Bringing Coffee to the Front—It Was Instant

American soldiers and sailors enjoy a hot cup of coffee at a Salvation Army hut in New York, circa 1918. During World War I, instant coffee would become a key
provision for soldiers on the front. They called it a
"cup of George."  FPG/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

By Jeff Koehler

On April 6, 1917, the U.S. declared war on Germany and formally entered World War I. By late June, American infantry troops began arriving in Europe. One thing they couldn't do without? Coffee.

"Coffee was as important as beef and bread," a high-ranking Army official concluded after the war. A postwar review of the military's coffee supply concurred, stating that it "restored courage and strength" and "kept up the morale."

In fact, U.S. troops had long looked toward coffee as a small source of salvation amid the hell of war. During the Civil War, Union soldiers received around 36 pounds of coffee a year, according to Jon Grinspan, a curator at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History.

"Some Union soldiers got rifles with a mechanical grinder with a hand crank built into the buttstock," he told NPR. "They'd fill a hollowed space within the carbine's stock with coffee beans, grind it up, dump it out and cook coffee that way."

In World War I, the U.S. War Department took things further, establishing local roasting and grinding plants in France to ensure fresh coffee for the troops. (Even if it was brewed in the worst possible of manners, with the grounds left in the pots for a number of successive meals.)

The military also began offering coffee of a different type: instant.

In 1901, a Japanese chemist working in Chicago named Satori Kato developed a successful way to make a soluble coffee powder, or dried coffee extract. At that year's Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, NY, the Kato Coffee Co. served hot samples in the Manufacturers Building, giving the brew its public debut. Two years later, Sato received a patent for "Coffee concentrate and process of making same."

It was another immigrant in America, an Anglo-Belgian inventor named George Washington, who first successfully mass-produced instant coffee. (Washington's presidential namesake was not only a coffee drinker but perhaps even an importer.) Established in 1910, the G. Washington Coffee Refining Co., with production facilities in Brooklyn, NY, initially sold as "Red E Coffee."

While the name suggested convenience, marketing soon highlighted other benefits of the "perfectly digestible coffee." "Now you can drink all the COFFEE you wish!" an early 1914 ad in the New York Times promised. "No more do you have to risk indigestion when you drink coffee," thanks to a "wonderful process that removes the disturbing acids and oils (always present in ordinary coffee)."

Competing products were hitting the market when demand for soluble coffee skyrocketed with the American entry into the Great War in 1917. The U.S. military snapped up all the instant coffee it could. By October 1918, just before the war's end, Uncle Sam was trying to get 37,000 pounds a day of the powder—far above the entire national daily output of 6,000 pounds, according to Mark Pendergrast's coffee history, Uncommon Grounds.

"After trying to put it up in sticks, tablets, capsules and other forms," noted William Ukers in his authoritative All About Coffee, "it was determined that the best method was to pack it in envelopes." Each held a quarter ounce.

Soluble coffee was notably used on the front lines. Soldiers stirred it into hot water, gulped from tin mugs, and called it "a cup of George," after the company's founder—whose name was apparently familiar to at least some of them. In a letter from the front that Pendergrast quotes, a soldier wrote: "There is one gentlemen I am going to look up first after I get through helping whip the Kaiser, and that is George Washington, of Brooklyn, the soldiers' friend."

The U.S. War Department's E.F. Holbrook, head of the coffee branch of the Subsistence Department, considered instant coffee instrumental in the face of chemical weapons. "The use of mustard gas by the Germans made it one of the most important articles of subsistence used by the army," he explained to the Tea and Coffee Trade Journal in 1919. The "extensive use of mustard gas made it impossible to brew coffee by the ordinary methods in the rolling kitchens," he said.

Equally important was coffee's effect on morale in the trenches. It was hot, familiar and offered a hint of home's comforts. And it had caffeine, which helped energize the troops.

For java addicts like Mexican-American Doughboy José de la Luz Sáenz, who served with the 360th Infantry Expeditionary Forces in France and Occupied Germany, that jolt also kept at bay "the headaches caused by the lack of coffee in the morning," he wrote in his journal on 26 Sept. 1918, after a sleepless night and gas attack on the Western Front.

Rather than using his "condiment can" to carry food, he filled one of its compartments with sugar and the other with instant coffee. Managing to get a small alcohol stove to heat water, he prepared cups in the trenches. "The hot coffee with our reliable 'hardtack' biscuits hit the spot and revived exhausted, hungry, and drowsy soldiers," noted Sáenz, a teacher (and future civil rights activist) from South Texas.

Sometimes Sáenz and his fellow soldiers had to do without heat—or even water—for their coffee. "On occasions when the morning finds us on our feet, I am glad to be able to chew on a spoonful of coffee with a bit of sugar."

After the First World Wart ended, Washington's company relaunched "prepared coffee" for the household. "Went to war! Home again," read an advertisement with a saluting coffee can. The focus this time was on convenience: "Fresh coffee whenever you want it—as strong as you want it."

Advertisement from the New York Tribune,
22 June 1919

While Washington's company continued to sell coffee, its Swiss competitor, Nestlé, managed to develop a better technique for producing instant coffee. In 1938 it launched Nescafé, which soon dominated the global instant coffee market.

In 1943, just before his death, Washington sold the company. (In 1961, the George Washington coffee brand was discontinued.) By then, World War II was raging, and American GIs were calling their coffee by a different name: Joe.

