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.

Some Notes on Russia's Imperial Air Service at War

By Raul Colon

The Imperial Air Service, 1912–1917

When the Great War started on August 1914, Germany and Russia shared a vast frontier that stretched from the midway between Danzig and Riga, near the Baltic coast, running west of Warsaw, south through Galicia, finally ending on the mouth of the Danube on the Black Sea. The first phase of the air action took place in two main sectors of the border: the northern area and Galicia. Initially, German air assets in the east were limited, but the the Russian units were utterly ineffective, contributing to the Tannenberg disaster.  Over time this would change. The only  Russian-designed air platform to see action during the first year of the war was the massive Sikorsky four-engine bomber. Seventy-three of the Ilya Muromets G-9 heavy bombers were constructed from 1914 until 1917.

Russia's Most Famous Aircraft of WWI: the Ilya Muromets

The war between the Central Powers  and Tsarist Russia lasted three hard-fought years. It ended abruptly on October 1917 when the Bolsheviks seized power in Moscow. The Imperial Air Service effectively died at that point. It  was subsequently reorganized and divided between the Red and White forces for the coming civil war.

Notable Members of the Imperial Air Service

The fact the many Russian pilots became World War I aces, despite flying obsolete platforms and applying dreadful tactics, was a tribute to their skill and training. In general, the bulk of the Russian Air Service assets, although lagging almost a year behind in technology, still were good enough to hang in with the experienced German and Austrian pilots. The weakness was the command structure. The officer corps was filled with tsarist-created nobility. A sense of entitlement permeated its core. Because of it, when disasters in the front mounted, they were ill equipped to handle the challenge.  

Major Kazakov, 1917

One particular airman resoundingly distinguished himself on the Eastern Front. His name was Alexander Kazakov (1889–1919). Kazakov was born in the Kherson province. After attending the prestigious Yelizavetgrad Cavalry School in 1908, Kazakov joined the Gatchina military aviation school, completing his training by 1914. In 1915, Kazakov was sent to the Ukraine with the purpose of shoring up air operations in the region. It was there that his reputation as a top ace was formed. Flying Morane-Saulnier, SPAD-SA2, Nieuport 11 and Nieuport 17 planes, the young airman is credited with shooting down 17 Central Powers aircraft, top among Russian pilots at the time. There was a rumor that the number is actually 32, but because the Russian counted only aircraft which crashed on its territory, 17 is the figure recorded in the history books. 

In 1917, he was assigned command of the newly formed No. 1 Fighter Group, but the unit was disbanded when the Bolsheviks took control in October. Later, Kazakov made his way north to Archangelsk to join in with the British, who landed there in 1918. He perished on 1 August 1919, while practicing aerobatics for the Russian White Army. Overall, he was awarded 18 medals, including the British Distinguished Service Order and the French Legion d'Honneur, were awarded to this aviation pioneer.

Alexander de Seversky Before the War

Another trailblazing Russian pilot was Alexander de Seversky (1894–1974). As with fellow inventor Igor Sikorsky, Seversky's path would ultimately lead him to America, but not before he made an invaluable contribution to the Russian war effort. Stationed in the Gulf of Riga, Seversky, a naval aviator with the rudimentary Russian Naval Air Service, his first combat sortie was a solo attack against a German destroyer. While diving for his bomb run, he was shot down by anti-aircraft fire only seconds before he was set to drop his bomb. As the plane crashed, the bomb exploded on contact with the sea, killing his spotter and blowing off his right leg. After healing, he returned to active duty and was assigned the mission of coordinating all fighter aviation units in the Baltic sector. Seversky is cited with 13 kills, but, as with many of the records of the era, this fact is disputed. He was in America when the revolution started, shortly after which he applied for full U.S. citizenship. In the spring of 1922, he founded the Seversky Aero Corporation and became a noted air power advocate.

Lt. Commander Viktor Utgoff (1889–1930)

It was the collapse of discipline all along the front in the aftermath of the revolution, particularly in Ukraine, that inspired a counter political and military activities. Despite explicit order from the new Soviet regime, many Russian air force personnel continued to resist the Germans. One of them, Lieutenant Commander Viktor Utgoff (1889–1930), of the Black Sea Fleet who, flying his Grigorovich M-9 seaplane out of the seaplane tender Imperator Nikolai Pervyi, attacked a German U-boat. After the war, Utgov joined the large cradle of Russian pilots emigrating to the United States, where he became a naval test pilot. His son would become a notable authority on defense matters and serve on the National Security Council in the Carter adminstration.

