It is sheer coincidence that two men who wrote their names together like that should both die, months apart, in the war; and pure irony that neither of them wrote anything like “In Memory of” or “May They Rest in Peace” next to their names, when so many others down there did. You cannot tell, of course, from the content of the epigraph, or the quality of the penmanship, or the delicacy of the carving, what became of any man who left his mark here. All you can do is research his name, get to know him a little bit, posthumously; for they are all, no matter how they fared in the war, dead now. Let’s meet just a few of them, shall we?
Pri. Paul Urpin
Co. F 101 Inf.
A.E.F.
Inked on a small smoothed canvas of wall; Private Urpin started to draw a fancy frame around the outside but never finished. Perhaps he moved on to other creative pursuits; like Corporal Madeley, he left his mark down there on at least two occasions. Born in Waltham, Massachusetts, the son of a French immigrant, he enlisted August 8, 1917, aged 20 years, 8 months. Promoted to private first class June 15, 1918. Wounded in action severely “about” July 26. Hospitalized until he was discharged on April 4, 1919, nearly five months after the war ended. Later worked as a plumber, married, had six children. Died in Woodland Hills, California, in 1967.
K
102
Bridgeport
KELLY
March 5, 1918
Corporal Joseph Aloysius Kelly wrote his name in blue ink in several spots and configurations, including, just a few feet away from the above (which is enclosed in a structure resembling a house), a carved square-within-a square containing a shamrock surrounded by the words
“Erin Go Bragh”
The Friendly Sons
of St. Patrick
Phila France
1791 1918
Corp. J.A. Kelly—
and, elsewhere, another inked and etched square, this one celebrating Company K, 102 U.S., 25th Squad, with a list of seven names (his first) and, at the bottom, “Pride of the A.E.F.” Born in Bridgeport, Connecticut, he was the son of a paper hanger, grandson of four Irish immigrants. He enlisted on June 25, 1917, one month after his twenty-fifth birthday, a clerk, 5'6" tall, 130 pounds. Killed in action July 20, 1918; buried in Plot A, Row 3, Grave 79 at Aisne-Marne, the same cemetery as Earle Madeley, who died one day later.
R.A. Best
Co. E 101st
Carved his name in tall bas-relief letters between two blackened candle niches. The rest he just gouged. Perhaps he ran out of time; carving things in bas-relief takes a lot of effort. Private Robert A. Best of Roxbury, Massachusetts; a Canadian immigrant, born in Maitland, Nova Scotia. Enlisted in the Massachusetts National Guard May 29, 1917, at the age of 20. Last seen alive October 23, 1918. His name is listed on the Missing in Action plaque at the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery in Romagne.
P. Butler
Co. H 103
Private Perley Butler, 19 years old, gouged his name and outfit inside a rectangle and underneath a large horse head, carved in relief and colored with pencil, still dark a century later. Born and raised in Waterville, Maine, he enlisted in its National Guard on May 7, 1917, was promoted to private first class September 18 of that year, and was demoted back to private on May 5, 1918. Killed in action by shell fire on July 17.
M.J.M.
Co. G. 101st
Feb. U.S. Inf. 22
M.J. Maloney
35 Wave Ave
Wakefield, Mass.
Everything in this one is gouged except for the name and the street address, which were added afterward in blue ink; perhaps Private Michael J. Maloney wanted to make sure that future visitors would know where to find him after the war, though by 1930 he had moved around the corner to Vernon Street, where he lived with his wife, three children, two stepchildren, father-in-law, and brother-in-law, and made his living as a brass finisher. He enlisted in June 1916, at the age of 27, and spent the war as a private, with a stint as company bugler. Died August 1, 1961.