GIs enjoyed a cup of coffee during World War II. "The American soldier became so closely identified with his coffee that G.I. Joe gave his name to the brew," according to coffee historian Mark Pendergrast.

One legend behind the origins of the new moniker is that it referred to Josephus Daniels, secretary of the Navy from 1913 to 1921 under Woodrow Wilson, who banned alcohol onboard ships, making coffee the strongest drink in the mess. [Doubts have been raised about this theory, however.]

Yet "Joe" very likely does originate in the military. "The American soldier became so closely identified with his coffee that G.I. Joe gave his name to the brew," according to Pendergrast.

"Nobody can soldier without coffee," a Union cavalryman wrote in his diary at the end of the Civil War. Many servicemen and women who have fought since then would agree. Even when the coffee was instant and called George.

Presented on NPR, 6 April 2017

Remembering the Veterans: The Three Golfing Cottrell Brothers, KIA

Harry, William, and Albert Cottrell

By James Patton 

In 1911 the large Cottrell family were living in Guiseley, West Yorkshire. They were not locals by origin; indeed the ten children were born in places as far apart as Dublin and Derby, Kildare and Kilkenny, Plymouth and Leeds, which reflected the father’s profession as a regular soldier in the British Army.

Band Sergeant Henry Cottrell of the Sherwood Foresters (Notts and Derby Regiment) was awarded the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal (LS&GC) on 1 January 1898 and quickly found employment in civilian life as an attendant at the West Riding County Lunatic Asylum, Menston. The family put down roots, and the older children found work in the local mills.

Remarkably, three of the five sons in the family became golf professionals: William at Otley, Albert at Bradford, and Harry at Ulverston. William was clearly a talented player. “Against the biggest field on record, and in such conditions of weather as for their badness were almost unique,” William played in the British Open Championship in June 1913. His partner in the first round was John J. McDermott (1891–1971), an American from Atlantic City, NJ, who had won the U.S. Open in 1911 and 1912, the youngest player ever to do so. William failed to make the second round, but McDermott went on to take fifth place overall. The American was clearly impressed with the 20-year-old Guiseley man, for within six months, William was appointed the professional at the Plymouth Country Club in Massachusetts.

Meanwhile, Albert, had moved to the golf club at Le Touquet in France, but as soon as war was declared, he and Harry enlisted together in the new 9th (Service) Battalion of their father’s old outfit. In July 1915, they embarked for Gallipoli with the 35th Brigade, 11th  (Northern) Division, landed at Suvla Bay on 7 August, and in the 9 August attack on Chocolate Hill both brothers were killed. American Golfer magazine carried a special feature about them:

TWO PROFESSIONALS, brothers, have made the saddest and most glorious sacrifice in the war. Harry and Albert Cottrell were professionals respectively at Ulverston in Cumberland and Le Touquet in France, and when the war began they met and decided that they would both join the Sherwood Foresters, to which regiment their father had belonged. So they did, and in due course they went out to the war together. They went to the Dardanelles. Harry became a sergeant and Albert a corporal, and they kept together. In action Harry was wounded, and his brother went to his assistance and began dressing the wound. While he was doing so he was shot in the head and died soon afterwards, and Harry, while attending to him, was shot a second time, and this time fatally. This surely is one of the strangest, saddest tragedies that have been enacted out by those dreadful Dardanelles, and the professional golfers may well claim it for the honour of their kind. Shortly before he left England brave Harry Cottrell said to a friend, "If I have to go under, I hope I shall die game, for the sake of the profession!" And very game did this hero die.

The Cottrell Family Memorial in
Guiseley Cemetery

Neither Harry nor Albert has a marked grave, although their remains may lie in a mass grave at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) Green Hill Cemetery. Both are commemorated on the CWGC Helles Memorial to the Missing, Panels 150–152. The Cottrell family grave in Guiseley Cemetery records the deaths of the two brothers at Gallipoli and also lists William as “killed in France October 1918.” William’s name is also on the memorial inside the lych gate at St. Oswald’s, the Parish Church, but no record of him can be found on the lists of the CWGC or the records of Soldiers Died. The answer to this puzzle lies far away.

Green Hill Cemetery, Gallipoli
Final Resting Place of Albert and Harry

William registered for the draft in the U.S. on 5 June 1917, even though he was not a U.S. citizen. He then enlisted in the army on 28 March 1918, giving his home as his sister Christina’s address in New Jersey. His training was brief, as he was a last-minute addition to Co. M, 58th Infantry, 4th Division on 1 May 1918. Mere days after their arrival in France, they were loaned to the French and saw action at Chouy and Hill 172.  Their next stop was the St. Mihiel Salient, where they attacked the west face on 12 Sept. Quickly shifted to the Meuse Argonne, William’s company was a part of the attack on the Bois de Ogons on 27 Sept. and the subsequent attack on the Bois de Fays on 4 Oct. In spite of heavy shelling and night raids, the 8th Brigade held this position until 9 Oct., and during this period Pvt. William Cottrell was killed in action. He is buried in the ABMC Meuse-Argonne Cemetery at Romagne-sous-Montfaucon, Plot F, Row 25, Grave 37.

William's Burial Certificate

In 1919 the American Golfer magazine included a second account of “The Family of Professional Golfers who have died for the honour of the game” accompanied by the splendid photograph at the top of the page.