Sources: (An earlier version of this article appeared at Aviationearth.com.)

Way of a Fighter, Claire Chennault, Putnam Books 1949

The First World War, Hew Strachan, Penguin Books 2003

The Encyclopedia of Military Aircraft, Robert Jackson, Paragon Publishing Books 2006

Remembering Major Tonie Holt, Battlefield Guru, Author, and Friend

Tonie Holt with a Partial Stack of Major and
Mrs. Holt's Guidebooks

Major Tonie Holt died of a stroke at age 91 on 5 September, and his funeral was held last Saturday 5 October. In this tribute to him, I would like to share some of the great contributions he made to the industry he substantially founded, to the study and appreciation of military history, and for heightening the recognition of the sacrifices made by the participants in those conflicts.

During my career leading battlefield tour groups in Europe, I was able to make friends with the leading figures and innovators in the business, Tonie and Valmai Holt. The founder of my parent company, Valor Tours, the late Bob Reynolds, had collaborated with them over the years.  When I arrived on the scene as Valor's World War One specialist, they took me under their wing, answering my questions and feeding me ideas for my tour presentations and publications. Twice they went way out of their way to visit Bob and me on the Somme and at Omaha Beach. Those were truly happy experiences.

This Was an Easter Greeting from Valmai and Tonie

Tonie Holt was born 10 December 1932 in Portsmouth, Great Britain.  A graduate of Sandhurst Military College, he was commissioned in the Royal Engineers and in 1958 met his life love and partner in all things, Valmai. After service overseas, Tonie moved on from the army and the husband-wife team began collaborating along parallel tracks in publishing and travel.  

In the 1970s, things got started with their collection of postcards from the First World War, which became Picture Postcards of the Golden Age: A Collector’s Guide. Then came Till the Boys Come Home: The Picture Postcards of the First World War and The Best of Fragments from France by Captain Bruce Bairnsfather. Like many of the Holts’ subsequent publications, these have rarely been out of print. The Holts did everything in their power to encourage and support families that wished to make pilgrimages to the sites where their families had served. Whenever possible, they visited Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemeteries and memorials and encouraged veterans and their families to attend remembrance services such as the Menin Gate on 11 November each year, to keep alive what they regarded as the true spirit of Armistice Day. They eventually became advisors to the Royal British Legion on such matters. The next step was to see it was all done right was to start their own company.

Honoring One of the Fallen at Tyne Cot

With the founding of Major & Mrs Holt’s Battlefield Tours in the 1980s, Tonie and Valmai became the most prominent business in the world in their niche for the next decade and a half. Their excursions became well known for the professionalism of the tour leaders and the smoothness of the operations. In the late ‘90s, they sold their company and resumed writing again. In 1998 came My Boy Jack? The Search for Kipling's Only Son. This was followed by Poets of the Great War (2001), and In Search of a Better 'Ole: A Biography of Captain Bruce Bairnsfather (2008). In between producing these titles and afterward, the Holts published numerous high-quality guides to the battlefields of Europe back to the Crimean War. 

On a personal level, whether through email or in person, Tonie and Valmai have simply radiated generosity with their work and have never touted their many achievements. Over the years, I've learned they have frequently gone far out of their way to support other individuals and organizations in the name of making the study of military history more interesting and more moving. Some, I've only learned of by reading Tonie's recent obituaries. In closing, I would like share a list some of these activities (hardly comprehensive, of course). These include:

• The campaign to save “Toc H” (Talbot House) in Poperinge

• Preserving the Lochnagar mine crater as a memorial

• The creation of a museum at Pegasus Bridge, Normandy

• Enhancing the Christmas Truce and Bairnsfather sites at Plug Street in Flanders

• Working with the Royal British Legion to fund visits of war widows and ex-POWs to travel overseas to pay their respects to their family members and comrades

Thanks for all you've done and rest in peace, Tonie.

Mike Hanlon

(Note: I drew a lot on Tonie's obituaries in The Telegraph and from the Western Front Association for this piece.)

Where Was the World's Most Influential Armenian during the Armenian Genocide?

