He was the uncle I never knew. His death in Normandy in 1944 happened over 10 years prior to my birth. And yet, Sgt. Gomer Peterson’s ultimate sacrifice literally made my life possible. I’ll explain in a moment, but first a little bio:
Gomer T. Peterson was born in Byron, Illinois in 1918. His parents were well-to-do farmers and Gomer grew up working beside them on the two large farms they owned. A farming life didn’t particularly agree with him and, as it appeared that the US would soon become involved in the war in Europe, he eagerly enlisted in the US Army in February, 1941 — 10 months before Pearl Harbor. His experience operating heavy farm machinery made him a natural for assignment to an armored unit so, following basic training at Fort Sheridan, he was sent to Fort Knox, then Fort Bragg to train as a tank operator. He proved quite proficient at this and was quickly promoted first to Corporal, then to Sergeant, eventually being sent to Fort Benning, GA to command a Sherman tank as part of the newly formed 2nd Armored Division. The “Hell on Wheels” Division, as they came to be known.
Following the attack on Pearl Harbor and the US entry into the war in Europe, Gomer was offered a stateside job training other tankers at Fort Benning. He refused, saying he couldn’t let his buddies go to war without him. During his final training at Fort Benning, Gomer married his high school sweetheart (my Aunt Marge) who became pregnant in August, 1942 with my cousin Jim. On November 11, 1942 the 2nd Armored shipped out from Fort Dix, NJ for North Africa.
Gomer’s unit was part of the 66th Armored Regiment, 2nd Armored Division, and saw action in French Morocco. They were later part of the Division’s triumphant entry into Casablanca. His unit then participated in the invasion of Sicily where they saw fierce fighting, earning 6 Battle Streamers.
After the fall of Sicily, the 2nd Armored was shipped to England as part of the Allied invasion build-up. The photo above was taken during this time, apparently in front of an unidentified cathedral.
The 2nd Armored entered combat in France on June 9, 1944 (D+3), landing on Omaha Beach. A week later they decisively defeated the German 6th Parachute Regiment and the 37th SS Panzer Regiment near Carnetan, France. On August 1, several Battalions of the 66th Regiment, including Gomer’s squad, attacked the vital crossroads town of Tessy-sur-Vire. Heavily fortified and defended by Panzers and 88mm anti-tank guns, Tessy proved to be a killing ground. Gomer’s unit lost 14 of its already depleted force of 24 tanks that day. Gomer’s tank was one of those destroyed, killing he and his crew. German losses were equally high, and American infantry took the town the following morning.
Gomer was eventually buried in the Normandy American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer, just off Omaha Beach. Plot E, Row 18, Grave 14 his final address. Marge was able to visit his grave only once. Son Jim, whom he never met, has never seen his father’s final resting place.
After his death my aunt went to live with her oldest sister in Byron, eventually remarrying. Her new husband was a career officer in the Army Signal Corps, who was eventually assigned to command a unit at Fort Dix, NJ in the late 1940’s. In 1952 Marge and her husband Harold hosted her youngest sister Barb, newly graduated from high school, for the summer and introduced her to one of Harold’s junior officers. Barb and that young officer would marry a year later and go on to be my parents. 64 years later and they’re still together.
My aunt never spoke about Gomer in the years following his death, and my cousin was raised knowing little about his father. Long after Harold’s death and not many months before her own, Marge finally shared with me some of the details of her life with Gomer and what little she knew about his military service. I mentioned that I considered him my personal hero, as absent his sacrifice I wouldn’t have come to exist. She thought about that for a moment, admitting that life would have been very different had he survived the war. “He wouldn’t have called himself a hero, though,” she scolded. “He always said he was just a guy doing his job.”
I suppose that in a way, she’s right. Gomer was just a guy, one of many thousands, just doing every day what he had been trained to do. That he wouldn’t have considered himself a hero isn’t surprising. So many of that Greatest Generation have approached their service and sacrifice with similar humility. But that doesn’t make them any less heroic to those whose lives were made better for their bravery.
Sorry, Aunt Marge, but he’ll always be a hero to me. They were all heros.
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