Lonesome Memorial #8 Notre Dame de la Marne

This monument to Our Lady of the Marne is located just east of the village of Barcy on the west end of the massive battlefield of the First Battle of the Marne.  It the stopping point of the initial German invasion of 1914. It also commemorates Saint Genevieve (patron saint of Paris and also of Barcy). According to legend, in 451, she saved Paris from the invasion of the Huns, the invader from the East.

The bronze statue, the work of the sculptor Louis Maubert (1875–1949), presents the Virgin and Child. The monument was built by a subscription committee, and by the Marbeau family, in particular Edouard Marbeau, executor of the will of his brother, the late bishop of Meaux, Monsignor Emmanuel Marbeau (1844–1921). The memorial is tribute to the wish expressed by the bishop on 8 September 1914, in the cathedral of Meaux, to build a monument of recognition, if victory prevailed. The memorial replaced an immense wooden cross, erected just after the battle, on the initiative of Monsignor Marbeau, who also acquired a plot of this land for the construction of the future monument. It was dedicated on 9 June 1924, before nearly 4,000 people.

Because of its explicitly religious character, secular French officials reportedly do not hold regular ceremonies here as they do at countless military sites around the county. Surrounded by farm fields, The Virgin and Her Child receive only a few visitors each day and, so, qualifies as one of our "Lonesome Memorials."

The principal inscriptions on the monument:

SEPTEMBER 1914

AT NOTRE-DAME DE LA MARNE

WISH OF SG MGR EMMANUEL MARBEAU BISHOP OF MEAUX

Bishop Marbeau later chose a second himself:

YOU WILL NOT GO FURTHER

Unfortunately, Bishop Marbeau was never able to see his project completed; he died on 31 1921.

How to get there:  Located 3 miles north of the Great War Museum at Meaux on Road D97, .25 miles west of the village of Barcy

The Presidential Election of 1916, Part III, The Origins of "He Has Kept Us Out of War"

As the election approached, President Wilson understood that if might be impossible to avoid going to war and that some of the strong diplomatic positions he had taken might backfire or be challenged at sea, forcing his hand. Not all of his party, however, had his grasp of the ongoing crisis. The authors of the Democratic platform included a boast that the president had kept the nation out of war in their original draft. When Wilson reviewed it, he struck out the sentence. This did not, however, inhibit the convention speakers or delegates a bit. Historian Douglas Schmidt describes the genesis of the slogan:

Martin Glynn, the keynote speaker, had the crowd on its feet as he recounted incidents in American history when presidents had refused to engage in military actions. Citing an incident when President Grant refused to take the country to war with Spain over Cuba, Glynn shouted, "But he didn't go to war," and the crowd roared. Citing similar experiences [with a series of presidents] . . . the crowd was hysterical. Warming to the task, Glynn turned to earlier Chiefs, and for each the chant. "He didn't go to war."

. . . The leader of the peace movement, William Jennings Bryan. . . succumbed to the oratorical theatrics of the convention. The "Boy Orator" proclaimed to the enthralled delegates: "My friends, I have differed with our President on some of the methods employed, but I join with the American people in thanking God that we have a President who does not want this nation plunged into this war."

The party's approved platform was modified to include the statement: "In particular, we commend to the American people the splendid diplomatic victories of our great President, who has preserved the vital interests of our Government and its citizens, and kept us out of war."

A Pro-Peace Cartoon Sympathetic to the President

Wilson, though, was still uncomfortable running as the "Peace Candidate," so "He Has Kept Us Out of War" lay dormant, mostly unused, for over two months. On 30 September, from the front porch of his vacation house in Long Branch, New Jersey, Wilson finally played the peace card.

Am I not right that we must draw the conclusion that, if the Republican Party is put into power at the next election, our foreign policy will be radically changed? . . . There is only one choice as against peace, and that is war. 

While Wilson was still reluctant to claim he had kept the nation from war, he had signaled his supporters they were free to use the slogan, which they did in unrestrained fashion for the final five weeks of the campaign.

Wilson biographer John Milton Cooper points out something forgotten about the slogan's efficacy. It did not prove as effective in the eastern states, where sympathy for the Allied cause was at a maximum, as in the west. However, the potential war the westerners were most concerned about was with Mexico. Professor Cooper points out that in Wilson's campaign speeches, when discussing national security he spent significantly more time discussing the southern border than Europe. 

Wilson carried all the states west of the Rockies, except Oregon, all the states bordering Mexico, and of course, the Solid [for the Democrats] South. During election season, fortune favored Wilson, as well, with a five-month hiatus in major diplomatic crises with either Mexico or the belligerents in the European war. 

The Former President Saw Through the Phrase

The Hughes camp responded that the president's diplomacy had sacrificed national honor and surrendered some of its own sovereignty and that of other neutrals. The ever quotable T.R. said that "He Has Kept Us Out of War" was an "Utterly misleading phrase, the phrase of a coward and distorted into a promise that under no circumstances could we go to war." Nevertheless, it turned out to be one of the most successful and memorable campaign slogans in American history. Of course, in hindsight we can see that those who voted for Wilson and Peace instead got Wilson and War. 

Next Friday:  Part IV, Why Was the Election So Close?

Sources: We adapted this series from several sources we should credit here—the Miller Center of the University of Virginia,  the American Presidency Project of the University of California at Santa Barbara, 270 To Win,  OurCampaigns.com,  and Gallup.com.