Calouste Sarkis Gulbenkian (1869–1955) was known during his lifetime as “Mr. Five Per Cent.” This was due to his personal share of Middle East oil. Gulbenkian was an Ottoman Armenian from a wealthy merchant family. Later a naturalized British citizen (or “British Subject” which was the term used at the time), he also held three other diplomatic passports and held at various stages Ottoman and Persian/Iranian diplomatic credentials. By the late 1890s, Gulbenkian had developed a reputation as a man who wove intricate and labyrinthine webs of investors and global speculators.

He remains today a very elusive historical individual, a spider at the heart of a veritable global web, an oilman and financier, who became the world’s richest man. Few escaped the consequences of his tentacles yet not many outside the corridors of power knew about his role. Which is just as he wanted it. In any case, this man—almost invisible  to the general public—eventually became the most influential and richest man of Armenian ancestry in the world.  Of course, his ethnicity had no bearing on his dealings in the world of oil. His interests were intertwined with nations and wealthy elites around the world. Most notably, before the war, Gulbenkian negotiated a five percent share of oil in the Ottoman Empire and managed to hold and add on to that share even following the fall of that empire. This fabulous "guaranteed income" would eventually allow him to become one of the greatest philanthropists in history, but not quite yet.

The Great War came.  

The Armenian people living in the Ottoman provinces of eastern Anatolia, like other non-Turkish and non-Muslim subjects of the Empire, had long suffered from systematic discrimination and, at times, harsh persecution. For them the Ottoman Empire’s entry into the Great War was to have particularly devastating consequences. Beginning in April 1915, the Ottoman authorities rounded up tens of thousands of Armenian men and had them shot. Hundreds of thousands of Armenian women and children were deported. "Deportation" being a euphemism for slow death.

Armenian Deportation, c.1915

The Armenian massacres made no impact on Gulbenkian's business dealings with Turks. Despite his clout, he apparently made no effort to  prevent the massacre of the Armenians in Turkey. With his worldwide network of informants, there can be no doubt that he knew what was happening. His biographer defends him: ". . . In 1915 Gulbenkian was not in a position to influence either the Sultan or the Ministers. Between 1914 to 1923, Gulbenkian was living in London, and he had no contact with the Turkish Regime.”

To some, Gulbenkian appeared uninterested in being a “good Armenian.” Other fellow Armenians nonetheless looked to him as a benefactor and a leader of their diaspora. There are only a few foggy and sometimes contradictory accounts of his response to such appeals. Some sources mention his support for the Armenian General Benevolent Union (ABGU), the Paris-based philanthropy, originally founded in Cairo in 1906 that sought to promote the welfare of Armenians within the Ottoman Empire. He would be appointed to the presidency of the ABGU, but there are contradictory accounts as to whether this was during the war, or sometime afterward. Nonetheless, it seems evident that Gulbenkian did support the work of the union.

In any case, the efforts of the ABGU were primarily focused without the Ottoman Empire. In the union's own history they state, "The magnitude of the Armenian Genocide atrocity meant a refugee crisis that spanned multiple countries and continents. AGBU and its  chapters worked to ensure supplies made their way into the hands of tens of thousands of survivors. After hostilities ended,  AGBU and the Allied forces worked together to tend to the needs of Armenian refugees across the Middle East."

Postwar, and as Gulbekian became increasingly wealthy, he appears to have been a remarkably generous contributor to the Armenian diaspora. He donated to schools, churches, hospitals, and scholarships. He also established the St. Sarkis Armenian church in London as a memorial.  His foundation—100 years later—promotes arts, charity, education, and science. It also funds publications and other works for Armenian communities and even sponsored events commemorating the centennial of the Armenian Genocide.

The list in the above paragraph could have been much longer.  The organizations he supported and financed, as well his surviving family, have been magnanimous beyond measure for the Armenian people and many others. This, however, still seems out of balance with his apparent lack of action when the Young Turks were murdering his people in huge numbers.  He appears to have kept silent and protected his business interests. I can't find anything to suggest otherwise.  Of course, there is no record of what Calouste Gulbenkian might have done or said behind the scenes to aid the victims.

Sources: Defense.info; The Armenian Mirror Spectator; Mister Five Percent;  Asbarez, 19 June 2019; Armenian General Benevolent Union Website

A Day in the Life of a Despatch Rider on the Western Front

 

By Max Pemberton

Originally presented in The War Illustrated, 6 January 1917

HE is quite young, a boy in fact. He had been at a public school two years ago, got his colours for football, and was the proud owner of a Triumph. How little he thought when the birthday brought it that he would be riding a similar machine pell-mell upon the roads of France before he had celebrated his twenty-first birthday.

