How can someone you have never seen, never spoken to, or never known, be the greatest influence in your life? My father was that person for me. He was a glider pilot in World War II, who successfully completed his mission on D-Day. He landed in a field in St.-Mère-Eglise, the first village in France liberated from German occupation. 21 days later, on the day I was born, June 27, 1944, my father, Flight Officer Walter Bert Lindberg, was awarded the Air Medal for his bravery on that historic day.
On the 80th anniversary of D-Day, June 6, 2024, I and my husband attended the weeklong commemoration of that historic date when the liberation of Europe began. The first person I met was an American paratrooper, who was going to jump from a C-47 (a World War II airplane) in a reenactment. When I told him about my dad, he took my father’s photo to carry with him. I was able to tell my father’s story over and over to many. The local townspeople expressed their gratitude for my father’s role in their liberation but also expressed much appreciation for America and the ultimate sacrifices made by so many.
As my husband and I walked down the hill facing Omaha Beach, we heard the music of songbirds in the trees. It must have been the same 80 years ago, when their songs were suddenly interrupted by deafening roars of cannon fire from the American battleships offshore. The sounds of terror were answered by herculean German artillery mounted in the Nazi fortifications on the cliffs above.
A Dangerous Mission
My dad was part of the U.S. Army Air Corps. He flew a British Horsa Glider on D-Day, which carried 30 troopers. It was larger than the American CG-4A Glider which transported 13 infantry soldiers, or a jeep with supplies. Gliders landed in open and often flooded fields. Both pilots and crew were sometimes lost in the fatal landing conditions. After their crash landings, the pilots became combatants alongside the infantry.
I located the exact field where my father landed his glider. It was less than a mile from St.-Mère-Eglise, where festivities were taking place. Tears flowed as I stood by the field and tried to imagine my dad crash-landing an unprotected aircraft with troops, artillery, munitions, and medical supplies under enemy fire.
Who were those exceptionally brave men who flew airplanes without engines? Their missions silently and stealthily delivered men and supplies behind enemy lines prior to a planned invasion and also resupplied the battlefields during ongoing combat. Every glider landing was hazardous, and yet, historians have written little about the contributions of glider pilots.
Learning how glider pilots were trained in the United States and England gave me insight into the kind of men they were. Glider pilots had to be as brave as those who fly combat missions and adept at assembling the gliders, which were transported by ships, in pieces packed into wooden crates. They were made with metal tubing frames and wooden floors, and covered in heavy canvas material, making them vulnerable to gunfire and weather conditions.
The Man Behind the Uniform
My father trained at Bowman Field near Louisville, Kentucky. My parents met there at the famous Seelbach Hotel, where my mother was a hostess. The military personnel from Bowman Field used the hotel’s Olympic-sized swimming pool for fitness and water-related glider-training exercises. My dad was a swimmer who ate breakfast at the hotel after training.
My mother, known as Lil, was a farm girl from rural Kentucky, and my dad, Walter, was from Los Angeles. Their romance bloomed at an inconvenient and untimely period of history. They had little time to learn of each other’s backgrounds or family relationships. Their plans could never be certain. After only a few months of courtship, my dad left to go overseas, and their communication in letters was also uncertain.
My dad’s picture has been on my dresser my entire life. He was my hero; I wanted him to be proud of me, as I was of him. For every decision I made, I would ask myself: Would my dad approve of what I was doing? I knew my dad loved me because he wrote poems to me and sent me gifts from France. He had a bracelet made for me with his glider wings, and two baby rings with my initial A and my birthstone.
My parents’ time together was short. Mom knew little of Dad’s family, nor did she know much about how he died. She was five months pregnant when he left. One day, a telegram arrived with the message: “Walt killed in a plane crash in France, February 22, 1945.” His uniform, dog tags, wallet, and watch were all stored in a trunk in our basement. I was seven when I discovered his belongings and wore his uniform jacket. I truly felt his arms were around me, and it always made me cry. Over 30 years, I tried to find out who my dad was. In 1990, I communicated with glider pilots who served with him. Among the messages they wrote:
“I remember him as a very able, good-looking, dark-haired, athletic, pleasant young man … a caricature artist, entertaining us at times. He was powerfully built. I have seen him walk on his hands for a block.” —Henry Benefiel, Casa Grande, Arizona
“Your dad was one of my best friends. … He was a kind and generous person … a good pilot and good officer. … I am sure his last thoughts were of you.” —Pershing Carlson, Bismarck, North Dakota
“He presented himself well. He was first to fall in for every formation and the first to volunteer for every job we got in the squadron.” —George T. Hall, Glenview, Illinois
I went to Normandy to honor my dad, along with other fallen servicemen. From family members, government records, and written letters, I know my dad is a hero. His heroic legacy lives on. The commemoration each year helps all of us not to forget how and why we are free.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