Highlights from the First Illumination Ceremony for A Soldier's Journey at the National World War One Memorial

Last month, on 13 September, a magnificent ceremony was conducted in Washington, DC, to—in effect—unveil Sabin Howard's sculpture A Soldier's Journey—the centerpiece of the National Memorial—for the American people. A video for the entire event can be found HERE. For our readers I'd also like to present some of the visual and spoken highlights of the event. MH

Click on Images to Enlarge
Display=580px, Enlarged=1000px

Opening of the Ceremony

During this endeavor, I've often thought about the writer of the Book of Hebrews, when he said we are surrounded by a Great Cloud of Witnesses. Today, we are surrounded by that great cloud of World War I  veteran witnesses.

Terry Hamby, Chairman WWI Centennial Commission

A Doughboy Band Provided the Music

Once upon a time in America, 4.7 million American families sent their sons and daughters to fight a war that would change the world.  Tonight we will honor them.

Dan Dayton, Executive Director WWI Centennial Commission

Holy God, hallow this ground and ceremony. . .

Rev. Dr. Margaret Grun Kibben, Chaplain U.S. House of Representatives

Edwin Fountain Addresses the Audience

In 2012, when we began the process of creating this memorial, we had four goals. First and foremost to give World War I an emotional resonance that has for too long absent in our national memory, by giving testament to the courage and accomplishments of American men and women who served in the Great War and the millions more who served at home and by conveying the scale of sacrifice of the more than 200,000 who returned home broken in body or spirit. And the 116,516 who never returned at all.

Second, to create a memorial that was neither too somber or too triumphal that acknowledged the war.  

Next, to create a memorial with a dignity and grandeur equal to that of other war memorials in the Nation's capital.

And lastly, to integrate and harmonize this memorial in a living  breathing urban park.

I believe we have succeeded.

A Soldier's Journey in Daylight

[Further, artist] Sabin Howard has created a sculptural image of service and sacrifice of uncommon emotional power that speaks in common to veterans of all wars. Then, by honoring veterans who served more than a century ago, and are no longer with us, we told those who serve today that one day one hundred years from  now they, to, will be remembered. Finally, we created a War Memorial that is embedded with a call to peace in the lines by Archibald MacLeish inscribed on the reverse of the sculpture wall. [Text below.]

Edwin Fountain, Vice-Chairman WWI Centennial Commission

A Soldier's Journey, The Beginning

This memorial is like a wedding ring. It is a symbol of honor and fidelity, a Commitment which has remained  unbroken for nearly a century between this nation and those who served in the First World War.

Joseph Weishaar Lead Designer, National WWI Memorial

Sculptor Sabin Howard Addresses the Audience

This memorial is about us. We the people. It is a project that represents the Everyman, the ones who make this country possible. . . This memorial clearly defines what we the people in World War I looked like. A Soldier's Journey represents us from a moment in history called the war to end all wars, and a representation and a statement about who we were a hundred years and ago and who we are now at this very moment. . . It is in service of the veterans today and the veterans that are no with us. .  . This sculpture is for them.

Every single soldier, nurse, child on this wall represents the heroic nature of those humans and people who were affected by the war. They are all heroes. . . This sculpture is dedicated to you, the men and women and families who have given everything physically and mentally in service of their country. 

Sabin Howard, Sculptor of A Soldier's Journey

A Soldier's Journey, Detail

I'm reminded of the words of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who served his country during the Great War as Assistant Secretary of the Navy and once said, " Those who have long enjoyed such privilege as we enjoy forget in time that men have died to win them."

Jeffrey Reinbold,  Washington, DC,  Supt., National Parks Service

A Soldier's Journey, The Return

"The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak"

by Archibald MacLeish

Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them?

They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.

They say, We were young. We have died. Remember us.

They say, We have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.

They say, We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.

They say, Our deaths are not ours: they are yours: they will mean what you make them.

They say, Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say: it is you who must say this.

They say, We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.

We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.

Read  by Libby O'Connell,  Commissioner  WWI Centennial, to conclude the event 

The Best WWI Documentary I've Seen Yet— Verdun, The Battle of the Great War

Part docudrama, this 2015 French production about the Great War's longest battle is filled with new material and information, as well as many moving and heart-wrentching sequences. It seems to use all the tricks of the documentarian's trade: colorization, CGI, drone footage of the battlefield, borrowing the most authentic footage of commercial films and official reenactments, and incorporating an amazing selections of quotes from the participants. The soundtrack and subtitles in this version are in English.

Poppa’s Boy: Coming of Age in the Great War

Click HERE to Order This Book

By Stephen L. Harris 

The Oaklea Press, 2024

Reviewed by David F. Beer

If you were going to teach a high school course on America’s part in World War One this book would make an excellent introductory text. It’s also a fascinating novel for adults since the story is so firmly rooted in New England and French place names, noted historical figures from Roosevelt to Father Duffy, and the organization, training and combat experience of relatively green America soldiers. All these are incorporated into the main story line: the adventures from 1917 to 1918 of a young lad nicknamed Bucky.

Bucky’s relationship with his father has never been an easy one. Luther “Rough” Riley had seen heroic action with Colonel Roosevelt in Cuba and out west with General Leonard Wood. He had hoped for a son who would follow in his footsteps but instead got a Mama’s boy. When America enters the Great War, Luther is one of the first to volunteer for Roosevelt’s planned battalion but when that falls through, he manages to get to France as a news reporter. Bucky’s own adventures begin after his father leaves home and when, at the age of 15, he decides to run away and enlist.