Yet here he is upon a sunny morning of October, wheeling hiss machine down a broad avenue of poplars and looking back, perhaps a little wistfully, to the pleasant chateau embowered yonder in what was once a fair and goodly garden. An old, old man, sweeping up the dirty brown leaves, gives him a "Bon jour !" and wishes him God-speed. The scene is very French and for the moment very restful. There are sentries at the gate and they alone speak of war.

Our young friend, of course, is a despatch-rider — one of that splendid body of mere youtlis who have done such wonderful things upon the great French high roads. He is one of those who may be called upon to fight his lonely battle against the Huns at any hour of any day, who must wage it single-handed, who cannot hope for any kind of help. God be good to him, he is cheerful enough ! His face this morning is as polished as the good machine he rides. He wears stout khaki overalls ; he has a revolver handy ; the precious despatches are like love-letters on his heart. Yesterday he had a few spare hours and took it into his head to give the "old girl" a clean. Usually she is as filthy as the roads he dares, but to-day she is smiling like a bride.

Hey-ho for the Great Adventure!

Now, the despatch-rider has a journey of twenty-three kilometres to make, and his destination is the town. The word should ring pleasantly, as it ever does to rural ears in places remote. But do not make too much of the town. There are ruins there and great gaps which once were churches ; hotels which leak wickedly, and shops which can sell you nothing but dust. For all that it is the town, and our youth will eat and drink there and make a brief hour of merriment. That is to say, he will do all this if he arrives. It is the "if" which is the tragedy.

He, God bless him ! never thinks at all about it. He has ridden there so often, faced perils so many, known such tight places that it has all become a mere picnic. This morning he likes it better than ever. The sun is shining, the great marshland looks almost picturesque. It suggests great distances, shining rivers, the homesteads which were, And it is at the moment a land of peace. Yonder, far away over the low hills, the Hun is at breakfast. Mighty is the -sausage, and it shall prevail. He will fire no shot until lie has gorged. So our man leaps upon his Triumph with all the spirit of the boy he is. Hey-ho for the great adventure ! No knight of the old time ever rode a highway more blithely.

On the Alert

To be sure, there is company enough when the first of the villages has been passed. The road goes straight as an arrow across the tremendous plain, flanked by poplars and bordered by ditches. Traffic of all kinds frequents it at the busy hour, but not at this hour of breakfast. Now you shall see waggons at the roadside with their drivers eating. A platoon tramps leisurely with the steps of men who have fed. A fat officer rides a lean horse, but does not put him to the trot. All hail the boy as a friend. He gives them a merry "Cheer oh !" and a vigorous wave of the arm. The light and strength of the morning are in his eyes, the road is fair,. the rhythm of his exhaust like the rattle of a machine-gun. The town is three kilometres nearer by this time. "What a jolly business !" you say. "What a good time these fellows have !" But pause a moment, for the curtain is about to rise upon another picture.

The road sweeps to the left, and the gleaming face of a usually dull river is revealed. The despatch-rider hears a low booming sound, and he pricks his cars. Yonder, a mile away upon a little hill, there stands a hamlet once as fair as any in Flanders. The shells of the houses still remain, and the old church has the ghost of a tower remaining. But the despatch-rider knows it for the place of peril that it is. That booming echo across the great marsh brings a message which is unmistakable. "Hallo," says the boy, " they're shelling X — — ." It is just as though one at home had said, "We're going to have thunder."

He bends a little lower over his saddle now and begins to look out. There will be shell-holes hereabouts ; and shell-holes are ugly customers for a man upon a bicycle. Even the smallest will be some four feet in circumference and as many deep. The largest are caverns into which a furniture van could fall. The boy dodges them with a skill which is amazing.

Travelling Like a Race-horse

He is travelling at forty miles an hour, and the Triumph quivers like a race-horse beneath him. Now it will be a tremendous swerve to the right; again such a left incline that luck alone keeps him from the profundity of ditches. But he. is a master, and nothing matters. The skid, which would send the dilettante at home into hospital for a month, finds the boy using his legs like a boxer in the ring. He is down ; he is up. An amazed peasant ploughing in yonder field despite the shells cries "Sacre nom !" and follows him with eyes bewitched. He is going over yonder to X — — , and bell may lie beyond it.

