By Bob Krauss
Advertiser Columnist

The anniversary of D-Day tomorrow means a lot more to Sandy Zalburg, former fireball city editor of The Advertiser, than a program on the History Channel. For him it's about a soldier who stuttered.

Zalburg landed on Omaha Beach from a small landing craft with a forward observation team spotting for the artillery. Five of them dropped into a trench to remove the waterproofing on their radios.

"I saw the second LCVP come in," he said. "The ramp came down. I heard a crack and knew right away what it was. An artillery shell exploded in the middle of the men in the boat, probably 32. I saw body parts flying.

"We started running. The only reason we survived was because the beach was covered with dense smoke from wet, smoldering vegetation."

Understand that this is the short, sanitized version — war is never clean or simple — and it's merely to set the scene. I have strict instructions from Zalburg not to make him a hero.

"I was scared s---less," he admitted. "This is about the kind of guy who won the war and he stuttered. Nobody except his wife will remember him tomorrow. But I do."

This is the story. Zalburg wanted to fight Hitler so bad that he went to Canada in 1940 to enlist in the Canadian army. The sent him to England in time for the Battle of Britain. Then the United States declared war and Americans in the Canadian army got letters explaining that they could transfer if they wished.

Zalburg wished. The U.S. Army put him to shuffling papers. He went to the commanding officer and asked, "How can I get into the war?" The officer answered, "The only U.S. combat outfit in England is the 29th Infantry Division. Pick out the unit you want."

That's how Zalburg met Col. Mullins, leader of A Battery, 111 Field Artillery. Zalburg presented a letter explaining that he wanted to transfer. Mullins' jaw dropped. He was so surprised, he stuttered.

"You mean I can requisition you, like a can of beans?"

To hear a commanding officer stutter almost made Zalburg laugh.

"Yes, sir," he said.

But Mullins didn't stutter when he explained that the outfit was moving the next day and gave instructions how to find it. His delivery was crisp and concise.

Zalburg came to respect Mullins and his stutter. A clown in the outfit imitated the stutter to perfection. One day Mullins happened by. "That's a splendid performance. I can't tell you from me," he said, laughing as he walked away.

"Omaha Beach is five miles long," Zalburg said. "The wind and the currents messed up the whole operation. I don't know where Mullins landed. We took a road up the bluff and found a lot of dead Germans."

So Zalburg lived through D-Day. But word came down that Mullins died trying to save his men who were pinned down under withering gunfire. He went around yelling at them, prodding them, goading them to get up. He was wounded three times before a sniper got him in the head.