When he faces rejections because of his age, Bucky’s life takes on an almost Huckleberry Finn nature as he works his way down river on the Frank White, "a steam-driven, wooden towboat that’d seen better days." His intention is to get down to New York City and hopefully enlist there. Nothing is that easy, however. Complications arise in the form of an attractive young girl, Calliope Van Pelt, a victim of her parents’ divorce who is desperately trying to escape her father. Her brother, now a soldier, is also involved, as is an unforgiving sheriff. More characters come into play before a dangerous flight on foot through a tough part of New York finally gets Bucky into the army—and eventually into the Fighting 69th Regiment.

The final third of Poppa’s Boy brings us to Bucky’s army training, his friendships and his fears (plus his love for Calliope). The author also interweaves into Bucky’s story the politics involved in the initial organization of an army that is to “go over there.” A salient feeling of the troops and officers alike is that they are going to take care of things in France, they are going to make the final difference, and that it “will all be over once we’re over there.” French sacrifices and efforts are somewhat acknowledged along the way, the British are ignored, and the Americans will save the day. But it will still be tough for Bucky.

How we got almost the entire Headquarters Company into that one freight car—fifty boys with rifles and packs and a few of them pretty much overweight—was a marvel. The moment we were all squashed in, with a lot of cussing and pushing and hunting for a place to squat, the heavy door rolled shut. At least it wasn’t locked. But we were in the dark until our eyes got used to it. Then we were off to Paris. (p. 233)

Father Duffy Officiates at the Burial of the Men
Killed in the Rouge Bouquet Incident.
Bucky Riley Is Present in the Story.

It’s hard to merge so much historical detail and actual people into a novel, but Stephen Harris has done it in such a way that fact combines easily with fiction. This, of course, is what a historical novel must do. The book’s resolution occurs, as it should, in its last pages when Bucky’s combat experience gives him enough to have nightmares for the rest of his life.

I waded into the Ourcq. Around me, bodies bobbed in the water that had turned pinkish from so much blood. More bodies littered the north bank and the hillside. And still more bodies had matted down much of the wheat. Mortar shells continued to hit the ground, exploding and gouging out holes and ripping off limbs of so many. (p. 335)

However, he is now no longer Mama’s boy but in a very real way has become Poppa’s boy. Stephen Harris has successfully turned his hand to the novel in this book after having written highly acclaimed histories of America’s role in World War One, and readers will appreciate and enjoy what he has achieved in this new endeavor.

David F. Beer

"The Nightmare Is Stronger Than Its Master" by Lord Dunsany

Verdun Offensive [Meuse-Argonne]
George Matthews Harding

When the aëroplanes are home and the sunset has flared away, and it is cold, and night comes down over France, you notice the guns more than you do by day, or else they are actually more active then, I do not know which it is.

It is then as though a herd of giants, things of enormous height, came out from lairs in the earth and began to play with the hills. It is as though they picked up the tops of the hills in their hands and then let them drop rather slowly. It is exactly like hills falling. You see the flashes all along the sky, and then that lumping thump as though the top of the hill had been let drop, not all in one piece, but crumbled a little as it would drop from your hands if you were three hundred feet high and were fooling about in the night, spoiling what it had taken so long to make. That is heavy stuff bursting, a little way off.

If you are anywhere near a shell that is bursting, you can hear in it a curious metallic ring. That applies to the shells of either side, provided that you are near enough, though usually of course it is the hostile shell and not your own that you are nearest to, and so one distinguishes them. It is curious, after such a colossal event as this explosion must be in the life of a bar of steel, that anything should remain at all of the old bell-like voice of the metal, but it appears to, if you listen attentively; it is perhaps its last remonstrance before leaving its shape and going back to rust in the earth again for ages.

Another of the voices of the night is the whine the shell makes in coming; it is not unlike the cry the hyena utters as soon as it’s dark in Africa: “How nice traveller would taste,” the hyena seems to say, and “I want dead White Man.” It is the rising note of the shell as it comes nearer, and its dying away when it has gone over, that make it reminiscent of the hyena’s method of diction. If it is not going over then it has something quite different to say. It begins the same as the other, it comes up, talking of the back areas with the same long whine as the other. I have heard old hands say “That one is going well over.” “Whee-oo,” says the shell; but just where the “oo” should be long drawn out and turn into the hyena’s final syllable, it says something quite different. “Zarp,” it says. That is bad. Those are the shells that are looking for you.

And then of course there is the whizz-bang coming from close, along his flat trajectory: he has little to say, but comes like a sudden wind, and all that he has to do is done and over at once.

And then there is the gas shell, who goes over gurgling gluttonously, probably in big herds, putting down a barrage. It is the liquid inside that gurgles before it is turned to gas by the mild explosion; that is the explanation of it; yet that does not prevent one picturing a tribe of cannibals who have winded some nice juicy men and are smacking their chops and dribbling in anticipation.

And a wonderful thing to see, even in those wonderful nights, is our thermite bursting over the heads of the Germans. The shell breaks into a shower of golden rain; one cannot judge easily at night how high from the ground it breaks, but about as high as the tops of trees seen at a hundred yards. It spreads out evenly all round and rains down slowly; it is a bad shower to be out in, and for a long time after it has fallen, the sodden grass of winter, and the mud and old bones beneath it, burn quietly in a circle. On such a night as this, and in such showers, the flying pigs will go over, which take two men to carry each of them; they go over and root right down to the German dugout, where the German has come in out of the golden rain, and they fling it all up in the air.

