On June 6, 1944, while the world watched the greatest amphibious assault in history unfold on the beaches of Normandy, one man waded ashore under vicious fire with little more than his medical kit and his resolve. His name was Waverly B. Woodson Jr., a 21-year-old African-American combat medic attached to the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion — the only Black combat unit to land at Omaha Beach on D-Day.
Even as shells tore into the landing craft, German 88 mm guns blistered the skies, and men drowned in the surf, Woodson moved forward. His craft was struck, leaving him wounded in the thigh and groin. Yet he refused to surrender to pain. He somehow made it ashore, and for the next 30 grueling hours, he set up an improvised medical station amid chaos, treating around 200 wounded or drowning soldiers, all while under heavy enemy fire and despite his own injuries.
According to Army historians, his landing craft, LCT-856, was hit by at least two shells, temporarily disabling it, and Woodson may have had to wade to shore. Even after being evacuated to a hospital ship, he demanded to return to the front.
Yet, despite this heroism, Woodson’s story was suppressed for decades. He was awarded the Bronze Star at the time, but never the Medal of Honor, even though he had reportedly been nominated soon after the war. The lack of recognition was not for lack of courage — it was systemic. At the time, Black soldiers in WWII were often denied the highest honors because of racial discrimination.
In fact, of the over one million African Americans who served in World War II, none originally received the Medal of Honor during the war. A U.S. Army–commissioned study in the 1990s sought to find acts of valor that had been overlooked, and as a result, seven Black veterans were belatedly awarded the Medal of Honor in 1997 — but Woodson was not among them.
Over the decades, Woodson’s personnel files were lost — in part due to a 1973 fire at a military records facility — complicating the efforts to upgrade his honors. His widow, Joann Woodson, never gave up. For years she petitioned Congress, the Army, and historians to have her husband’s heroism fully acknowledged. Maryland Senator Chris Van Hollen also took up the cause, pushing legislation and encouraging the Army to reconsider Woodson’s case.
Finally, in 2024, after nearly 80 years, Woodson was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the second-highest U.S. Army honor for valor. The medal was laid on the sands of Omaha Beach, near where he bled and saved lives, during a moving ceremony attended by American soldiers. His widow Joann, now in her 90s, watched as her husband was finally given a measure of the recognition he was denied for so long.