James mason's Recollections
Hubert 'Pot Hound' Dawson, who served with James and David Mason in France, passed away on January 28th, 1984. Shortly thereafter James sent this letter to Dawson's daughter, and enclosed four letters that Dawson wrote to him between 1977 and 1980 about their experiences during the First World War...
February 6, 1984
Dorothy,
I feel sure you have heard a lot of truth about Camp Green at Charlotte, N.C. and about the war in France plus army of occupation in Germany. I’d wager that you have seen little in writing.
Therefore, I enclose some letters, which answer some questions I asked Hubert about details. You may Xerox them if you wish. Please return the originals to me.
Hubert mentions Dave, who is my brother, called ‘little red’ by your father. Dave passed away about 5 years ago [actually it was closer to ten, as he died in 1974]. He was with us in the front lines when Sgt. Gilmore was hit and killed by a shell fragment. Dave was hit on the hand by a tiny shell fragment, but lost only a tiny bit of blood.
Sincerely,
James Mason
Dorothy,
I feel sure you have heard a lot of truth about Camp Green at Charlotte, N.C. and about the war in France plus army of occupation in Germany. I’d wager that you have seen little in writing.
Therefore, I enclose some letters, which answer some questions I asked Hubert about details. You may Xerox them if you wish. Please return the originals to me.
Hubert mentions Dave, who is my brother, called ‘little red’ by your father. Dave passed away about 5 years ago [actually it was closer to ten, as he died in 1974]. He was with us in the front lines when Sgt. Gilmore was hit and killed by a shell fragment. Dave was hit on the hand by a tiny shell fragment, but lost only a tiny bit of blood.
Sincerely,
James Mason
February 14, 1977
To “Big Red”
Dear Jim,
As Teddy R would say, “delighted” to hear from you, but sorry you are becoming a victim of some of the many problems of old age. I am beginning to think that some of us (at least) live over long.
We used those same narrow gauge tracks to reach our gun pits on the sand down by Bordeaux in April & May 1918 – stealing a lot of track off the “pig tailed” chinks the French had brought in from S.E. Asia to fill her labor battalions.
About Sept 10, 1918 – on our way to what turned out to be the St. Mihiel salient – we were stopped in the woods, unloaded off the trucks in the rain and mud, and looked over by a army doctor. He discarded 22 of which I was one – Valaluski (the big polack whom you tried to teach more English to in our school at Camp Green N.C.) was another. None of the 21 ever came back to the outfit.
I had the “flu” and had been unable to keep any food down for 2 or three days. After the order came to load up -- I was damned if I was going to die in that mud hole, so had you give a boost up on the “Quad” loaded with Stokes 6” mortars and ammunition, covered with a tarp which sagged in the middle and was filled with water, but since it was still raining didn’t make much difference. Rode the rest of the way in to the unloading point, crawled into a pup tent with Hazenski from Scranton, Pa.
The next day Capt. Ennis and 1st Sgt Ellis went on to view our coming position and came back and we started the (to me) long walk at dark. It was as I remember about 7 kilometers. Ennis saw me and asked how I expected to make it and you said, strictly British, “I’ll see him in Sir!” No packs – mess kit, gas mask, canteen, side arms, tin hat (plus one phone). You carried mine as well as your own.
The road left the woods shortly and went parallel to the German front about 1/2 the distance. The Germans were on a ridge on our right and on the clock threw 2 “77” short, two over and two on the road about every 20 minutes. Ennis had timed them and we gave way to our left, then way over to right, and stayed down until the 2 on the road burst. Then column of 4 route order for about 18 more minutes, and repeat.
We finally reached the corner where we made a 90-degree right angle and headed right into it for a short mile, I think. The road was under machine gun fire every 13 minutes for 2 minutes, then another 12 minutes go ahead, and then Ennis bellowed give way right and left, and two files went right and two left on the double. Most of the time the side of the road was 2 ft. to 4 ft. deep in water, but we didn’t inch in –- we plunged.
After that go round we made an abrupt left turn toward our front position, and a range of hills kept the German guns off our backs. Ennis had done a magnificent job of scouting and we never lost anyone – the road was jammed with troops of all kinds, and when the rain would stop for a little while and the clouds clear away, those rock roads of Napoleon loomed up as though they had searchlights on them, which with the Gerry star shells they did. Everyone stood still and looked down – movement meant troops.
One Lieutenant, I think, out of the 77th FA (field artillery) didn’t get off his horse down near the corner, and apparently the 77 burst as it went thru him and his horse, for us close by wiped man or horse or something off our faces and spit for a spell. Incidentally, he was soundly cursed for his performance.
Going into the hills we heard a new sound, which turned out to be field ammo carts with 3 horses abreast – a double shaft sort of a get up – running away after unloading our 6’ mortar shells. Everybody ducked away in the dark, and the Saparril (sp?) brothers ran head down into a thorn hedge, and howled like banshees until Abie Cohen hauled them out and boxed their ears until he was tired. Abie with his 17 yrs. service was an A-one Sgt.
