On June 6, 1944, 156,000 Allied troops stormed the beaches of Normandy. It was the largest seaborne invasion in history—a moment that turned the tide of World War II. The scale of D-Day is almost too vast to comprehend… until you begin to compare it to home.
Imagine this: moving nearly the entire population of Abilene—over 125,000 people—across the ocean into enemy territory. Now picture lining up 50 miles of coastline—stretching from Abilene down I-20 all the way past Sweetwater to Roscoe—and filling that space with soldiers, tanks, and the hopes of an entire world watching.
The Rangers at Pointe du Hoc scaled cliffs twice the height of Wylie’s own Hugh Sandifer Stadium, all while German machine guns rained fire from above. The distance many troops had to cross under fire on the beach was the length of four football fields, wide open and exposed.
Every day after the invasion, the Allies moved 20,000 tons of supplies ashore—the weight of 8 million Wylie football helmets, each weighing about five pounds.
The night before the beach landings, 13,000 paratroopers jumped behind enemy lines in darkness. That’s more than twice the size of Wylie ISD’s entire student body—dropped from the sky, scattered across enemy-occupied France. The beach itself saw about 2,000 tanks and armored vehicles land. To put that in perspective: Wylie ISD operates around 62 school buses. You’d need more than 30 times that number to equal the armored steel that rolled onto Normandy.
A Hometown Hero
At just 26 years old, Glenn Ross Collins of West Texas made the ultimate sacrifice for his country. A paratrooper with the 507th Parachute Infantry, 82nd Airborne Division, Glenn leapt into enemy territory in the early morning hours of June 6, 1944—D-Day.
Born in Lubbock, raised in Odessa, and later living in Abilene, Glenn was a proud Texan through and through. He graduated from Odessa High School in 1936 and worked as a surveyor before answering the call to serve in 1942. During his paratrooper training at Fort Benning, Georgia, he wrote home with a mix of excitement and humility, drawing a familiar comparison:
“If you think I was jumpy the day I was to start my first football game, you should see me now.”
He described the thrill and anxiety of jumping from practice towers, but it was nothing like what awaited him—boarding a plane 1,500 feet above enemy-occupied France, parachute packed tight, heart racing.
On D-Day, Glenn and his fellow paratroopers jumped into darkness. Ten days later, he was killed in a brutal fight against overwhelming odds.
We know of Glenn’s final moments thanks to CPL Thomas T. McElroy, the lone survivor of a 49-man unit caught in a deadly ambush by German SS troops. In a letter to Glenn’s mother, McElroy painted a powerful picture of courage:
“We all jumped about 1:30 a.m. on D-Day and the Germans were shooting at us before we started to jump. When we hit the ground, machine gun fire kept us from getting together.”
“Forty-nine of us were trapped… they outnumbered us about 25 to 1. But we killed around 250 Germans. Every day, our group grew smaller and smaller. Still, we kept fighting.”
Despite injuries, despite the odds, they pressed on. Glenn was killed during a final attempt to escape through a hedgerow. Even then, his bravery never faltered.
“I did the best I could for Glenn,” McElroy wrote. “He was a good friend of mine. All of my real buddies were killed. And no one will ever know what real heroes they were. They did the impossible.”
“You have every right to be proud of your son. He was one of the bravest of the brave. He didn’t know what fear was. It takes guts to laugh in the enemy’s face when you are trapped.”
Today, Glenn Collins is buried in Elmwood Memorial Park, in the Field of Honor, just across town from our schools and stadium. His bravery echoes beyond Normandy—into every Wylie ISD classroom where freedom is taken not for granted, but carried with pride.
Glenn didn’t just face fear—he leapt into it.
Honoring Their Memory at Wylie
At Wylie ISD, we are proud to have over 1,080 military-connected students—sons and daughters of the very people who continue the legacy of service and sacrifice.
We don’t just remember D-Day to honor the past. We remember so we never forget what courage truly looks like. We remember Glenn Collins—a name etched in honor just across town. And we remember all who gave everything so we could live in freedom.
Today, we pause. We remember. And we say thank you.
From the beaches of Normandy to the classrooms of Wylie, we carry their legacy forward—all the way.
