War Headlines: The only important news that day came from Normandy

Richmonders awoke to a typical June day. The weather was in the upper 70s with a possibility of afternoon thunderstorms. On that sunny Tuesday morning, Thalhimers department store was running a sale on ladies' dresses -- $16.95 for a lovely frock suitable for everyday wear. Nolde's Bread, in conjunction with the Home Services Department of the Virginia Electric and Power Company, ran a quarter-page ad in

The Times-Dispatch encouraging patriotic housewives to use every last bit of that leftover bread. Recipes for toasted loaf-shells and croutons were among the suggestions.

In a column that dispensed advice to the lovelorn, Troubled Sergeant asked columnist Betty Bly whether he should marry the beautiful, fun-loving gal he met when he arrived in his new town -- or if he would be better off spending wedded bliss with her best friend, who, while not quite as pretty, was neat and a real home-loving type. The fickle sergeant worried that he might soon tire of the pretty doll or run around on the homebody. Unfortunately, Betty couldn't help him. "Men's tastes in sweethearts and wives are among the mysteries of life. They operate in defiance of the laws of reason or even plain horse sense," she responded.

The Times-Dispatch's Editorial Page wondered how the American army would meet the enormous challenge of feeding the entire city of Rome, which had fallen to the Allied Fifth Army just the day before. Supply lines into the Eternal City had been cut weeks earlier and German soldiers had looted the Italian capital. As many as 2 million Romans were in need of food, fresh water, and medical supplies.

AT AN ASSOCIATED Press office in Fleet Street, London, 22-year-old teletypist trainee Joan Ellis was told to come back to work two days after she had mistakenly released to the entire Western Hemisphere an erroneous AP news flash from Gen. Eisenhower's headquarters announcing the Allies had begun landing in France. In what may have been divine intervention, the Germans dismissed that report as mere propaganda. Josef Goebbels scoffed at the news flash and Field Marshall Rommel took leave in Germany to celebrate his wife's June 6 birthday.

A day earlier in Washington, another never-ending partisan spat erupted when House Republicans demanded "the full story" of the attack on Pearl Harbor. A two-fisted fight broke out when a Democratic representative from North Carolina bluntly stated that some were more interested in removing Roosevelt from Washington than Hitler from Berlin. Republican Dewey Short of Missouri drew strong applause from spectators when he retorted that "some people may forget Pearl Harbor, but the mothers and fathers . . . of the boys who died there aren't going to forget it."

But all the news tidbits of that day faded into insignificance as Americans learned of the Allied invasion of Northern France on June 6, 1944. Shortly after midnight, in the greatest one-day amphibious invasion in human history, 160,000 troops began landing on a 50-mile stretch of Normandy's coastline. The landings had been divided into five beachheads that were given the code names of Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha, and Utah. By the end of the day, more than 9,000 American, British, Canadian, and free French soldiers would be dead.

Across the United States, church bells pealed in support of the great battle that was underway. The mayor of Philadelphia even allowed the Liberty Bell to be tapped six times to spell out the word "liberty." Virginia families and loved ones of military members greeted the news with a mixture of dread and anxiety -- and a bit of relief that the long-anticipated event had finally begun.

For many, the day was spent deep in prayer as folks sat beside radios for the latest news. Soon reports of heavy casualties began to be broadcast. The small Virginia town of Bedford stood resolute and grim. Of the 28 men from Bedford involved in the invasion, 22 were killed. It was the greatest one-day sacrifice any American town had given to the war effort.

Another Virginian, 1st Lt. Jimmie Monteith Jr., died early that morning near Colleville-sur-Mer in an act of "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty." Despite being on foot and completely exposed to unending enemy fire, Monteith led two tanks and a column of troops through a minefield and into firing positions. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions that day. Of the 60,000 men who invaded Normandy on D-Day, only four earned the Medal of Honor.

DESPITE THE bloodshed, by nightfall Allied power prevailed. Over the next several days and weeks, millions more troops arrived. Because of the incredible efforts of so many men, two months later, on Aug. 24, Paris was liberated and on Aug. 30, the last German unit had fled across the River Seine. Although it would be nearly a year before Germany's surrender, Allied victory was inevitable.

What we owe to those who gave so much on that day in June 1944 can never be repaid. But let us always remember their efforts and cherish these great gifts of liberty and freedom that they fought so hard to ensure.

Robin Beres is a retired Navy chief petty officer with nearly 23 years of service. Contact her at (804) 649-6305 or .