The gun crew got the mortars in some how, but I was busy trying to get a wire into an advance observation post. Ennis ordered all hands to pack shells and led off – not a popular move with LeGeggett and the other officers and non coms – we had an endless chain going up and down hill about 30 ft. apart. When Ennis came back for his 2nd load, the shells were not moving fast enough so he said, “Everybody take two.” Shorty Barton being on the tail of the line was just struggling with his two in the mud when Ennis came back for his third load. I could see that Shorty was swearing like a pirate, but not out loud. So I said, “Say something Shorty.” He looked at me, and if looks could kill I would have been dead then. He finally said, “Say something Hell; if I even said Boo that old SOB would say everybody take three.” Captain Ennis, who had two more under his arms, stopped, leaned up against the pile, and laughed out loud – the only time I knew him to do it. After getting back his breath, came the familiar “Forward Ho” and the line went on until all the shells were in position.
The St. Mihiel salient had been driven into the French line by the Germans in 1914. After several abortive attempts by the French army to cut it off, including one in 1914 that cost the French about 40,000 men, they gave it to the US army in the fall of 1918. The main defenses were concrete pill boxes about 15 to 20 feet in diameter, but after we got the range right 2 delayed fuses one on top of the other would roll them bottom up on top of the ground – seldom blown apart but the living crew inside didn’t know up from down in any language. I wondered at the time if they ever got what brains they had back, but Hitler proved to me they didn’t.
We were near Les Eparges on one flank of the salient, and while we started our part of the barrage at the same time as the others, the infantry in front of us didn’t move out till 8 AM. You may recall that they were the 15th French Colonial Div. with a record of having never lost an inch of ground or failed to gain an objective. I think they were Zulus, mostly over 6 ft. and ringed men – a ring about ½ in. in diameter was braided into their hair with some gum resin that stayed put – mostly 30 to 45 yrs. old. In order to wear a ring you had to be married and have two living sons. They didn’t want the next generation to be descended from the [4F’s?]. They had an offbeat Mohammedan type of religion that assured them their particular heaven if they died in battle. Every day was a new war and they took prisoners as long as they lost no one, but when the first of them fell no more prisoners until tomorrow. We watched them stroll off like they were hunting rabbits – swinging that 8 lb. bolo type knife of theirs and an arm load of hand grenades. A lot left their rifles on the fire step. Those knives were really sharp – once while they were waiting one time I passed thru the trench and one of them hooked one of my longer hairs from under my tin hat and cut it in half floating in the air – grinned at me and said “Tres bon.”
Our advanced observation post was a hole about 5 ft. sq. and 5 ft. deep, some 20 to 25 yards in advance of the firing line. I was supposed to be crowded in a corner on the phone and LeGette, who by then had been made Captain, was to do the observing with the glasses. That didn’t suit LeGette, and since he liked me at least as little as I liked him, assigned me to stand up and use the glasses. You were to keep the line open and he would man the phone. Sgt. Gilmore joined us to do observation for the 16th Field. Well, “Heinie” knew where we were and kept the air full of machine gun bullets, which went by for the most part about 1 ft. above the ground and sounded like a swarm of very angry bees. Every so often they broke shrapnel over our heads, and it was a piece of one of them that got Gilmore. It also knocked a piece out of LeGette’s helmet, but while it scared him to death, it unfortunately didn’t hurt, to say nothing of not killing him.
You said “First aid Dawson,” and we were so close together that I had to turn clear around with [phone?] in my hand, and saw you had Gilmore under the armpits. I saw where a piece about two by five inches had hit in his upper chest, and later examination showed it came out just above his tail bone and went into the ground between your feet. I said, “He don’t need first aid,” so you backed out in the trench until I could lift his feet, and we carried him that way about 40 yards until we came by one of the passing “bays” they had in the main trench line, and laid him where we wouldn’t be stepped on and covered him as best we could with his rain coat, although at the time it wasn’t raining.
Later that afternoon I went with some chaplain, who took his personal belongings in a bag to be sent to his people. The chaplain also gave me permission to take his 45 automatic. I wanted one and he decided that it would not do Gilmore any more good. I carried it until they took all our arms before we got to St. Nazaire for transport home.
We received no food or water while on the St. Mihiel front, and those few days plus my real sick days taught only that it’s a hard way, but “starve a fever” really works.
This is more writing than I have done in a month of Sundays and I mean that literally. If you can decipher it well enough to make a typewritten copy, I would like one for my Dorothy. I’ll try and fill you in a little more on some of the high lights tomorrow, or rather since there is no tomorrow, on Feb 15th.
To “Big Red”
Dear Jim,
As Teddy R would say, “delighted” to hear from you, but sorry you are becoming a victim of some of the many problems of old age. I am beginning to think that some of us (at least) live over long.
We used those same narrow gauge tracks to reach our gun pits on the sand down by Bordeaux in April & May 1918 – stealing a lot of track off the “pig tailed” chinks the French had brought in from S.E. Asia to fill her labor battalions.
About Sept 10, 1918 – on our way to what turned out to be the St. Mihiel salient – we were stopped in the woods, unloaded off the trucks in the rain and mud, and looked over by a army doctor. He discarded 22 of which I was one – Valaluski (the big polack whom you tried to teach more English to in our school at Camp Green N.C.) was another. None of the 21 ever came back to the outfit.
I had the “flu” and had been unable to keep any food down for 2 or three days. After the order came to load up -- I was damned if I was going to die in that mud hole, so had you give a boost up on the “Quad” loaded with Stokes 6” mortars and ammunition, covered with a tarp which sagged in the middle and was filled with water, but since it was still raining didn’t make much difference. Rode the rest of the way in to the unloading point, crawled into a pup tent with Hazenski from Scranton, Pa.
