It was early in August when I learned that my brother Dick had been wounded in Normandy on June 13th. From all I could surmise it was not a severe wound, and I must confess I was grateful and relieved to feel that he had escaped so fortunately and was out of danger for the moment, at least. Knowing Dick and the generally admirable pride of infantry non-coms, however, I am sure he was anxious to rejoin his outfit and be back there pitching.
On August 7, Roy Cohn, Chuck Schwartz, Paul Stratte and Rene Bine left us on detached service as a surgical team to be attached to a hospital going in ahead of us on the coming invasion. They were fortunate enough to have their names picked out of a helmet from amongst a list of eager and enthusiastic volunteers. I was one of the less fortunate aspirants.