These are such nights as Scheherazade with all her versatility never dreamed of; or if such nightmares came she certainly never told of them, or her august master, the Sultan, light of the age, would have had her at once beheaded; and his people would have deemed that he did well. It has been reserved for a modern autocrat to dream such a nightmare, driven to it perhaps by the tales of a white-whiskered Scheherazade, the Lord of the Kiel Canal; and being an autocrat he has made the nightmare a reality for the world. But the nightmare is stronger than its master, and grows mightier every night; and the All-Highest War Lord learns that there are powers in Hell that are easily summoned by the rulers of earth, but that go not easily home.

From Tales of War by Lord Dunsany, 1918

Not for the Faint Hearted (Yet Inspiring): WWI Case Studies of Facial Reconstruction

A student named Jason Bate, associated with Falmouth University, has produced a remarkable document I happened to stumble across. To tell the story of how surgeons during the First World War developed techniques to restore the faces of severely injured soldiers, he did a deep dive in the medical literature of the period to find photos of the step-by-step process surgeons took to help these poor souls. As you will see below, some of the restoration work seems almost miraculous. His entire article is available HERE. As a postscript for Bate's photos, I've added the story of one notable survivor of a facial injury and surgical restoration.

Lieutenant-General Sir John Bagot Glubb, KCB, CMG, DSO, OBE, MC (1897–1986) was a British Army officer seconded for many years to the Arab Legion of the Trans-Jordan. He wrote many books after his retirement, primarily on the history of the Middle East and on military history. His best-known work is The Fate of Empires. Glubb served in the First World War with the Royal Engineers, suffered a severe facial wound, and underwent a long reconstruction.  He eventually returned to service on the Western Front before the Armistice.  He later wrote of these experiences in Into battle: A Soldier's Diary of the Great War.

Before Combat and Much Later

 

I heard for a second a distant shell whine, then felt a tremendous explosion almost on top of me […] the floodgates in my neck seemed to burst and the blood poured out in torrents. […] I could feel something long lying loosely in my left cheek, as though I had a chicken  bone in my mouth. It was in reality, half my jaw, which had broken off, teeth and all, and was floating about in my mouth.

Like many soldiers facing similar circumstances, Glubb was transported back to England to await surgery and treatment for his injuries. Upon return home, however, disfigured veterans like Glubb faced a populace at that point incapable of accepting these “broken gargoyles” into a society wishing to overlook the atrocities of war. 

I lay for three months in my bed in Wandsworth during which my wound remained septic, and received no medical attention. …No doctor ever looked at our wounds or removed the bandages. Presumably there were not enough doctors. My mother used to visit me at Wandsworth. Through her I sent applications to all and sundry, for a transfer to another hospital. At last, in November 1917, three months after I had been hit, I was transferred to a new hospital for face injuries at Frognal, Sidcup, Kent. Here things were very different. My broken and septic teeth were extracted and my wound cleaned.

At Sidcup, disfigured soldiers waited to receive surgeries in the hope of restoring the original function and appearance of their faces. As lead surgeon, Dr. Gillies pioneered numerous surgical techniques in facial reconstruction, revolutionizing the work of reconstructive surgery. Working in what he deemed a “strange, new art”, Gillies required the precision of a skilled surgeon with the attention to aesthetic detail of an artist. He and his team developed various new techniques in 1917, like the tube pedicle, which allowed for the grafting of skin from one part of the body to another by keeping blood circulating at the reattached area.

Glubb was later shown an album of “photographs of handsome young men and asked to choose the chin I would like to have!” When discovering how long it would take to build this new chin, he decided to “retain his old face, or whatever was left of it.”  

He returned to the Western Front in time to experience the Armistice. Glubb's restored version of his "old face," shown above, served him well for the next six decades.

"World of Hurt", European Journal for Nursing History and Ethics; The Limits of Medical Discourse: Photography, Facial Disfiguration, and Reconstructive Surgery in England, 1916-1925, Jason Bate, 2014 Falmouth University Thesis

 

World Series Time! Let's Remember Baseball During the Great War—A Roads Classic

In the WW1 Centennial Commission's News Podcast, Episode 93 (12 October), host Theo Mayer spoke with Jim Leeke, author of the book From the Dugouts to the Trenches: Baseball in the Great War. In the interview, he answers a series of questions about the relationship between the major leagues, the players, and the war that changed the world. The following is a transcript:

Theo Mayer: In our historians corner, join us for a deep dive into one of the most American of pastimes, baseball. It's World Series season, and joining us to tell us more about baseball during World War I is Jim Leeke. Author of the book From the Dugouts to the Trenches: Baseball during the Great War. Jim, welcome. 

Jim Leeke: Thanks for having me.

Theo Mayer: So, Jim, when you look at the newspaper Stars and Stripes from 1918, or anywhere in that era, every single issue talks about baseball. How popular was the sport in the 1910s and what's different about the game then than it is today?

Jim Leeke: Well, back then it really was the national pastime. When America entered the war in 1917, they were the two major leagues of course, and there were 22 minor leagues. So it was a very healthy game.

Theo Mayer: For the second round 1918 military draft, unlike the film actors, baseball players were dropped from the draft exemption list and that caused the World Series to be played really early in September. Can you tell us about that series?