The next day Capt. Ennis and 1st Sgt Ellis went on to view our coming position and came back and we started the (to me) long walk at dark. It was as I remember about 7 kilometers. Ennis saw me and asked how I expected to make it and you said, strictly British, “I’ll see him in Sir!” No packs – mess kit, gas mask, canteen, side arms, tin hat (plus one phone). You carried mine as well as your own.
The road left the woods shortly and went parallel to the German front about 1/2 the distance. The Germans were on a ridge on our right and on the clock threw 2 “77” short, two over and two on the road about every 20 minutes. Ennis had timed them and we gave way to our left, then way over to right, and stayed down until the 2 on the road burst. Then column of 4 route order for about 18 more minutes, and repeat.
We finally reached the corner where we made a 90-degree right angle and headed right into it for a short mile, I think. The road was under machine gun fire every 13 minutes for 2 minutes, then another 12 minutes go ahead, and then Ennis bellowed give way right and left, and two files went right and two left on the double. Most of the time the side of the road was 2 ft. to 4 ft. deep in water, but we didn’t inch in –- we plunged.
After that go round we made an abrupt left turn toward our front position, and a range of hills kept the German guns off our backs. Ennis had done a magnificent job of scouting and we never lost anyone – the road was jammed with troops of all kinds, and when the rain would stop for a little while and the clouds clear away, those rock roads of Napoleon loomed up as though they had searchlights on them, which with the Gerry star shells they did. Everyone stood still and looked down – movement meant troops.
One Lieutenant, I think, out of the 77th FA (field artillery) didn’t get off his horse down near the corner, and apparently the 77 burst as it went thru him and his horse, for us close by wiped man or horse or something off our faces and spit for a spell. Incidentally, he was soundly cursed for his performance.
Going into the hills we heard a new sound, which turned out to be field ammo carts with 3 horses abreast – a double shaft sort of a get up – running away after unloading our 6’ mortar shells. Everybody ducked away in the dark, and the Saparril (sp?) brothers ran head down into a thorn hedge, and howled like banshees until Abie Cohen hauled them out and boxed their ears until he was tired. Abie with his 17 yrs. service was an A-one Sgt.
The gun crew got the mortars in some how, but I was busy trying to get a wire into an advance observation post. Ennis ordered all hands to pack shells and led off – not a popular move with LeGeggett and the other officers and non coms – we had an endless chain going up and down hill about 30 ft. apart. When Ennis came back for his 2nd load, the shells were not moving fast enough so he said, “Everybody take two.” Shorty Barton being on the tail of the line was just struggling with his two in the mud when Ennis came back for his third load. I could see that Shorty was swearing like a pirate, but not out loud. So I said, “Say something Shorty.” He looked at me, and if looks could kill I would have been dead then. He finally said, “Say something Hell; if I even said Boo that old SOB would say everybody take three.” Captain Ennis, who had two more under his arms, stopped, leaned up against the pile, and laughed out loud – the only time I knew him to do it. After getting back his breath, came the familiar “Forward Ho” and the line went on until all the shells were in position.
The St. Mihiel salient had been driven into the French line by the Germans in 1914. After several abortive attempts by the French army to cut it off, including one in 1914 that cost the French about 40,000 men, they gave it to the US army in the fall of 1918. The main defenses were concrete pill boxes about 15 to 20 feet in diameter, but after we got the range right 2 delayed fuses one on top of the other would roll them bottom up on top of the ground – seldom blown apart but the living crew inside didn’t know up from down in any language. I wondered at the time if they ever got what brains they had back, but Hitler proved to me they didn’t.
We were near Les Eparges on one flank of the salient, and while we started our part of the barrage at the same time as the others, the infantry in front of us didn’t move out till 8 AM. You may recall that they were the 15th French Colonial Div. with a record of having never lost an inch of ground or failed to gain an objective. I think they were Zulus, mostly over 6 ft. and ringed men – a ring about ½ in. in diameter was braided into their hair with some gum resin that stayed put – mostly 30 to 45 yrs. old. In order to wear a ring you had to be married and have two living sons. They didn’t want the next generation to be descended from the [4F’s?]. They had an offbeat Mohammedan type of religion that assured them their particular heaven if they died in battle. Every day was a new war and they took prisoners as long as they lost no one, but when the first of them fell no more prisoners until tomorrow. We watched them stroll off like they were hunting rabbits – swinging that 8 lb. bolo type knife of theirs and an arm load of hand grenades. A lot left their rifles on the fire step. Those knives were really sharp – once while they were waiting one time I passed thru the trench and one of them hooked one of my longer hairs from under my tin hat and cut it in half floating in the air – grinned at me and said “Tres bon.”
Our advanced observation post was a hole about 5 ft. sq. and 5 ft. deep, some 20 to 25 yards in advance of the firing line. I was supposed to be crowded in a corner on the phone and LeGette, who by then had been made Captain, was to do the observing with the glasses. That didn’t suit LeGette, and since he liked me at least as little as I liked him, assigned me to stand up and use the glasses. You were to keep the line open and he would man the phone. Sgt. Gilmore joined us to do observation for the 16th Field. Well, “Heinie” knew where we were and kept the air full of machine gun bullets, which went by for the most part about 1 ft. above the ground and sounded like a swarm of very angry bees. Every so often they broke shrapnel over our heads, and it was a piece of one of them that got Gilmore. It also knocked a piece out of LeGette’s helmet, but while it scared him to death, it unfortunately didn’t hurt, to say nothing of not killing him.
