach on which we were to land was 16 miles away. All the while I was conscious of that eerie whistling of the wind through the rigging. It was cold and I pulled up the hood of my gas suit over my steel helmet and tightened my life jacket. I was going to be very thankful for that jacket later on.

Now the dawn of that momentous day began breaking. The blackness changed into a shadowy gray and then into a more distinct but still dull gray until the rays of the sun - - still below the horizon - - began streaking the heavy clouds with traces of pale pink. This suddenly burst forth into brill-iant red for a few minutes and then as suddenly disappeared into the bluish gray morning skies.

We knew a tremendous air attack was to begin at 5:45 A.M. on the German-held coast and we could see the flights of huge bombers far overhead as they roared through the clouds, on their way. When Paul E. Lambert, signalman second class, USCGR, of (7600 Washington Street) Marquette, Michigan, at his station in the conn, said the planes were "a good sight to see," he echoed all of our thoughts. We were later to be very grateful to the Allied air forces who kept the German planes away. Most of the crew had vivid memories of the German air raids in Italy and especially one night at Bizerte. Another good sight were the destroyers which risked a great deal in covering us so near the German land batteries.

At 5:50 A.M. the LCIs of our flotilla formed into two columns and swung in toward land, now hazy as an early morning mist blew in off the channel. There were ships in all directions as far as the eye could see. We could not help gasping with amazement at the complete coordination of this vast array of shipping despite the confusing picture it presented on the surface. At 6:45 we sped past columns of LSTs unloading trucks, tanks, jeeps, equipment through their huge bow doors onto the long flat Rhino (?) barges. We could see the waves slapping over the barges and men and equipment.

And on we went through the gray seas while the oncoming fog closed in astern of us. By 7 A.M. we knew that the first waves of small landing boats had already hit the beaches and we wondered how they were making out. All we could see ahead was a smoky haze over the approaching land, which we now could see was not as flat as we first thought. All the crew were at their beaching stations and the ramps were in readiness for lowering. The spray over the bow kept the men forward wiping their streaming faces. At 7:30 we passed the attack transports, recognizing some of our Coast Guard ships. We were all tense now, saying little and watching with eagle eyes. General quarters was sounded at 7:45 and soon we were approaching the cruisers and destroyers shelling the coast, half hidden by smoke screens, which mixed in with the haze and grayness.

At 8 A.M. we were less than three miles from land and amidst the fir-ing warships throwing up a continuous bombardment. The wind continued brisk and I could see the forward gun crew bracing themselves against the waves which shot over the bow. Ahead of us everywhere were small landing craft and now the beach itself was plainly visible, even with the smoke. Suddenly I realized that we were in for a tough time as I made out shattered Higgins boats on the beach and men running to take cover. I could see a few houses in the lee of the hill, wrecked and on fire. My heart beat multiplied when I looked over the starboard

INVASION … SHEPARD ... 9

bow, near the beach, and saw the Coast Guard manned LCI 91 enveloped in flames and smoke. She was the first LCI to hit that sector of the beach and we were scheduled as the second.

Below us, in the pilot house, Edward E. Pryzbos, quartermaster first class, USCG, (record of address lost) at the steering controls, gave one look at the "91", and yelled to our two waiting pharmacist's mates:

"Looks as if we're going to have a rough landing." Raymond A. Maleska, pharmacist's mate second class, USCGR, of (4 Stone Street) Yonkers, N.Y., known to all as "Doc", and Rudolph J. Hursey, pharmacist's mate second class, USNR, of Chesterfield, South Carolina, known as "Pop", hurried aft to be ready with their first aid kits.

On we went. The beach was a few hundred yards off now and we could see the wooden and steel traps set by the Germans on which some of the Higgins boats had ripped out their bottoms. Smoke was everywhere and we smelled the powder of battle. We felt nearby explosions from shells and could see funnels of water shoot up in the air. The Skipper was standing forward in the conn, griping the handrail as he directed the ship by speaking through the tube to the pilot house Lambert, the signalman, stood on the starboard side of the conn, with ear phones on. I was on the port side by the signal light with my camera, bracing myself to take a picture. Then it came!

A terrifying blast lifted the whole ship upward with a sudden lurch from the bow. A sheet of flame and steel shot out from the forward hold. The ship quivered as if it were pulling apart and the concussion threw the three of us in the conn backward and down hard. The heat was like the midst of a blast furnace. We were stunned for an instant and our ears were ringing with the deafening vibrations. Seconds later another shattering explosion shook the ship like a toy boat and a rain of shrapnel splattered the shivering LCI.

