June 6, 1994: A Beautiful D-Day Reunion
June 2024
“My trench knife in the ready position, I whispered ‘flash.’”
It was early after his drop when Jim Sheeran, alone, afraid, and still willing to fight was searching for a friend in the dark. Any friend. A response came.
“Lightning.”
Jim wrote, “I parted the reeds and there in front of me crouched a guy we called Hoff. A buddy! Thank God I wasn’t alone. We were shaking, from both the cold and the fear.”
“Hoff” was my father who was also desperately trying to find a friendly face after landing in a flooded field. He was trying to evade a large group of German soldiers who were so close that he could hear them talking as he rode his parachute down through the night air. “Jimmy” Sheeran and Rick Hoffman were on the same plane and lost track of one another and everyone else they knew in the world when they leapt from the C-47 aircraft.
I learned of this account thirty years ago when I read an article by former Washington Times managing editor, Josette Shiner. Jim was her dad. In the article, published on June 6, 1994, Jim spoke of him and his buddy “Hoff” attacking a German machine gun with grenades before surrendering on the morning of June 7.
My father often told me his version of the story, but it was slightly different. He never mentioned his friend or the fighting. He simply shared with me that he landed close to a German position and tried to hide until they discovered him. There was nothing he could do except surrender and bitterly hand over his beloved paratrooper boots to men of the German 6th Parachute Regiment. He hated that!
It was June 6, 1994 when my wife, Patty, and I read Jim’s story. It was the same day that my piece on my father was published in the Harrisburg Patriot-News. Apparently, his daughter and I were writing parallel articles about our fathers. The two men had not seen one another ever since Jim leapt from a train that was also carrying my father to a POW camp. Reading the article, Patty knew that the paratrooper named “Hoff” had to be my dad. I insisted that he was alone that night. Undaunted, she urged me to call my dad. I complied.
When I called and asked him if he knew Jim Sheeran, he was stunned. “Jim Sheeran?” He assumed that his friend had died in the war. It was an emotional moment for all of us. My older sister Lynne was visiting that night and was just as excited. My mom was thrilled to hear the news. She kept a photo of Jim in her records along with one of Sgt. Al Engelbrecht, my dad’s squad sergeant who corresponded with her during the war.
A call to the Washington Times resulted in a quick callback from Ms. Shiner, and not long after that my father and his friend were chatting over the phone. Jim blurted out “I know who you are!” The last time he saw Rick was when he left him behind on the train. Apparently, my father was having a hard time working his way to the side of the rail car where Jim and another soldier were squirming their way through a side vent. Later, Jim told me that he thought that my father’s broad chest and shoulders would have never squeezed through. Memories flooded the two men as they shared with one another briefly over the phone and in subsequent conversations.
As a result of this rendezvous on the 50th anniversary of D-Day, Jim, a former New Jersey Insurance Commissioner and successful businessman, invited my mom and dad to visit him at his Princeton, New Jersey home. Patty and I were blessed to join them for a little reunion with some other men from the 101st; fellow soldiers from “India” Company in the division’s 3rd Battalion.
When we arrived at the Sheeran home the evening of September 17, 1994, I was in awe to find Bernie Rainwater and Leonard “Sam” Goodgal in attendance. These were names that my father regaled me with through the years. That night, I heard their stories including Bernie’s escape with Jim and the wild tale of Sam making his way up the cliffs of Pointe du Hoc after landing in the English Channel. It was the stuff of legends.
Jim told us of how he stumbled upon the French village of his mother’s youth. Jim’s parents met when his father was serving in France during World War I. From that village, Jim who could speak French, served a time with the French Underground before finally returning to the 101st.
Jim, a natural storyteller, also shared how he and my father found one another in the dark of June 5/6, fought together, and surrendered together. My father was also a great storyteller, but on this night, he set aside his outgoing ways and happily took a back seat. When Jim described a version different than my dad’s, I was surprised that the latter never disputed the facts. He just listened with a smile on his face. Looking back at the stories that my father shared with me, I realized that he often left out specifics about the violence he encountered or even committed. It was something he was clearly not comfortable sharing with his youngest son. He felt it was better left alone and did not want me to see him in that light. Thanks to Jim Sheeran, I learned a bit more about my father.
It was some night. I was moved to be included in this gathering of legends. They fought in a war beyond anything we could ever imagine, and then quietly returned to a life of ordinary pursuits. I brought with me a copy of Stephen Ambrose’s book, D-Day: The Climactic Battle of World War II. On the inside cover I wrote “Men of the 101st Airborne, 506th Parachute Regiment, ‘India’ Company who fought together on D-Day:” Below it stands the following signatures.
Rick Hoffman 9/17/94
Bernie B. Rainwater
Jim Sheeran
Leonard S. Goodgal
“Sam”
Fran Sheeran Engelbrecht
Fran was “Jimmy’s” sister who married Sgt. Engelbrecht after the war. Engelbrecht was the young sergeant who consoled my mom-to-be by writing to her shortly after her boyfriend, my father-to-be, was reported missing-in-action.
With no further words to add, I close with some words I wrote in a Washington Times editorial after the 50th anniversary of D-Day and the providential reunion of Rick Hoffman and Jim Sheeran
“Throughout my life, whenever people asked me who my hero was, I have always had a ready answer – my father. I never had to idolize celebrities or sports superstars when I had a larger-than-life dad to look up to. He came from a generation full of heroes, including men like Jim Sheeran and Al Engelbrecht. They faced the responsibilities of a nation and willingly carried them on their broad shoulders – not just in Normandy, Bastogne, Tarawa, or Iwo Jima but after the war as well.
Perhaps, for some of my generation, they were too big, too legendary, and we feared we could never approach their stature. Perhaps, instead, we should realize they gave us the example to achieve greatness ourselves.
For years, I wanted to pay personal tribute to the men of D-Day. This past Normandy remembrance and the providential reunion of two brave airborne soldiers has afforded me the opportunity to do so, yet I still find it hard to summon the right words. For the most part, they are simple men who stand tall in history. They do not ask for praise or admiration. Grandiose or sentimental expressions of gratitude, like ‘thank you for your service,’ do not seem appropriate. I think my wife, Patty, summed it up best when she turned to me the other day and simply stated, ‘Those were real men.’”