There are sentries at the entrance to the village, but they do not worry the boy. Where any other to come up they would prate of danger, saying, "You cannot go on ; the Bodies are bombarding us." But it is no good saying that to the boy, who passes them with a yell which is familiar and a wave which is stimulating. Now he is up the hill and can look ahead for many miles upon the white high road he must follow.

Tokens of the Huns' Goodwill

It is no pleasant prospect. The Hun has had information that a convoy would pass that particular spot at ten o'clock this morning, and he is now shelling it for all he is worth. You sec the tokens of his goodwill everywhere : in the air above, the white flakes of the shrapnel from the ground below, the yellow, the brown, and the black smoke of the high explosive. Viewed thus there does not seem a yard of space where you could shelter a dog. Does the boy stop because of it ? Not on your life. Down goes his head, wide open goes his throttle. The "old girl" accelerates like a wonder at Brooklands. A thunder of sounds is in-the boy's cars, but he does not heed it. Great blasts Of air strike him menacingly, but do not check his speed. Sometimes he will say, "That was a close shave !" but lie prefers not to think about it. He is in the very pit, and God alone can bring him out.

Nor is it any good to think of shelter. One of his pals did so not long ago — got off his machine and went into that little hut over yonder until the storm should pass. The next instant 'a shell struck the shanty and blew it sky-high. Our boy will take no risks of that kind. He drives on, every yard is a landmark in the race for safety ; every second has meaning in time's great lottery. The shells are raining about him, and any one may leave him a thing of torn flesh and broken bone there upon the accursed highway. He is fighting the Hun alone; yet upon his courage to- morrow's great victory may depend.

Well, lie gets through, turns a welcome corner and finds himself in a place of peace. Here is the convoy which the Bodies thought they were shelling. The boy delights to race by it with just a word to its officers and another "Cheer ah !" for its men. The town is not far off by this time, and the odour of baked meats seems to be in the air. The boy will lunch like a "good 'un," and then hope to sleep the sleep of the just.

Hard on him. if he must return to-night! Yet such proves to be the edict.

He must go back, says authority, must quit the town : must forget that there are still white sheets and soft pillows in France. He takes his gruel without complaint ; yet night shall be one of terrors unnamable. His battle is but half won ; he must round off the victory. A lamp he has, it is true, but there will be many a mile upon which lie dare not show its aureole, and there is no sun to shine upon him now. The great marshland — in its desolation so similar to the great fens of our own England — that land will be steaming with mists when he crosses it ; its rivers will have become dark and silent pools ; its ruins will stand up like black sepulchres above some horrid place of the dead. Well is it that the boy has no imagination. His "Cheer oh !" now may be a" little modulated. but it is heard. His lamp burns brightly when lie leaves the town, but five miles beyond it that lamp is out. Here is the danger-zone ; he must trust to his luck now. God send that a shell-hole does not kill him !

Scene for a Great Word Painter

It is a weird scene, the Lord knows, and one to which none but a great word painter could, do justice. There are clouds in the sky, but a dim moon wrestles with them and the land below becomes a cold grey vista of solitude and desolation. Far away a little star of light may mark a house or village, or even another rider on the road ; but for the most part there is no light save that which the parish lantern vouchsafes. The boy is merely conscious of the fact, he is not afraid. The rim of a shell-hole has just brought him down heavily, and he scrambles from the mud and turns his lamp upon the beloved machine and risks the Hun and his venom. Has any damage been done ? He does not stop to ask if he himself be hurt; the machine alone matters. He starts the engine with a kick, and listens anxiously for the answer. He wheels the bike a little way and discovers that the steering is all right. There is joy in that house because of the sinner who is saved. The boy mounts and gradually recovers his confidence. The cold wind cuts his face like a rope ; the mud is all over him. He hears the boom of shells for the first time since he quitted the town, and his pulse leaps at that.

He must get there ! There is but one place in all the world for-him to-night. He must do his duty. The precious papers which his body is warming must be laid on the general's table before midnight. Let all the furies of hell rain upon this desolation, the boy must face them.