In that first blast from the mine, which set fire to the main fuel tanks and blew out a hole in the starboard side big enough to drive a Higgins boat through, 4l soldiers in the forward troop compartment were trapped in a fiery furnace, most of them being killed instantly. The first explosion blew two of the soldiers out the hatch and the sheet of flame shot aft through the pilot-house ports, singeing the eyebrows and hair of Morton A. Rabinowitz, radioman third class, USCGR of (796 Eastern Parkway) Brooklyn, N.Y., who was stand-ing inside on the annunciators to the engine room.

But the worst concentration of explosive fire centered forward where many of our crew were working to lower the ramps and on the anticraft gun. Snarski, who was inboard on the port winch on the well deck, was trapped where he stood, getting the full force of the blast in his face, setting his head on fire. He was badly burned in the face, head, hands, legs, arms. Martin Masariu, fireman first class, USCGR, of (17 North Addison Street) Indianapolis, Indiana, outboard on the winch, was thrown backward almost to the number 1 hatch, or about 15 feet. His hair was blazing. Raymond Macht, seaman first class, USCGR, of (2863 North Oakland Avenue) Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on the starboard winch outboard, was also blasted backward, the flame burning his face. Macht saw that Masariu's hair was on fire so he quickly slapped his hands over Masariu's head, putting out the fire but burning his own hands. Vincent DiFalco, motor

INVASION ... SHEPPARD ... 10

machinist's mate third class, USCGR, of (63 Terrace Avenue) Providence, R.I., on the winch with Macht, luckily escaped with just burned hands, although he was near the center of the explosion.

Arthur L. Lornson, Jr., seaman first class, USCGR, of (256 Kaukauna Street) Menasha, Wisconsin, standing on the port side just aft of the ramp and forward of the check line, was just about to swing the lead line when we struck the mine. He was hurled overboard in the cold water, coming up astern of the ship. He yelled but because of the noise and confusion no one heard him. The current carried him through some oil over near a piling which he grabbed and hung on 'til he gathered some strength to swim ashore. Just a few seconds after he left the piling an 88 shell hit it directly. Lornson eventually made the beach in a bitter struggle against swirling water.

Raymond Norman Patterson, seaman first class, (931 Opelouses Avenue) Algiers, La., was burned on the back of the neck while he was at the port check line, aft of the ramp. On the other check line across the ship both Smith and Richard Paladino, ship's cook third class, of Elizabeth, N. J., were untouched and ran aft to help some of the soldiers who were hit near the stern when an 88 sprayed shrapnel there.

Up on the bow near the forward gun, in charge of men working on the ramps, was Gentry W. Warden, coxswain, USCGR, of (424 Masquite Street) Ranger, Texas. He was thrown over the gun turret onto the port ramp. Then as an 88 shell hit the ramp a dangerous piece of shrapnel pierced his forearm lodging next to the bone. The port ramp was twisted somewhat away from the ship, making it impossible to lower.

On the forward gun Herbert Nolda, coxswain, USCGR, of Lincoln, Nebraska, went through the first blast, but on his way aft was knocked down when an 88 truck the ship close by the No. 2 troop hatch between the bulwarks. I remember Nolda was the first person I saw as I pulled myself up on the conn and looked down an instant. His face was bleeding badly from shrapnel wounds in his jaw.

The scene was extreme confusion. The piles of K rations and gear for the soldiers were littered over the well deck. Flames and dense smoke were pouring from the hatch, the ramps were damaged making both impossible to lower. Everywhere were faces blackened from the smoke and fire.

Mr. Felder, also on the bow, was shaken up and slightly burned in the face. It was a miracle that Charles R. Higgins, seaman first class, USCGR, of Pottsboro, Texas, with the phones on the forward gun, escaped unharmed, as well as John F. Mateyack, seaman first class, USCGR of (5743 West 90th Place) Oaklawn, Illinois.

On the port ramp was Lawrence Davison, ship's cook third class, of Erie, Pennsylvania, ready to take in the anchor, but apparently the first blast threw him overboard and he was missing, to our knowledge, for 10 days after the invasion. We understand now that he later turned up at a hospital in England, wounded. None of our crew has seen him, so his story will have to wait.

Meanwhile, in the engine room, heavy black smoke was forced back through blower system from the explosion and fire forward. Chief Machinist's Mate Frederick Sutton, USCG, of (Address lost) and Spring were on the throttle.

Go to Top of Page

Sign Guestbook
View Guestbook

Questions?
Comments?
Send Email

Number of visitors
to this site since
05/25/2002