W.D. Bertini
Compass #9
Wallingford
Conn K 102 Inf
Mar. 1918
S.J. Shaw
Co K 102 Inf
Compass #9
Wallingford
Conn USA
Same hometown; same company; same Masonic lodge. Same Masonic compass in their inscriptions. Same section of the mine. Both born in 1896; both enlisted just weeks after America entered the war. William DeForest Bertini was 5'8", 140 pounds; before the war he’d been a clerk in an office. Promoted to private first class on June 1, 1917, corporal on an unspecified date thereafter, and sergeant on August 22, 1918. Wounded in action slightly on March 17, 1918, while still on the Chemin des Dames. After the war he returned home, got married, had one daughter and two sons, went to work as a cashier at a silver factory. Eventually he was promoted to office manager; died in 1972. Stanley Joseph Shaw had been a silversmith for a while before the war, then went to work for the Winchester Repeating Arms Company as a gunsmith. He was six feet tall, weighed 155 pounds, and was promoted to corporal on May 24, 1917, just three weeks after he enlisted. Killed in action on April 20, 1918, also at Seicheprey. Buried in the Saint-Mihiel American Cemetery in Thiaucourt, France.
Another Mason in the same subterranean neighborhood carved a large compass with lines so straight he must have used his bayonet as a ruler:
Alexander B. Grant
Compass #922
Chicago, Ill.
Mt. Hermon
Medford
Mass
U.S.A.
Private Grant had been born in New Brunswick, Canada, and immigrated to Massachusetts. Worked as a clerk in a hardware store before the war. Enlisted May 21, 1917; assigned to Company E, 101st Infantry. Killed in action October 30, 1918. Buried at the Meuse-Argonne Cemetery.
D.E.G.
CO. G
103 INF.
In bold pencil, each line inside its own neat rectangle. Private Daniel Earl Geagan, born in Waltham, Massachusetts, 1896. Enlisted in Brewer, Maine, June 2, 1917. Killed in action by a machine-gun bullet July 22, 1918. Buried at the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery in Seringes-et-Nesles, France. The American Legion post in Brewer is named for him.
P.J. Kochiss
Co. K U.S. Inf.
102 AEF
Stratford, Conn. March 3, 1918
The hometown and date are inked; everything else, including a heart-and-cross motif, is carved in bas-relief, large. Peter John Kochiss was born in 1894 in Pennsylvania, the son of Slovak immigrants, and moved to Connecticut as a child. The Connecticut Military Census of 1917 lists him as five feet eleven inches tall and 180 pounds, reports that he worked on the family farm and as a shipping checker and, though single, had six people depending upon him for support. Enlisted at New Haven July 26, 1917; promoted to private first class two months later, corporal a year after that. Killed in action October 23, 1918, five days shy of his twenty-fourth birthday.
LS
Leo Stankard
Co. F 101 U.S. Inf.
Written in black ink—kind of surprising, since Leo Stankard was a stone mason back home in Waltham, Massachusetts. Enlisted there on June 1, 1917; promoted to corporal in December. Wounded in action severely on July 23, 1918, he spent the next five months in the hospital, and finished out his service in a Military Police company, being promoted to sergeant a month before he was discharged. Resumed work as a mason after the war, married, no children. Died November 17, 1996, aged 100 years, 2 months and 19 days.
Co. G 1918
J. Ricciardi
Milford, N.H.
U.S.A.
Unlike Leo Stankard, Joseph Ricciardi—also known as Rosario—put his experience as a stone mason to good use in the chalk
mines at the Chemin des Dames, rendering a large, handsome convex circle surrounded by a scalloped frame, the lettering carved neatly in straight lines. It looks very much like a memorial plaque; it is. The book Milford in the Great War, written by Fred Tilton Wadleigh and published in 1922, tells Ricciardi’s story:
He was born in Piraino, Sicily, in 1887, and left his father and brothers to come to America. He was employed in the granite industry in Milford . . . With no natural fondness for army life or a military career, he left Milford at the outbreak of the war and went to Concord to enlist for the service of America . . . On July 18, in the thick of the fighting, he was killed by a machine-gun bullet . . .
The official report of Major General Clarence R. Edwards, in which he says Ricciardi “showed marked gallantry and meritorious conduct,” is a permanent record of his gallant death, but in Milford the picture of the brave young Sicilian pushing onward through the smoke and steel of battle to die for his adopted country was an awakening vision which brought new patriotism and efforts with the sorrow for his death. It can never be said that Ricciardi died in vain.
