HONORING MY FATHER
Author’s Note: This November edition of Louisville Medicine Mag-
azine wishes to pay tribute to our physician members that have
served in the Armed Forces. November sees us celebrating Veterans
Day and given this I felt compelled to take an opportunity to pay
tribute to my father, Francis R. Burns, MD, a World War II veteran.
M
y father was a member of the Greatest Generation, land-
ing on Omaha Beach in Normandy, France on June 6,
1944 as part of Operation Overlord. He was in the 116th
Infantry Medical Detachment that landed 45 minutes
after the first wave of the D-Day Invasion, and assisted
the wounded and dying in what is now recognized as
one of the deadliest assaults in military history, with over
3,000 casualties on Omaha Beach alone. My father, along with all
of the medical personnel that landed on the beaches of Normandy
that day and ensuing days, did not carry a weapon. Members of the
Medical Corp wore helmets marked with the Red Cross symbol,
which, as I learned, became a target of German snipers. My father
spent nearly three months in France and developed undiagnosed
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). At the time, PTSD was
known as “battle fatigue,” which replaced the terminology “shell
shock” used during World War I. The treatment of PTSD during
World War II was inadequate at best. My father’s treatment included
evacuation to an exhaustion center and morphine injections. Many
soldiers who received such treatment ended up with morphine
addiction following the war.
After returning to battle, he and his men endured heavy artillery
fire. He again developed classic symptoms of PTSD. He reported to
the regimental surgeon stating, honestly, that he felt incapable of
leading a Battalion Medical Section into combat, however was very
willing to continue a role as a non-combat physician. Because the
Army did not see value for him in that role, he was discharged with
an Other-Than-Honorable status. He attempted to change this for
years following the war, hiring an attorney and writing letters to his
congressman; alas to no avail. He continued his medical training,
completing a residency in OB-GYN at Washington University in St.
Louis. He moved to Hannibal, Mo., where he had a private practice
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for over 30 years caring for women and delivering more than 6000
babies. He and my mother raised my three sisters and me in Hanni-
bal. He often, I learned later in life, commiserated with a physician
friend and colleague who had survived the Bataan Death March.
He dealt with anxiety and depression most of his remaining years,
however, he had a very successful life and medical practice despite
these psychological issues stemming from the war. My father died
in 1991 at the age of 75.
I am writing about my father as I feel an obligation to him
and all of the soldiers that helped free this world of tyranny. I did
not truly understand what that Generation did for us until I saw
Saving Private Ryan. My father had not confided or shared those
memories with me. I was young and unaware. As I watched that
movie, I thought of my dad and what he experienced; the carnage,
the tragedy. I became very emotional as I still do to this day. I felt
regret that I never talked to him about his experience during the war,
although I understand that he may have not discussed, had I asked.
Since his death, I have tried to honor him and his memory. My
family and I have visited Normandy twice. The most recent visit
was 2017. Our tour guide walked with me alone onto the sands
of Omaha Beach showing me where my father’s unit would have
landed. I returned home with a vial of sand and shells from that
exact spot. Each of my sisters has some. Our family has purchased
a brick in his honor at the entrance to the World War II Museum
in New Orleans. (I strongly encourage all of you to visit as it is one
of the most remarkable museums in the world.) In November of
2018, the Burns Family traveled to New Orleans where the museum
staff orchestrated a remarkable and moving ceremony at the brick
to honor his memory. After a museum bugler played “Taps,” I
pointed out that there were nine of his descendants there with us at
the ceremony. None of us would be here if he had not courageously
told the truth to the regimental surgeon and returned from the war.
Finally, I have applied to the Army Board of Military Records
in order to correct the injustice of his discharge status. The Hagel
Memorandum, issued in September 2014, provided guidance to
military boards considering Discharge Upgrades by veterans (or