He sets his teeth and bends his head lower to the wheel. There are flecks of fire upon the far horizon, now and ever and anon some mighty flash of light in the fields about him. One shell bursts over his very head and for a minute he is blinded, and he swerves wildly upon the slippery road. Another narrow shave — but what matter ?

The Bridge Is Down!

The boy turns on his headlight, for he knows that he is coming to the bridge across the river. It should be there — just at the bend. He searches for it anxiously, the light glowing in the blackness. "By God in heaven, it is not there !" he cries. The bridge is down, and but for the inspiration of the lamp he himself would have plunged headlong into the black water, and to-morrow there would have been another body drifting amid the reeds of the Yser. He pulls up to be sure of it, and wipes the mud from his face. What is to be done ? There is a temporary bridge, he remembers, two miles to the right, there by the. farm-house, which is a shattered landmark set upon a lonely hill. To reach it you must plough through mud and slime indescribable. The boy crosses the dike upon a frail. plank and has to drag the Triumph from its waters. The bog beneath him is Like a quagmire ; his boots squelch in it and arc nearly torn from his feet. It has become black dark, and there is a cold rain falling. He sees nothing now, his luminous compass alone will guide him.

For hours he is out there alone in the wilderness, not a sound to be heard but that of the booming shells ; not another living soul in all the world for what he can see of it.

Courage is needed now, the courage which is his birthright. He goes on doggedly, saying, "I must, I must !" Good God, will he never find the bridge ! They are waiting for him at Headquarters ; it is torture to be held up thus on the very threshold.

He finds it at last, scrambles over its muddy planks and pushes on into the lane that shall take him back to the high road. The very fact that he has crossed the river makes all other perils seem but thirty cents. With a wild war-whoop he swings again into the familiar high road and boldly switches on his lamp, so great is the emergency. He can see the shell-holes now, and no trained acrobat dodges them more skilfully. The last mite beyond the village is a joy beyond imagination. The boy does fifty miles an hour along it, despite the press of waggons and camions. Yonder between the trees are the welcome lights. The general is there waiting for him. "Hooray !" says the boy as he swings into the avenue. An hour later he will be fast asleep — shall we say dreaming of England, and another ?

Source: The Tony Langley Collection

Chautauqua Women in World War I

Wartime Registration Desk at Chautauqua

Contributed by Margaret Haas

The renowned Chautauqua Institution was founded in 1874 by Lewis Miller, an Akron, OH, inventor and manufacturer and John Heyl Vincent, a Methodist minister (later bishop). Vincent and Miller were very clear that their intent was educational, rather than revivalist, and the Chautauqua Institution was never affiliated with any one religious denomination, although the sort of mild Protestantism that informed much of American culture also underpinned the Chautauqua Movement. Today, nearly every faith group in the U.S. has a chapel or building on the grounds of the New York Chautauqua. Since its founding, the institution has become a mecca for art, music, opera, theater, sports. education, and religion during July and August. 

After the United States entered World War I, Chautauquans prepared for their first summer season of the war. The institution's president, Arthur Bestor, asked "Has Chautauqua a part to play in the national crisis?" It did. Officers of the institution soon joined in the manual of arms drill practicing with dummies. During the 1917 season, women were seen in an unprecedented role as they marched in formation on the grounds in uniforms of white blouses, white tennis shoes, and khaki skirts, as they prepared themselves for national defense.

Throughout the country during the war, women were leaving the confines of their homes, entering the work force once dominated by men. Such was happening at Chautauqua as women began serving in war-related programs. Many of the Domination Houses were given over to the American Red Cross.

Military Tattoo, Chautauqua Style

These women were recognized in July 1918. The week beginning the 15th was "Women's Service Women Week." Women were billeted in tents in on the encampment grounds. In military tradition there day was comprised of reveille at 6 a.m., military calisthenics, the Colors, sick call, inspection and classes in food conservation, first aid, dietetics, telegraphy, surgical dressing, typewriting, and braille. Taps was at 10 p.m.

In this pastoral setting, women of Chautauqua were caught up in the universal flood of patriotism which ran with the current the engulfed the country.

The Presidential Election of 1916, Part I: Challenger Charles Evans Hughes

This Is How Close the Election Was

The U.S. presidential election of 1916 helped shape the world we live in because its winner, Woodrow Wilson, put his personal stamp on the final stages of the Great War and, more important, on how Americans and their subsequent leaders would look at their role in the world, afterward. Yet, it was a remarkably close election. Had  Wilson's  opponent, Charles Evans Hughes—an undeniably brilliant and  multi-gifted man—carried either Ohio or California, America would have had a new president just as it was being drawn into war. 