Jim Leeke: The regular season ended on Labor Day, and the World Series started right after that. It was the very famous 1918, Chicago Cubs/Boston Red Sox series. The big thing that came out of that series occurred in game one, which was September 5th, in Chicago. That was at Comiskey Park. The star of the day, if not the game, was a young third baseman for the Sox named Fred Thomas, who actually was in the navy and was on leave from the Great Lakes to play in the game.

At the 7th inning stretch, a military band struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner," which was not yet the national anthem, but it was a very famous and popular song nonetheless. The other players on the field turned to the flag and took off their caps, and put their hands over their hearts. Fred Thomas being in the service, snapped off a very correct military salute and this was noticed in the stands, and the fans began singing "The Star-Spangled Banner." It got louder and louder until it was this overwhelming and almost chilling rendition, and that really was the start of "The Star-Spangled Banner" being played at American baseball games. Not every game yet, but from then on, it was played at each World Series game and opening day. Then starting in World War II, it was played for every game.

The other aspect of the 1918 world series was the threat of a player strike. That was a very controversial thing. Their share of the World Series revenue had been cut really without their input, and they weren't happy. On the train from Chicago to Boston, the players got together and decided not to take the field until they got a better deal. They actually had an argument, but it wasn't an argument they could make in that time at that place. The fans were in the stands waiting, among the fans were a number of wounded American troops. The players were in a no-win position, and eventually cooler heads prevailed, and they took the field, but they just got pummeled in the press. The players got pummeled, the owners got pummeled, the leagues got pummeled, and nobody came out of it well, which is almost entirely forgotten today. Nowadays, the 1918 World Series is remembered fondly, because the Red Sox won it and didn't win it again for 86 years. At the time, it was very controversial and tainted in a way.

Theo Mayer: Well now regardless of the draft, a lot of baseball players volunteered, right?

Jim Leeke: A number of players did volunteer. More often, they waited for the draft notice but there were quite a few who volunteered. The first active player to do that was Hank Gowdy. He was the catcher for the old Boston Braves and the world series hero for the 1914 "Miracle Braves." Hank signed up in June 1917 and reported for duty the following month and ended up as a color sergeant in the 42nd Division, the famous Rainbow Division, and he was in combat in France for quite a while. There were a number of former Major Leaguers who signed up as well, and a large percentage of those seem to end up in officer training. Many of them went overseas as well. My favorite was a pitcher named Edward Doc Laffite, who had played for the Tigers and the Brooklyn Tip-Tops in the Federal League, and was a dentist. He served in a plastic surgery unit in the army in France and England. He helped repair soldiers' ruined faces, a very admirable and worthwhile endeavor. 

Theo Mayer: That leads us to about 100 [106] years ago this week, when Captain Eddie Grant was killed in action. Can you tell us about him and how America reacted to his death?

Jim Leeke: Yes. Captain Eddie Grant, called Harvard Eddie when he played. He played ten years in the big leagues. In fact, he was Harvard educated, he was a New York lawyer after he retired, and he was one of the former players who signed up very early. He was in officer training by May 1917. He went to France with the 77th division, and I know you've dealt with this in previous podcasts. Harvard Eddie was killed in the Argonne forest attempting to rescue the Lost Battalion, which was commanded by a friend of his, Major Whittlesey. The newspapers called Eddy Grant baseball's first gold star, which wasn't accurate. He wasn't the first former Major Leaguer who died during the war, but he was certainly the biggest name. His death hit the headlines in probably every sports section in the country, and off the sports pages as well. An acquaintance of mine, the umpire Perry Lee Barber, not long ago tweeted out, "Eddie Grant lives." I'd use that myself, #EddyGrantLives, because I think it's true. You saw the fairly widespread publicity [earlier this month] on the centennial of his death. So it was one of the great, sad stories of World War I.

Theo Mayer: Jim Leeke is a World War I era baseball expert and author of the book, From the Dugouts to the Trenches: Baseball During the Great War.

The Presidential Election of 1916, Part II, Incumbent Woodrow Wilson

President Wilson Proved Adept at Campaigning

In 1916, many commentators picked Hughes to win. However,  those  experts—as can happen —were wrong, although in this case, just barely. They seem to have underestimated the growing power of the incumbency in the early 20th century. Wilson had key advantages his opponent lacked—the prestige of the presidency, immediate access to the press and public view, and many surrogates obliged to support him. On this latter point, of his Progressive supporters, former secretary of state William Jennings Bryan—who had resigned in protest over the president's handling of the Lusitania incident—proved his most dynamic advocate, especially in locking down the Western states.  

On the opposing side, Theodore Roosevelt—in his belated effort to mend his Republican fences, championed Hughes—but alarmed many of those same voters with his pugnacity and willingness to see the nation join the war.

Wilson's record domestically was substantial. Over his first term he had pushed through legislation to enable much of his domestic progressive agenda. From the start of the war, the president was also a consistently strong spokesman for American neutrality. Later, as foreign crises mounted, he adroitly evolved into an effective Preparedness advocate. To assuage the Preparedness Movement, Wilson signed two substantial military bills strengthening the army and navy during the campaign: the National Defense Act on 3 June, just before the conventions, and the Naval Appropriations Act on 29 August.  [See our May 2015 issue for more on this legislation and the Preparedness Movement in general.] This "Neutral-but-Prepared" formula of Wilson would help him pull an upset in his single most important state victory: strongly Republican Ohio in the industrial belt, with its 24 electoral votes. Most accounts of the 1916 election focus on Hughes's surprising loss in California. However, had Wilson won California (13 electoral votes) but lost Ohio, he would have failed to be reelected.