You said “First aid Dawson,” and we were so close together that I had to turn clear around with [phone?] in my hand, and saw you had Gilmore under the armpits. I saw where a piece about two by five inches had hit in his upper chest, and later examination showed it came out just above his tail bone and went into the ground between your feet. I said, “He don’t need first aid,” so you backed out in the trench until I could lift his feet, and we carried him that way about 40 yards until we came by one of the passing “bays” they had in the main trench line, and laid him where we wouldn’t be stepped on and covered him as best we could with his rain coat, although at the time it wasn’t raining.
Later that afternoon I went with some chaplain, who took his personal belongings in a bag to be sent to his people. The chaplain also gave me permission to take his 45 automatic. I wanted one and he decided that it would not do Gilmore any more good. I carried it until they took all our arms before we got to St. Nazaire for transport home.
We received no food or water while on the St. Mihiel front, and those few days plus my real sick days taught only that it’s a hard way, but “starve a fever” really works.
This is more writing than I have done in a month of Sundays and I mean that literally. If you can decipher it well enough to make a typewritten copy, I would like one for my Dorothy. I’ll try and fill you in a little more on some of the high lights tomorrow, or rather since there is no tomorrow, on Feb 15th.
Click this button to read David Mason's letter to his mother about this same battle.
5 AM Feb 15, 1977
On the road back to where we had left the kitchens, it was route order all the way with no rest stops. Ennis had sent back word for Heintz to have food ready and an ETA. When we got within about 50 yards of these the command came “Attention – right foot into line – Halt.” Ennis didn’t pull rank so officers and NCO’s couldn’t either. He stated every man for himself and told 1st Sgt Ellis to dismiss the battery. Ennis was fast on his feet, but Paul Mudge 567 130 beat him by 2 yds. I wasn’t far behind as I was hungry.
He told Heintz to keep the food hot and anytime a man showed up to give all he wanted. He sent for Benner the bugler and told him he wasn’t to blow calls for anything or anybody until 6 PM the following day and then chow call. The orders were carried out – I woke up every 3 or 4 hrs and went back for grub. I don’t know about anyone else. You had [jaundice?].
We pulled out after our 24 hrs. rest, headed somewhere in the Sully Woods to await. 11 PM Sept. 19th when the artillery barrage started – we of course didn’t shoot – guns almost wheel to wheel for 125 miles – British-Canadians, AEF and French. Right behind where we lay was a battery of 8” or maybe 6” navy guns on flat cars. Every time they salvoed – they were shooting 21 miles – the ground heaved under the pup tents and raised from 2 to 6”. With no sleep the infantry took off at 4 AM and the signal detail of which I was one started spinning out the wire. Ours was English Twin Pair, ¼ to ½ mile per spool.
While in the woods – no lights was the order as those German bombers with the [misout?] engine were everywhere and a 50# ashcan could do a lot of damage. One night while a kitchen guard, I saw a light come out of some dugout and I fired once. I also called to “put out that light.” It turned out to be Farrell, [ex-corpl?] from New Jersey, I think, who had been playing cards in the dug out, and was headed across the draw to where he belonged with a candle stub. He swore that the 45 went between him and the candle – well at least I tried.
Also while there one of our 2nd Lts. – a powerful guy from Penn. – [Gersumski?], I think, couldn’t take it any more and drank nearly a gallon of prune juice down at the kitchen. They took him to a hospital for acute dysentery. I never heard if he made it or not.
You no doubt remember some of our salvage operations. Mostly 77 shells – I think it was “E” battery of the 77th that were using salvaged 77’s alone once all of their 75’s were burnt out.
We went thru Culisy (sp?) Septsarges Malancourt (a white board the name on a pile of stone). The road split there, some to the right and some on to the left. I think it was at Septsarges that there was a small part of the stone church left with the replica of Christ on the cross standing in a leaning position behind where the alter had been. Later on there was a picture of it in the “Stars and Stripes.”
I was detached to Brig. Hdqts. as a lineman most of the time there after. I got a foot ran over up Faucon, 3 of us in rear pushing a Quad with its hard rubber tires and no chains. A Quad with chains came up behind to push it over the ridge out of shell fire, which was heavy. I was in the middle. I could jump either way – I went left and the chained front wheel nailed my heel, and went over my foot.
I got on a moving truck – I think you helped me. Rode to a road at the bottom and waited for an ambulance. A number went by but none stopped until I stood in the middle of the track with my 45 Colt 1917 model in my hand. He took me into a field hospital, cut off what was left of my shoe, taped six layers from toe to knee, assigned me to a bunk, and told me to stay off it for six weeks. I woke up about 4 AM, went to the kitchen and hooked a ride on a bread truck going forward. Rode near Lt. Gen. Bullard’s Hdqts. and by plain gall got in to see him. Told my story and he told me where the 4th TM Battery was and would be until morning, and I started walking.
I walked about 10 kilometers. I hit an underpass where a truck paused long enough to let me on, and got to the outfit in time for chow. They were at Dun Siar Meuse, and the armistice was signed next day. Incidentally, I paid for that walk by having to wear hi-laced boots 365 days a year for the next 15 years. I had a pair [of] Floresheim brown kid for dress up wear 18” high. Smoked elk leather lined ordered from St.Louis Mo. for ordinary wear.