Charles Evans Hughes

To some, Charles Evans Hughes (1862–1948) appeared larger than life. Lawyer and Associate Justice Robert H.  Jackson once said of him, “[He] looks like God and talks  like God.” A brilliant lawyer with a  photographic memory, Hughes became politically prominent in 1905, when he was appointed counsel to New York State legislative committees investigating abusive business practices by utilities and life insurance companies.  

Drafted to run by New York Republicans, he defeated newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst in the 1906 gubernatorial election. As governor, Hughes removed unfit officials of both parties and secured the authority to initiate investigations of executive agencies, earning the admiration of Progressives of all stripes. Reelected governor in 1908, Hughes resigned in October 1910 after accepting President William H. Taft's appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court, where he served as associate justice for six years. He wrote a number of decisions that broadened congressional power to regulate interstate commerce. In June 1916 he resigned at the behest of Republican party leaders to stand as their presidential candidate.  

Former president Theodore Roosevelt was also interested in unseating incumbent President Woodrow  Wilson in 1916.  Believing strongly in intervening on  the Allied side, he had denounced Woodrow Wilson's mediation efforts with Germany. Wilson also mocked Hughes as "a bearded iceberg." His political acumen had temporarily failed him, however. Most Republicans still resented that he had split the party in 1912, resulting in a Wilson victory.  He did poorly in the early convention balloting and realized the futility of further effort. Meeting concurrently, the Progressive party renominated him as their candidate, but he quickly declined and offered to support Hughes. 

Charles Evans Hughes had won the nomination on the third ballot, and former vice president Charles W. Fairbanks of Indiana was picked for the second spot. Most of the party's regulars felt they had fielded their best ticket, hopefully a winning one. Candidate Hughes, however, would prove to be especially formal in manner, lacking political sparkle on the stump.  Roosevelt's "iceberg" analogy was mean but on target. Being an inveterate "good government" proponent, Hughes was also skeptical of the party insiders. Consequently, his dealings—in what turned out to be decisive states of Ohio and California—were uncharacteristically clumsy. None of this, though, was foreseen by the happy delegates when they headed home from the convention.

Hughes Attacked the President's Record

His early campaigning focused on efficiency in government, the merit system in the civil service, credits for farmers, and legal protections for workers. In the latter stages he criticized Wilson's support of the eight-hour day for railroad men, and he backed a constitutional amendment to ensure the right to vote for women.  

Hughes's foreign policy called for a full preparedness program, but he declined to criticize Wilson's neutrality posture. During the early electioneering, the two  candidates' views on the war were almost indistinguishable. That would shift, however, at the end of September, when the president allowed himself to be portrayed as the "peace" candidate. 

After the Election and the War

Charles Evans Hughes would re-emerge as a major figure in American life and  international affairs after the Great War. In 1921 he was selected by Warren Harding to be secretary of state and was successful in securing a separate peace with Germany, concluding arbitration treaties with a number of Latin American nations, and, most notably, negotiating a series of treaties at the Washington Conference on Naval Limitation of Armaments (1921–22). Following Harding's death, Hughes continued at State during Calvin Coolidge's first term, but returned to private practice in 1925. After heading a commission to reform New York State government (1926), he served on both the Permanent Court of Arbitration (1926–30) and the Permanent Court of  International Justice (1928–30). In 1930, Hughes was nominated chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court by Herbert Hoover and served until 1941.

Next Friday:  Part II, Incumbent Woodrow Wilson

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.

Let's Not Forget Those Trenches — 11 Memorable Images

 

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Presented without Further Comment

Sources: Imperial War Museum; Wiki Commons; Private Collection of Tony Langley

First Victory for the U.S. Air Service — A Roads Classic

Alan Winslow, Douglas Campbell, John Huffer,
94th Aero Sq.

