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Harold Baumgarten - D-Day Survivor: An Autobiography

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There was no way to anticipate the horrors of the holocaust that awaited us on the Dog Green sector. --Dr. Harold Baumgarten

Just as it was portrayed in the major motion pictures The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan, the Dog Green sector of Omaha Beach was the smallest but most heavily defended part of Normandy Beach, only nine hundred yards long by three hundred yards wide at low tide. Considered an impregnable Atlantic wall, Omaha Beach was fortified by concrete walls, landmines, a twenty-five-foot seawall topped with mines and barbed wire, and a one-hundred-foot bluff.

It was the bravery and heroism of the 116th Infantry that made subsequent landings of the Twenty-ninth Division possible. In the face of heavy fire and despite suffering the loss of eight hundred men and officers, the 116th Infantry overcame beach obstacles, took the enemy-defended positions along the beach and cliffs, pushed through the mined area under heavy fire, and continued inshore to successfully accomplish their objective.

Dr. Harold Baumgarten, a multidecorated survivor, gives his eyewitness account of the first wave landing of the 116th Infantry on D-Day, June 6, 1944. As the spokesperson for soldiers who perished on the sand and bloody red waters of the Dog Green sector of Omaha Beach, Baumgarten feels it is his mission to make sure these men are never forgotten.

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D-Day Survivor An Autobiography - image 1
D-DAY
SURVIVOR
D-DAY
SURVIVOR
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
HAROLD BAUMGARTEN
D-Day Survivor An Autobiography - image 2
PELICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Gretna 2006
Copyright 2006
By Harold Baumgarten
All rights reserved
The word "Pelican" and the depiction of a pelican are trademarks of Pelican Publishing Company, Inc., and are registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Baumgarten, Harold.
D-Day survivor : an autobiography / Harold Baumgarten.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-1-58980-421-0 (alk. paper)
1. Baumgarten, Harold. 2. World War, 1939-1945CampaignsFranceNormandyPersonal narratives, American. 3. United States. Army. Infantry Regiment, 116th. 4. World War, 1939-1945Regimental historiesUnited States. 5. SoldiersUnited StatesBiography. I. Title.
D756.5.N6B384 2006
940.54'21421092dc22
[B]
2006025313
D-Day Survivor An Autobiography - image 3
Printed in the United States of America
Published by Pelican Publishing Company, Inc.
1000 Burmaster Street, Gretna, Louisiana 70053
To my devoted wife Rita, who has been subjected to my frequent, painful flashbacks and periodic surgeries for more than fifty-five years. She encouraged me to go to medical school, write my books, and speak about D-Day.
To my wonderful children, Karen, Bonnie, and Hal, whom I am very proud of and love.
To my grandchildren Michael, Rose, Samantha, Katy, Matthew, and Rachel, who are very precious to me.
To my surviving Army buddies, who prodded me to write down my D-Day memoirs.
Lastly, to my buddies who lost their lives on D-Day, but will forever live in my heart and prayers.
Preface In 1994 and 1999 the first and second editions of Eyewitness on Omaha - photo 4
Preface
In 1994 and 1999, the first and second editions of Eyewitness on Omaha Beach were written. Those editions were released to coincide with the fiftieth and fifty-fifth anniversaries of D-Day. After many sold-out printings and reprintings, I was going to retire from book writing. However, a small voice inside me kept saying, "Once you are gone, the true story of D-Day will be lost." Thus, I decided to write a third, more complete, and autobiographical book.
Over five years, I have amassed, with the help of friends, a tremendous amount of information about D-Day. This information must be shared. God saved me on D-Day to be the spokesman for those true heroes who perished on the sand and bloody-red, swirling waters of Dog Green Sector of Omaha Beach. They must never be forgotten.
D-DAY
SURVIVOR
I
Growing Up
THE EARLY YEARS
When one speaks about their life, the best way to start is with birth. I was born in Lebanon Hospital in New York City in 1925. My folks were thrilled that I was a boy. My brother, William, had died at age seven months from scarlet fever. Two sisters were already in the family, Ethel, age 8, and Beatrice, age 5. Being the youngest child, and a boy, was very advantageous. I was a "spoiled child," a state especially fostered by my mother.
As far as family, it was my sweet four-foot, nine-inch, bluish-gray-eyed, raven-haired mother who taught me to read and write at age three. She was an excellent cook and baker. Mom Rose was the eldest of sixteen siblings. Until she met and married my Austrian father she worked for Macy's Department Store in New York City. Rose had to commute from the family farm in Colchester, Connecticut, to work at Macy's. Weekdays, she boarded with an aunt in New York, and she returned home for weekends. That aunt happened to be my father's sister-in-law. My father, Morris, immigrated to the United States from Austria as a teenager and taught himself to read and speak English. He was my first hero, a self-made man. Morris was very skilled in metal-work and construction from the old country. His patriotism for the United States was extreme, but when he tried to enlist in the army during World War I, he was rejected as an enemy alien. My sisters Ethel and Beatrice were of another generation.
I also enjoyed visiting my maternal grandparents in Easton, Pennsylvania. My grandfather, Martin Weitzman, had his own horse. My grandmother, Rachael, had a large talking parrot. These were fun distractions. My mother's family was so large that I had a multitude of cousins. When we had a family reunion, it had to be held in a large amusement park in town.
I was brought up in Harlem in an Irish-Catholic-dominated neighborhood. My first best friend was an Italian boy, Joey, two years my senior. Joey's mother, from Italy, wanted to feed me all the time. At that time, I really didn't appreciate the good Italian food. Even though I was Jewish and attended a synagogue, I learned about and respected my neighbors' religious beliefs. I was able to go to their churches, funerals, and wakes. My elementary school, P.S. #125, was integrated, so I developed no racial prejudices. In fact, I felt very much at home there, especially since all the teachers had already taught my two sisters. All this helped to shape my social beliefs for later life.
Though open to others' ways of life, I am unwavering in my own religion. I remember, when I was about four years old, seeing a movie about Jewish martyrs in ancient times. Romans and Spaniards burned them at the stake. As they were dying, they prayed the Shema , a Hebrew prayer specifying the belief in one God. This vivid memory has had a tremendous influence on my beliefs in religion. My belief in God has always been steadfast. I pray every day. The thrust of my prayers has always been for good health for my family, my friends, and myself.
A smart docile child I was very good in school in both behavior and - photo 5
A smart, docile child, I was very good in school, in both behavior and learning. My mother helped me with my homework and studying. Having a photographic memory gave me the ability to assimilate schoolwork with ease. I excelled in spelling and math in elementary school.
A large city like New York is a cultural banquet, with all its museums, excellent libraries, and showplaces. There was no shortage of things to do or of friends my own age. The streets outside our apartment houses, with its parked autos, became our daily playground. In warm weather we played "stick-ball," and the street became a baseball diamond. In the winter, when the streets were covered with snow and ice, it became a one-man sledding downhill and snowball-fight paradise. My friend Joey and I played on our scooters on the campus of Columbia University. We also played around Grant's Tomb, which was in our neighborhood. On President Grant's birthday, his and his wife's mausoleum was opened for viewing.
Playing on the tough streets of New York City toughened me up. I was once hit over the head in a fight with an iron roller skate, requiring sutures from Sydenham Hospital Emergency Room. On another occasion, while climbing a steel fence in Morningside Park, I impaled my left wrist on one of the spikes. Once again I became a visitor to the ER. My father made the hospital a large copper kettle in appreciation. It is interesting to remember that the hospitals in those days reeked with the smell of ether.
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