I waited over long to transfer into Hdqts. Co. 4th Brig. You and brother Dave had both gone to Reaume, and while Ennis had offered me the candidate school, I pushed Mudge in. He graduated too late to get his 2nd Lt. Res. Commission, and came back for one day. His officer’s braid was black, and he had a bar similar to a warrant officer, and was known as a 3rd Lt.
I remember a lot about our war. Any particular item let me know and I see what I can do.
When my apparently burnt out lungs gave me trouble, I [thought?] I could pay my own way and did. I think service connected ran out in 1925, so when I needed it I was too late.
Best of luck – Greeting to Mrs. Mason.
Dawson
On the road back to where we had left the kitchens, it was route order all the way with no rest stops. Ennis had sent back word for Heintz to have food ready and an ETA. When we got within about 50 yards of these the command came “Attention – right foot into line – Halt.” Ennis didn’t pull rank so officers and NCO’s couldn’t either. He stated every man for himself and told 1st Sgt Ellis to dismiss the battery. Ennis was fast on his feet, but Paul Mudge 567 130 beat him by 2 yds. I wasn’t far behind as I was hungry.
He told Heintz to keep the food hot and anytime a man showed up to give all he wanted. He sent for Benner the bugler and told him he wasn’t to blow calls for anything or anybody until 6 PM the following day and then chow call. The orders were carried out – I woke up every 3 or 4 hrs and went back for grub. I don’t know about anyone else. You had [jaundice?].
We pulled out after our 24 hrs. rest, headed somewhere in the Sully Woods to await. 11 PM Sept. 19th when the artillery barrage started – we of course didn’t shoot – guns almost wheel to wheel for 125 miles – British-Canadians, AEF and French. Right behind where we lay was a battery of 8” or maybe 6” navy guns on flat cars. Every time they salvoed – they were shooting 21 miles – the ground heaved under the pup tents and raised from 2 to 6”. With no sleep the infantry took off at 4 AM and the signal detail of which I was one started spinning out the wire. Ours was English Twin Pair, ¼ to ½ mile per spool.
While in the woods – no lights was the order as those German bombers with the [misout?] engine were everywhere and a 50# ashcan could do a lot of damage. One night while a kitchen guard, I saw a light come out of some dugout and I fired once. I also called to “put out that light.” It turned out to be Farrell, [ex-corpl?] from New Jersey, I think, who had been playing cards in the dug out, and was headed across the draw to where he belonged with a candle stub. He swore that the 45 went between him and the candle – well at least I tried.
Also while there one of our 2nd Lts. – a powerful guy from Penn. – [Gersumski?], I think, couldn’t take it any more and drank nearly a gallon of prune juice down at the kitchen. They took him to a hospital for acute dysentery. I never heard if he made it or not.
You no doubt remember some of our salvage operations. Mostly 77 shells – I think it was “E” battery of the 77th that were using salvaged 77’s alone once all of their 75’s were burnt out.
We went thru Culisy (sp?) Septsarges Malancourt (a white board the name on a pile of stone). The road split there, some to the right and some on to the left. I think it was at Septsarges that there was a small part of the stone church left with the replica of Christ on the cross standing in a leaning position behind where the alter had been. Later on there was a picture of it in the “Stars and Stripes.”
I was detached to Brig. Hdqts. as a lineman most of the time there after. I got a foot ran over up Faucon, 3 of us in rear pushing a Quad with its hard rubber tires and no chains. A Quad with chains came up behind to push it over the ridge out of shell fire, which was heavy. I was in the middle. I could jump either way – I went left and the chained front wheel nailed my heel, and went over my foot.
I got on a moving truck – I think you helped me. Rode to a road at the bottom and waited for an ambulance. A number went by but none stopped until I stood in the middle of the track with my 45 Colt 1917 model in my hand. He took me into a field hospital, cut off what was left of my shoe, taped six layers from toe to knee, assigned me to a bunk, and told me to stay off it for six weeks. I woke up about 4 AM, went to the kitchen and hooked a ride on a bread truck going forward. Rode near Lt. Gen. Bullard’s Hdqts. and by plain gall got in to see him. Told my story and he told me where the 4th TM Battery was and would be until morning, and I started walking.
I walked about 10 kilometers. I hit an underpass where a truck paused long enough to let me on, and got to the outfit in time for chow. They were at Dun Siar Meuse, and the armistice was signed next day. Incidentally, I paid for that walk by having to wear hi-laced boots 365 days a year for the next 15 years. I had a pair [of] Floresheim brown kid for dress up wear 18” high. Smoked elk leather lined ordered from St.Louis Mo. for ordinary wear.
I waited over long to transfer into Hdqts. Co. 4th Brig. You and brother Dave had both gone to Reaume, and while Ennis had offered me the candidate school, I pushed Mudge in. He graduated too late to get his 2nd Lt. Res. Commission, and came back for one day. His officer’s braid was black, and he had a bar similar to a warrant officer, and was known as a 3rd Lt.
I remember a lot about our war. Any particular item let me know and I see what I can do.
When my apparently burnt out lungs gave me trouble, I [thought?] I could pay my own way and did. I think service connected ran out in 1925, so when I needed it I was too late.
Best of luck – Greeting to Mrs. Mason.
Dawson
March 20, 1977
3:45am
Dear Jim,
Pleased indeed to get your letter and the picture, I am returning the picture.