The first U.S. Air Service aerial victories by fighter planes in the American sector in France were by Lts. Alan Winslow and Douglas Campbell, two pilots of the 94th Aero Squadron, which had just been transferred to the front. On Sunday morning, 14 April 1918, they were on "alert" at Gengoult Aerodrome near Toul, France. German planes were reported in the area and the two U.S. pilots, completely inexperienced in aerial combat, took off in their Nieuport 28s. Almost immediately they saw two German aircraft and attacked them directly over the flying field at less than 1,000 feet altitude, in full view of not only the Americans at Gengoult Aerodrome, but also the French citizens of Toul. Winslow and Campbell shot down two German airplanes and were back on the ground in a matter of minutes. This initial fighter combat by the U.S. Air Service, was  probably successful due as much to luck as skill. Fifteen years later, Winslow described the event in Liberty magazine:

Spring. The airdrome at Toul. A chill early-morning mist blankets the field. 

Douglas Campbell and I are on emergency service, which at the moment consists of waiting and a game of Russian bank. Somewhere over the lines Eddie Rickenbacker and Reed Chambers are on their first patrol. 

A telephone call from headquarters: Two German planes are reported over the near-by village of Boug. 

We run to our waiting planes. I take off first. I clear the trees bordering the field. 

There, directly before me, diving out of the mist, is a German Albatross. 

We fight no more than a few feet above the tree tops. 

The entire population of Toul comes out to watch. One of my bullets actually pierces the ear of a startled peasant. (Afterward he was extremely proud of that bullet. It was his own personal war relic.) 

The fight is over in less than four minutes; I land, climb out of my cockpit, and run toward the German pilot whose plane has just crashed to earth. He is surrounded by a chattering, excited crowd. I stand awkwardly on one foot and then on the other. I am only twenty-one and this is my first air victory. 

Alan Winslow (1896–1933) was a veteran of the Lafayette Flying Corps, who subsequently joined the American Air Service and was assigned to the 94th Aero Squadron. After the event described above he continued flying until he was shot down on 31 July 1918 and became a prisoner of war for the duration. He was wounded in the left arm, which was subsequently amputated by German doctors. In his later life he became an executive for Pan Am and wrote the 1933 series of articles on the air war for Liberty magazine quoted above  titled "No Parachutes." Later the same year he died due to a fall from his hotel room during a business trip to Ottawa. Various writers have speculated this may have been a suicide because of the loss of his wife or other reasons. He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

Lt. Winslow with His Downed German Fighter
and Admiring French

San Francisco-born Douglas Campbell (1896–1990) was assigned to the 94th Aero Squadron on 1 March 1918. He and Lt. Alan Winslow shared the squadron's first official victory over an enemy aircraft on 14 April 1918. Flying the Nieuport 28, Campbell was the first United States Air Service pilot trained in the United States to score five confirmed victories. Scoring his final victory on 5 June 1918, he and James Meissner shot down a Rumpler near Nancy, but Campbell was wounded in the back by an explosive bullet and sent home to recover. Promoted to captain, he returned to France on 8 November 1918 and served with the Army of Occupation in Germany. Returning to the United States on 1 January 1919, Campbell was discharged from the army on 24 February. After the war, he first worked in South America for W.R. Grace and then shifted over to the commercial aviation industry.  He eventually became general manager of Pan American.

Sources:  U.S. Air Force National Museum, 1st Fighter Association,  Find-a-Grave, and The Aerodrome Websites

Medal of Honor: Charles Whittlesey Graphic Novel

Charles Whittlesey commanded the famed Lost Battalion of World War I. On 2 October 1918, he led over 500 men in an advance against the German line during the Meuse-Argonne offensive. In the face of superior numbers, they were surrounded by the enemy and cut off from their division. Whittlesey overcame the lack of supplies and mounting casualties to hold out for five days before reinforcements finally arrived. 

Published as part of their Medal of Honor Series, the Association of the United States Army is proud to offer this volume as a free pdf download HERE.

Medal of Honor: Charles Whittlesey was created by a team of professional comic book veterans:

• Script: Chuck Dixon (Batman, The Punisher, The ’Nam) 
• Pencils, Inks, and Cover: Karl Moline (Supergirl, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Rogue)
• Inks and Cover: Geof Isherwood (The ’Nam, G.I. Joe, Conan the Barbarian)
• Colors: Peter Pantazis (Justice League, Superman, Black Panther)
• Lettering: Troy Peteri (Spider-Man, Iron Man, X-Men)

For free downloads of the earlier volumes of the Medal of Honor Series that included World War One recipients "Wild Bill" Donovan, Henry Johnson, Sam Woodfill, and Alvin York,  see our earlier article HERE.