JOHN
SWEENEY
CO. F
Simple block outlined letters gouged into a smoothed square; John Sweeney was no stone mason. He worked as a spinner at one of the local woolen mills in Lawrence, Massachusetts. His parents had been born in Ireland; so had his wife, Helen, who immigrated to the United States in 1890. Private Sweeney enlisted in the Massachusetts National Guard on June 16, 1916. Killed in action in the town of Flirey, near Seicheprey, on May 17, 1918. He was 37 years old.
Mech. A. Ardine
Co. G 103 U.S. INF.
So. Brewer, ME
Don’t let the simplicity of the inscription fool you: This is a truly impressive piece of work. Allie Ardine created a large, smooth rectangle out of rough chalk wall, carved a bas-relief capsule in which to inscribe his name, and below that carved, also in bas-relief, a magnificent shield with stars in the crown and vertical stripes below. The son of Canadian immigrants, he’d worked as a laborer in a pulp mill when he was younger, but when he enlisted in the Maine National Guard in June 1916, at the age of 26, he listed his occupation as “painter,” which may explain his artistic bent. He also listed his height as a shade under 5'5", his eyes blue, his hair brown, his complexion dark. Wounded in action July 22, 1918. The record doesn’t list the severity—Maine records usually don’t—but in November 1926, he moved into the disabled veterans home at Togus, near Augusta. His ailments are listed as broncho asthma (probably a result of being gassed), partial bilateral deafness (perhaps a result of being shelled), and chronic constipation, which could be a result of what they then called shell shock, now known as post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. He stayed at Togus for two years, and did stints at other veterans homes in Dayton, Ohio, Danville, Illinois and Milwaukee, Wisconsin; by 1935 he was living in the home at Walla Walla, Washington. It’s not clear why he moved—or was moved—so often. He died in 1957 in Montana, never having married.
Michael
Jay
Co. I 102 Inf.
U.S.A.
Faintly etched inside a more boldly etched square, some of the letters are partially outlined in pen, while to the right of his name is, also in ink, what appears to be an incompletely drawn maple leaf; it looks like Private Jay ran out of time. He was born on October 27, 1892, in Stary Sącz, Poland; it’s not clear when he immigrated to the United States, but by the time he enlisted, on July 17, 1917, he had taken the first steps to becoming a citizen, though he had not yet achieved such status. Connecticut’s 1917 Military Census lists his occupation as carpenter, his height as six feet even, his weight 165 pounds, eyes gray, hair brown, build stout. He could ride a horse and drive a motorcycle, but not an automobile. He was last seen alive on June 11, 1918. His name is inscribed on the Missing in Action plaque at the Saint-Mihiel Cemetery. His parents apparently never left Poland; his next of kin was listed as his sister, Mrs. Sophia Goldy of New Haven.
J.B. Lyons
G Co. 101
Another rush job: The letters are faintly scratched into the wall; he started to outline them in ink but only got as far as “J.B. Lyo,” and you really have to strain to see the 101 at all. Born in Brookline toward the end of 1891, James Bernard Lyons enlisted in the Massachusetts National Guard on April 4, 1917, two days after President Wilson asked Congress to declare war on Germany and two days before Congress consented. He was promoted to private first class on June 13, 1918, and to corporal on October 3. After the war he moved back in with his mother, three brothers, three sisters and a nephew, and went to work driving horses on a grain team. The 1940 census shows him, at age 48, working as a laborer for the highway department, still living with his mother and a sister and listed as married, though no wife is in sight. He died January 20, 1957, aged 65. His record notes that on November 10, 1918, the day before the war ended, he was captured by the Germans and held as a prisoner of war until he could be repatriated on November 27.
* * *
Deep in the mine at Nanteuil-la-Fosse, someone carved out a large rectangular space, roughly the size and shape of the kind of dedication plaque you might find inside the lobby of a WPA-built post office. It is obvious that they had bigger plans for it than time permitted: They smoothed its surface and drew straight lines across from edge to edge at regular intervals. Four men inked and then carved their names on the lines:
Corp. F.L. Tuell
Corp. L.J. Brown
Mech. R.T. Moan
Pvt. J.W. Royse
Co. K 103 Inf.
A.E.F.