My sleep comes and goes so I go to bed any time I feel like it – AM – PM – day or night. This morning I woke up at 12:45am, read my latest National Geographic from ad to ad, and finished it. So you get what’s left of my wakefulness.
Dave in the picture still looks very much like the teenage civilian who showed up at Camp Greene at his own expense and was sworn into service by Capt. Ennis, the only recruit we got that way in WWI. A very much worthwhile companion in that dirty mess, and appreciated I think.
Some of the every day new regulations got under 1st Sgt. Ellis’ hide, and he told me he was going to get rid of the job. He went on a real bender in Charlotte, during which time he patronized some of those shacks that lined the street car line from camp.
Ennis called in Sgt. Strack, one of the best line Sgts., and told him he was to be 1st Sgt. Strack balked outright and told Ennis that he would be acting 1st Sgt. Until Ellis came up in rank, but he would not be 1st Sgt., if it meant being busted back to private in his own case. Ennis gave in and until Dick [Ellis] got back to 1st Sgt., all orders were signed by Struck as acting 1st Sgt.
Dick was put in Sgt. Remus’ squad – signal detachment – in about two weeks went to PFC & corporal. In 2 weeks (about) more he was made Sgt. and a week or so afterward he was again 1st Sgt., and Strack went back to his own platoon, and everybody was much happier.
1st Lt. Lonabaugh was a little older than some of the OTC people – from Illinois I think. He was married, had 2 kids as I remember, and was by profession a lawyer. Not very big physically, but he soon gained the respect of the men in the outfit, and was a first class officer even tho he was on of the “90 day wonders.”
1st. Lt Seaberry (sp?) was a very poor specimen of the genus West Point. He was overbearing and totally uncaring about any of the needs of the troops. He was very invictive [vindictive?], petty and loved to ride any G.I. he had a chance to and continuous. He got under everybody’s hide, including Capt. Ennis.
When we left Camp de [Souge?] or how[ever] they spell it near Bordeaux for the Chateau Thierry front, we left on trucks with men sitting on top of ammo and 6” Stokes mortars – heels over the side – mostly if not all “Nash Quads,” the drivers and 1 officer on each truck or a senior N.C.O. by the driver. Most of the trucks were loaded – motors running ready to head north or at least toward the front when Seaberry came hurrying up, saluted and asked, “Which truck to ride on, Capt. Ennis?” Ennis looked him up and down and said, “None of them Lt. Seaberry. You will report to Base Hdqtrs. for reassignment. You know and I know how you have treated the men in this command, and while I can’t control your actions I will not be responsible for your death, and you know you would not last 30 minutes once we get within sound or range of shellfire. Dismissed.” He was still standing there when we pulled out. I was less than 10 ft. away when it happened.
I remember Sgt. “Sorry” well, he was a cpl. under Strack. When we left Torfu, France on foot to go to the railroad about 3 miles to ride into St. Nazaire, where we embarked for home, one of “Sorry’s” squad was missing. Found he was dead drunk – of course that would foul up the paperwork on the whole battery. So “Sorry” promised to have him sober by the time we reached the train. He did.
“Sorry” divided his own pack and the drunk’s between men in his own squad, and we started, “Sorry” trying to get the man walking, and every time he fell down “Sorry” would put his hobnail boot into his anatomy someplace until he was on his feet again. At first it took several kicks to get him up, but as the miles went past it took less and less, and at the railroad where we waited about an hour the man fell very seldom, and “Sorry” had to move rapidly to get in one kick. I suppose now that would be ‘police brutality,” but it sobered that ‘bohunk” up and kept him sober until we at least reached New York. “Bohunkus” told me the next day that he was black and blue everywhere except his face.
Yalbaluski was a big “Pole” whose father had handled logs all his life – incidentally he had graduated from his hi-school or its equivalent in Poland before coming to the US. He also cost me $1.25 along with 3 other G.I.s. At Camp Greene they burned wood in the field ranges and the incinerator, so the logs – turpentine pine – were sawed in 5 ft. lengths, and if too heavy for two men were rolled on cross poles and carried by four men. It was about 50 yds. or so up to where they were split up to shove into the stoves. This one time 4 of us were trying to get this log balanced for carrying, when “Vab” came by and remarked that if we 4 would load it on his shoulders, he could carry it by himself, and had $5.00 to bet on it. Each of us dug up $1.25 and somebody held the stakes. It took a little maneuvering on our part to put it across his shoulders and the back of his neck. With his hands to steady it he carried it there and dumped it off, collected his stake and the winnings. We rolled the kitchen scales out and weighed it – 550 lbs. We didn’t bet against “Vab” any more.
My spelling never good requires me to look up words quite often, and sometimes I can’t even remember near enough “how to” to find it in the dictionary.
It’s now 6:15am and I think my Sunday paper is here, so I’ll quit now. The Sunday crossword answer is in such fine print that I can hardly read it with a magnifying glass – one more small thing that blindness brings home to roost.
Always glad to hear from you.
Best of luck to you and yours,
Dawson
3:45am
Dear Jim,
Pleased indeed to get your letter and the picture, I am returning the picture.
My sleep comes and goes so I go to bed any time I feel like it – AM – PM – day or night. This morning I woke up at 12:45am, read my latest National Geographic from ad to ad, and finished it. So you get what’s left of my wakefulness.
