First Lt. Donald Floyd Turner was the brother I never knew. I was barely more than a toddler when he died, killed in action June 6, 1944, at Omaha Beach.

My brother was always with me, however. His death had a devastating effect on my father, and he was seldom mentioned in our home as I grew up, nor in the years after. Don’s short life story is more of a mystery to me than any form of memory.

I always wanted to know more. My quest to learn about my brother led to hours of scouring military histories and collecting limited family information. People who have lost loved ones and close relatives sometimes wonder, Why my brother? Why did fate strike my loved one, at that place, at that moment? Why did he or she have to die?

This is my attempt to answer the unanswerable questions. I have come to believe a quirk of fate put him on Omaha Beach that day. He was, likely, among the very first Americans who died there.

At age 22, Don was a tank commander in the 743rd Tank Battalion, a platoon leader in Company B. He and his comrades were among the very first Americans to land on the shores of France to begin the assault that eventually took down Germany and ended World War II in Europe.

The many books that attempt to recount the events of the invasion do not always agree on who was where and when they got there. William B. Folkestad, author of “The View from the Turret,” wrote about the invasion and included this scene about Company C:

“The tank bucked when its gunner, Jerry Lattimer, fired the first round. Targeted by one of the beach guns, an exploding German shell filled the tank with noise and black smoke. Two more rounds from Lattimer’s gun brought two more hits that left the tank disabled with three dead crewmen. Despite Lattimer’s warnings to stay inside, the tank commander left the turret and began signaling to other tanks for a pick-up when he, too, was killed.

That could be the story of my brother’s demise. I am reasonably convinced the Folkestad’s recounting is the depiction of Don’s death.

Here's why: Harry Yiede’s book “Steel Victory” says about the invasion, “Company B lost seven tanks with three officers and six enlisted men killed in action. Company C was luckier suffering the loss of only one tank disabled and five men wounded.”

His early life

Don’s short lifetime began Dec. 21, 1921, in Missouri. His father and mother soon thereafter were divorced, and his mother met the man who would become my dad about 1926. They married and my father adopted Don. They owned and operated a small weekly newspaper in Puxico, Missouri, which ultimately became a victim of the Great Depression.

The family moved in the early 1930s to Salem, but my father and his mother were divorced sometime thereafter. My father subsequently bought and operated the Lewis River News in Woodland, Washington. Don went to live with his dad in Woodland, attending high school there, after his mother fell ill.

The year 1939 was an important year in this story. Don was graduated from high school, my dad sold The Lewis River News and married the woman who would become my mother. They moved to Battle Ground, where they started a newspaper, The Battle Ground Times, with my mother as publisher since my father had signed a non-compete clause in the sale of the Woodland paper.

Don lived with them in the living quarters behind the newspaper office and helped with the paper. Making money in a small-town weekly newspaper in those days was difficult, and shortly after I was born in January 1941, Don went to work at another newspaper in Rainier.

Reading through some things my dad wrote in the Battle Ground Times, it was clear my dad dreamed that one day he and Donald and I would all work together in the newspaper business. That dream would never come to pass.

December 1941 brought the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the entry of the United States into World War II. War made money even tighter, and my dad eventually abandoned his paper, going to work instead at the Kaiser Shipyards in Vancouver, where they built Liberty ships.

How Don became a lieutenant

Don received an appointment to Officer Candidate School and enlisted in the Army, probably early in 1942 and likely with some help from his paper’s publisher.

He took his basic training at Fort Lewis in Washington and then went to officer school at Fort Knox, Kentucky, from which he graduated as a 2nd Lieutenant. Many of the recruits who took basic training in Fort Lewis were eventually assigned to tank battalions, and the 743rd Tank Battalion reportedly had a distinctive Pacific Northwest flavor.

The 743rd was one of several battalions that participated in a top-secret program to develop amphibious tanks. The United States eventually adapted M4 Medium Sherman tanks.