Actually, Corporal Brown didn’t get past the inking stage with his name, and the unit designation never got to the point of being carved, either, but a hundred years later you can still read it all clearly enough to know who these men were. John Wesley Royse was born in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, in 1896 but was living in Augusta, Maine, and working, when he enlisted, as an upholsterer, a vocation he resumed after the war. He married a waitress in a local hotel, had two children, and died in 1973. Foster Leon Tuell was born in 1897 and raised in Dennysville, Maine, way Down East, the adopted son of a lumberman and his wife; the 1920 census shows him living at home with his parents and 7-year-old sister, working as a stenographer in a factory. Later he married a girl from Indiana, moved to Portland, Oregon, then Los Angeles, got divorced, remarried, and eventually settled down in Maricopa County, Arizona, where he worked as a credit manager at a hardware company. He died in Laguna Hills, California, in 1978. Leo Jennings Brown was born in Farmington, Maine, in 1895; his father, J. Eugene Brown, was the editor of the local newspaper. Corporal Brown was wounded in action on July 20, 1918, and though the record does not specify the severity of his wounds, they were bad enough that he was shipped back to the States on October 9, and honorably discharged on January 31, 1919—ten days after his father died at age 57. After he recovered he went to work as a clerk on the railroad, married, had a son, and moved to Reading, Massachusetts, where he became a bond salesman. He died in 1990, at the age of 95.
Which leaves Mechanic Ralph T. Moan—born in 1897 in Eastport, Maine, the easternmost city in the United States of America—who stands out even in such interesting company for two reasons. First, because about six months after he carved his name on that wall, in the course of running between posts as a messenger, he was blown about twenty feet through the air by a German shell and wounded so badly that it knocked him out of the war. His courage under fire earned him both a French Croix de Guerre and an American Distinguished Service Cross, an award second only to the Medal of Honor. His DSC citation reads:
For extraordinary heroism in action near Riaville, France, 26 September, 1918. Mechanic Moan, who was detailed as a runner, made several trips, carrying important messages, across terrain swept by constant fire from machine guns, snipers, trench mortars and artillery. His disreg
ard for personal safety and devotion to duty in the prompt delivery of messages contributed greatly to the success of the action.
The other remarkable thing about Ralph T. Moan is that he kept a diary. As he noted in its opening entry:
I, as a volunteer in Uncle Sam’s Army, can easily recall all that took place while in the States, but many of the things that I will probably see “Over There” will no doubt not be so easily remembered, especially, so I shall endeavor to keep a crude account of the things which interest me most.
His narrative begins on September 26, 1917—a year to the day before he was wounded—when he shipped out for Europe. It takes him across the ocean to Liverpool, through a few adventures in England (“We had a great time standing on the corner sizing up the English dames that went by”), and then on to France, where he helped liven up Noël by putting together a singing group: “Corporal Brown, Corporal Tuell, Private Royce [sic] and myself formed a quartette and seemed to be appreciated very much by all who heard us . . . Soon after Christmas we had a big infantry minstrel show. Once more our quartette made a hit . . . That night we had dancing and I was sure mad to think I could not dance with some of the swell little Red Cross nurses who were present, but this liberty was given to the officers while us poor devils had to satisfy ourselves with dancing with each other.”
It wasn’t all song and dance, though: “I came near getting beat up by a gang of drunk American soldiers one night when on post,” he wrote. “I got them to the guard house all right after rapping two of them to their knees with my billy.” On February 6, 1918, they set off on foot for the trenches. “Our packs contained slicker, overcoat, reserve and travelling rations, two blankets, 110 rounds of ammunition, shelter half, canteen mess kit, 4 pairs of socks, all necessary toilet articles, such as razor, towels, soap, etc., pair of extra shoes, two extra undershirts, extra outside shirt, tent pole, 5 tent pins, tent rope, 2 gas masks, 1 helmet and haversack,” he noted. After a while they came to a station and boarded boxcars marked “40/8,” indicating they had room for forty men or eight horses. “Forty of us in a car together with our equipment,” Moan wrote, “so of course had no place to sleep unless one fellow lay on top of another.” Twenty-six hours later they detrained at Soissons. “Tuell and I looked the town over,” he reported, “and it sure was some interesting place for the Germans had once been within two miles of it and had bombarded practically everything to pieces with heavy artillery fire.”
Back Over There Page 14