Dave in the picture still looks very much like the teenage civilian who showed up at Camp Greene at his own expense and was sworn into service by Capt. Ennis, the only recruit we got that way in WWI. A very much worthwhile companion in that dirty mess, and appreciated I think.
Some of the every day new regulations got under 1st Sgt. Ellis’ hide, and he told me he was going to get rid of the job. He went on a real bender in Charlotte, during which time he patronized some of those shacks that lined the street car line from camp.
Ennis called in Sgt. Strack, one of the best line Sgts., and told him he was to be 1st Sgt. Strack balked outright and told Ennis that he would be acting 1st Sgt. Until Ellis came up in rank, but he would not be 1st Sgt., if it meant being busted back to private in his own case. Ennis gave in and until Dick [Ellis] got back to 1st Sgt., all orders were signed by Struck as acting 1st Sgt.
Dick was put in Sgt. Remus’ squad – signal detachment – in about two weeks went to PFC & corporal. In 2 weeks (about) more he was made Sgt. and a week or so afterward he was again 1st Sgt., and Strack went back to his own platoon, and everybody was much happier.
1st Lt. Lonabaugh was a little older than some of the OTC people – from Illinois I think. He was married, had 2 kids as I remember, and was by profession a lawyer. Not very big physically, but he soon gained the respect of the men in the outfit, and was a first class officer even tho he was on of the “90 day wonders.”
1st. Lt Seaberry (sp?) was a very poor specimen of the genus West Point. He was overbearing and totally uncaring about any of the needs of the troops. He was very invictive [vindictive?], petty and loved to ride any G.I. he had a chance to and continuous. He got under everybody’s hide, including Capt. Ennis.
When we left Camp de [Souge?] or how[ever] they spell it near Bordeaux for the Chateau Thierry front, we left on trucks with men sitting on top of ammo and 6” Stokes mortars – heels over the side – mostly if not all “Nash Quads,” the drivers and 1 officer on each truck or a senior N.C.O. by the driver. Most of the trucks were loaded – motors running ready to head north or at least toward the front when Seaberry came hurrying up, saluted and asked, “Which truck to ride on, Capt. Ennis?” Ennis looked him up and down and said, “None of them Lt. Seaberry. You will report to Base Hdqtrs. for reassignment. You know and I know how you have treated the men in this command, and while I can’t control your actions I will not be responsible for your death, and you know you would not last 30 minutes once we get within sound or range of shellfire. Dismissed.” He was still standing there when we pulled out. I was less than 10 ft. away when it happened.
I remember Sgt. “Sorry” well, he was a cpl. under Strack. When we left Torfu, France on foot to go to the railroad about 3 miles to ride into St. Nazaire, where we embarked for home, one of “Sorry’s” squad was missing. Found he was dead drunk – of course that would foul up the paperwork on the whole battery. So “Sorry” promised to have him sober by the time we reached the train. He did.
“Sorry” divided his own pack and the drunk’s between men in his own squad, and we started, “Sorry” trying to get the man walking, and every time he fell down “Sorry” would put his hobnail boot into his anatomy someplace until he was on his feet again. At first it took several kicks to get him up, but as the miles went past it took less and less, and at the railroad where we waited about an hour the man fell very seldom, and “Sorry” had to move rapidly to get in one kick. I suppose now that would be ‘police brutality,” but it sobered that ‘bohunk” up and kept him sober until we at least reached New York. “Bohunkus” told me the next day that he was black and blue everywhere except his face.
Yalbaluski was a big “Pole” whose father had handled logs all his life – incidentally he had graduated from his hi-school or its equivalent in Poland before coming to the US. He also cost me $1.25 along with 3 other G.I.s. At Camp Greene they burned wood in the field ranges and the incinerator, so the logs – turpentine pine – were sawed in 5 ft. lengths, and if too heavy for two men were rolled on cross poles and carried by four men. It was about 50 yds. or so up to where they were split up to shove into the stoves. This one time 4 of us were trying to get this log balanced for carrying, when “Vab” came by and remarked that if we 4 would load it on his shoulders, he could carry it by himself, and had $5.00 to bet on it. Each of us dug up $1.25 and somebody held the stakes. It took a little maneuvering on our part to put it across his shoulders and the back of his neck. With his hands to steady it he carried it there and dumped it off, collected his stake and the winnings. We rolled the kitchen scales out and weighed it – 550 lbs. We didn’t bet against “Vab” any more.
My spelling never good requires me to look up words quite often, and sometimes I can’t even remember near enough “how to” to find it in the dictionary.
It’s now 6:15am and I think my Sunday paper is here, so I’ll quit now. The Sunday crossword answer is in such fine print that I can hardly read it with a magnifying glass – one more small thing that blindness brings home to roost.
Always glad to hear from you.
Best of luck to you and yours,
Dawson
January 30, 1980
Dear Jim,
“Big Red” also 567 129
Glad to hear from you and hope you have nice weather in Florida. My only time there was some years ago for a week in the summer time with Mrs. Dawson, and it rained at least once a day everyday, and one day some 3 ½ inches, a total of 16 plus inches – supposedly a record which cured me of Florida.
Your information brought back very faint memories of something long forgotten. I did not see the episode altho there is some recollection of hearing about it. It had to have occurred at De Souge, as that was the only place we fired the 6” English Stokes mortar until we got to St. Mihiel, and the only place where there was sand. God knows that the hole where you and Dave took over the phone – I took the field glasses – Sgt. Gilmore of the 16th was dead and Capt. Al [whatever) was crouching in the corner scared green, there was no sand.