Advantage to the Democratic Ticket

Wilson and his running mate Vice President Thomas Marshall were re-nominated on the first ballot at the Democratic convention in St. Louis. The party platform, approved by the president, proposed a slew of reforms, banning child labor, improving prison conditions, and promoting women's suffrage (but not via a constitutional amendment). In foreign affairs, it called for military preparedness and a world association of nations to maintain peace after the war in Europe had ended. More important, its final draft incorporated one of the most successful and deceptive campaign slogans in American history, "[He] Kept Us Out of War." 

As a campaigner, Wilson—in contrast to Hughes—exceeded expectations. He was artful with the English language and could be quite deceptive. In private he admitted to being highly skilled at "truth grazing."  Republican leaders had come to deeply mistrust him during his first term, but naturally, Democrats admired him for these same skills, and they proved extremely  useful to Wilson during the rough-and-tumble campaigning of 1916.

Next Friday:  Part III, The Origins of "He Kept Us Out of War"

Sources: We adapted this series from several sources we should credit here—the Miller Center of the University of Virginia,  the American Presidency Project of the University of California at Santa Barbara, 270 To Win,  OurCampaigns.com,  and Gallup.com.

Remembering a Veteran: Immigrant Doughboy Antonio Pierro, 82nd Division

Antonio Pierro (1896–2007) was born in the Italian town of Forenza, the son of Rocco and Nunzia (Dell'Aquilla) Pierro. His birth date was recorded as 22 February 1896 in the baptismal records. Pierro immigrated to the United States in 1914, and lived in Marblehead and Swampscott, Massachusetts. In 1917 he enlisted in the army, and trained at Fort Dix before being sent off to combat. Pierro saw action in the Battle of Saint-Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Pierro served in France with the 82nd Division's 320th Field Artillery. Returning to the U.S. in 1919, he married Mary Pierre in 1920. She died in 1967. 

In civilian life, Pierro managed a Boston Pontiac body shop for many years and retired from the General Electric jet engine plant in Lynn in 1961. He was a member of the V.F.W. Post 2005 in Marblehead and IUE Local 21. He was a former member of the American Legion "Redmen" in Swampscott. Antonio Pierro died on 8 February 2007, just a couple weeks shy of his 111th birthday.

New American Soldier
Tony Pierro of Forenza, Italy

Just before he passed away, the author of The Long Way Home: An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War, David Laskin, interviewed Tony Pierro and later gave our historical organizations permissions to reprint it:

Here in Seattle, Veterans Day coincides with the height of the rainy season, which seems fitting given the wretched weather that the soldiers endured in France in the weeks leading up to the 1918 Armistice that Veterans Day commemorates. "During the night, a cold penetrating rain began," one soldier wrote of conditions on the first day of the Argonne offensive that ended the Great War. "We couldn't build any fires. We had no overcoats, and had left our blanket rolls in the Bois de Sivry. Some found overcoats and blankets left by the Boche, and rolled up in those. The army slicker is as good as nothing, as far as heat goes, and as to turning water—well, we who wore them in the Argonne, knew what they were worth. The moisture from one's body collects on the inside of the coat, and as soon as the wind strikes you, you are cold for the rest of the day."

French  75 Similar to Those Fired by Tony's Regiment

Such was life in France in the fall of 1918. The rain and wind outside my window seem blessedly benign by comparison. But I really wasn't intending to devote this blog to the weather, rather to the back story of one of the 12 immigrant soldiers featured in my book. When I started researching in earnest in the summer of 2006, two foreign-born World War I veterans were still, miraculously, alive—106-year-old Sam Goldberg and 110-year-old Antonio Pierro. Naturally, I wanted to meet both of them as soon as possible.

I don't recall exactly how I tracked down Tony Pierro, but I do remember that a radio producer named Will Everett was extremely helpful in the process. At the time, Will was taping interviews with the surviving World War I veterans for a radio program called The World War I Living History Project that he was putting together, and he had just spent a long, productive, if sometimes frustrating, day taping an interview with Tony at the Pierro residence in Swampscott, Massachusetts.

The Old Soldier with His Decorations, Including a
Recently Awarded French Legion of Honor

I have learned over years of research and writing that some people jealously guard everything they know about a subject, while others share freely, even with perfect strangers. Will was one of the latter. When I called to pick his brain, he told me that the best way to set up an interview with Tony was to contact his nephew Rick, he advised me to use a loud clear voice in asking questions, and he warned me that I shouldn't expect too many combat stories—after all the guy was 110. Will added that my best chance of getting Tony to talk freely was to bring a pretty young girl along to the interview.

This last bit of advice amused me—110 and still an eye for the ladies!—but Will was insistent, so I pressed my oldest daughter Emily, who fits the bill nicely, into service. I can't say that Tony opened up much—he seemed to be dwelling peacefully deep inside himself and far back in the past. But, with Emily sitting beside him and intercepting the occasional shy courtly smile, Tony talked some about the snakes in his family's vineyard back in Forenza in the south of Italy, the dangers of dodging exploding shells in combat, and a French girl named Magdalena he had loved nine decades ago. When we got up to leave, Tony took Emily's 21-year-old hand in his 110-year-old hand, leaned over, and kissed it.

David Laskin's volume on America's new
immigrants who served in the AEF is still
 in print and can be ordered HERE.