The tanks were sealed, and a flotation screen installed around the hull of the tank. The screen could be raised by air-filled tubes and metal supports to allow the tanks to handle one- to two-foot swells.

A fly in the ointment

One of the things that strikes me is that my brother was probably not even originally scheduled to be a part of the D-Day landing. His assignment to the invasion forces was probably the result a little publicized twist of fate called Exercise Tiger, which took place at Slapton Sands in England’s South Devon coast. The exercise occurred in late April 1944, only a few weeks before the D-Day landing.

The story of this fiasco, which cost the lives of hundreds of American servicemen, is dramatically recounted in the book “The Forgotten Dead” by Ken Small.

The important part of that story is that in the early morning hours of April 28, 1944, a convoy of eight vessels each loaded with several landing craft tanks was steaming, without proper escort, toward the practice landing site, which had been chosen because of its similarity to one of the actual landing sites on the Normandy beach.

German surveillance had noticed an increase in U.S. and British communications chatter and sent some small attack boats armed with torpedoes out to see if they could find anything. They stumbled upon the flotilla and proceeded to attack. Two of the eight ships were sunk while another was able to limp to port despite being severely damaged by fire.

The disaster forced numerous personnel changes the result of which, I am guessing, explains my brother’s advance in rank from 2nd Lieutenant to 1st Lieutenant.

The plan

Eight tank battalions such as the 743rd were scheduled to lead the assault at Normandy – three British, two Canadian and three U.S. battalions – the 70th at Utah Beach and the 741st and 743rd at Omaha Beach.

The proper configuration of officers would have been the company captain, three first lieutenants as patrol leaders and four second lieutenants commanding the rest.

Both the 741st companies and the 743rd companies were supposed to begin the invasion at H-hour minus five minutes, the 743rd was to hit the beach with Company B at Dog Green and Company C at the Dog White sector. The 741st was to land at beachheads somewhat further north.

The thinking was that the low profile of the Sherman amphibious tanks would either escape German detection or confuse them.

The actuality

Problems arose when the 741st command decided to go ahead and launch some 6,000 yards from shore despite higher than anticipated seas. Instead of the two-foot swells the tanks could handle, the sea had as much as six-foot swells.

As the tanks were launched, many were swamped and sank almost immediately. Yet, some 31 tanks were launched before someone finally called it off. Only two of the launched tanks made it to shore, far from projected landing site – a feat attributed to some sailing knowledge of the tank commanders.

The 741st command contacted the 743rd command and advised them not to launch their tanks at sea, but to take them to shore in the landing vessels.

The result was that all but one of the 743rd tanks made it to the beach and engaged in the fiercest of the fighting on the Normandy beaches. Some 2,000 U.S. troops died at Omaha Beach, and Don was among them.

Conclusion

In late March of this year, I was privileged to take a D-Day 75th Anniversary tour, which included a visit to all the Normandy invasion beaches and the U.S. cemeteries. Donald’s remains were repatriated to the U.S. and interred at the Golden Gate National Cemetery.

As I said, I did not ever know my brother, and there were very few family stories shared about him. I do know that he was an athlete in high school, lettering twice in football. His senior year, he was the editor of the high school annual, the Wocowa, and president of the Letterman’s club.

One thing I do remember comes from the fall of 1975. My grandmother died in Woodland and my father and I went to her funeral there. It was his first return to Woodland since we had moved away in 1946.

As we stood near the edges of the crowd at the cemetery, a man walked up to my father and asked, “Aren’t you Bob Turner and wasn’t Don Turner your boy.”

My father allowed that such was the case. The man, who turned out to be a former Woodland High School teacher and principal, said, “I just wanted to tell you that Don was one of the very finest young men we had at Woodland High School.”

My conclusion is that Don must have been an impressive young man with good leadership qualities, and I cannot help but wonder what kind of an influence he might have had on my life.

We didn’t share a drop of blood. We shared so little and yet so much. I do wish I had known him.

Dayton Turner is retired and lives in Portland.