There were several outstanding events at De Souge in my memory:
1) When we stole about 200 ft. of the narrow gauge track from the Chinese camp about a mile away, where it was rumored the French had 3000 laborers , and the howl they put up about us, yowling in Chinese with their pig tails swinging, clad in black cloth pajamas. It took a few shots from a forty-five fired in the air by our sentries a couple of nights to stop any attempts to recover the loot. I know, I was one of those on guard duty.
2) When I saw Pvt. Stubbs holding a detonating cartridge between his thumb and forefinger [of his] left hand at the entrance to one of the gun emplacements, and a claw hammer in his right hand, wondering what would happen if he hit it. I persuaded him to wait while I got around the first inside barrier. We heard the explosion and went out to find him with his thumb and two fingers gone and his belly full of bits of brass casing. We left him in the hospital and heard afterward that he recovered, got 10 yrs. in Leavenworth and a “bob tail” discharge for self-mutilation.
3) For some of my many (no doubt) derelictions I got the #1 post for 4 or 6 straight weeks – on the 10pm to 2am tour. The plank 12” wide and 16 or 20 ft. long in front of Hdqts. with the OD just inside, just 20 ft. right turn, 20 ft. left turn, etc. for 4 mortal hours. I thought then and still do that I got a raw deal.
4) The Bastille Day parade July 14, 1918 in Bordeaux, which since we had won the trophy for Ennis at Camp Greene as the best drilled unit there, had won the honor of leading the parade, passing in front of Field Marshall Joffre, the one-armed hero* of Verdun and other VIPs. And since I, having had more infantry close order drill due to time spent at KSAC now KSU, a land grant college, at the last minute was stripped of my .45 belt etc., given a belt full of .30-06 and a rifle, and given #4 of the front rank 1st platoon to be guide on for the whole route. I think it was 7 plus kilometers. I know I had to lift the gun off my shoulder when it was over, as I could not move that elbow and it was some hours later that the feeling in my right arm returned to normal.
* Margin note: Joffre had both arms, Gouraud was the “one-armed hero,” but don’t think he was at Verdun. - Dawson's grandson Richard Meixsel
Hope some of these reminiscence[s] will be of interest to you.
Write when you have time and the notion. I will [be] glad to hear, even tho I may not be able to answer any questions if they are asked.
Best of luck,
Hubert A. Dawson
Dear Jim,
“Big Red” also 567 129
Glad to hear from you and hope you have nice weather in Florida. My only time there was some years ago for a week in the summer time with Mrs. Dawson, and it rained at least once a day everyday, and one day some 3 ½ inches, a total of 16 plus inches – supposedly a record which cured me of Florida.
Your information brought back very faint memories of something long forgotten. I did not see the episode altho there is some recollection of hearing about it. It had to have occurred at De Souge, as that was the only place we fired the 6” English Stokes mortar until we got to St. Mihiel, and the only place where there was sand. God knows that the hole where you and Dave took over the phone – I took the field glasses – Sgt. Gilmore of the 16th was dead and Capt. Al [whatever) was crouching in the corner scared green, there was no sand.
There were several outstanding events at De Souge in my memory:
1) When we stole about 200 ft. of the narrow gauge track from the Chinese camp about a mile away, where it was rumored the French had 3000 laborers , and the howl they put up about us, yowling in Chinese with their pig tails swinging, clad in black cloth pajamas. It took a few shots from a forty-five fired in the air by our sentries a couple of nights to stop any attempts to recover the loot. I know, I was one of those on guard duty.
2) When I saw Pvt. Stubbs holding a detonating cartridge between his thumb and forefinger [of his] left hand at the entrance to one of the gun emplacements, and a claw hammer in his right hand, wondering what would happen if he hit it. I persuaded him to wait while I got around the first inside barrier. We heard the explosion and went out to find him with his thumb and two fingers gone and his belly full of bits of brass casing. We left him in the hospital and heard afterward that he recovered, got 10 yrs. in Leavenworth and a “bob tail” discharge for self-mutilation.
3) For some of my many (no doubt) derelictions I got the #1 post for 4 or 6 straight weeks – on the 10pm to 2am tour. The plank 12” wide and 16 or 20 ft. long in front of Hdqts. with the OD just inside, just 20 ft. right turn, 20 ft. left turn, etc. for 4 mortal hours. I thought then and still do that I got a raw deal.
4) The Bastille Day parade July 14, 1918 in Bordeaux, which since we had won the trophy for Ennis at Camp Greene as the best drilled unit there, had won the honor of leading the parade, passing in front of Field Marshall Joffre, the one-armed hero* of Verdun and other VIPs. And since I, having had more infantry close order drill due to time spent at KSAC now KSU, a land grant college, at the last minute was stripped of my .45 belt etc., given a belt full of .30-06 and a rifle, and given #4 of the front rank 1st platoon to be guide on for the whole route. I think it was 7 plus kilometers. I know I had to lift the gun off my shoulder when it was over, as I could not move that elbow and it was some hours later that the feeling in my right arm returned to normal.
* Margin note: Joffre had both arms, Gouraud was the “one-armed hero,” but don’t think he was at Verdun. - Dawson's grandson Richard Meixsel
Hope some of these reminiscence[s] will be of interest to you.
Write when you have time and the notion. I will [be] glad to hear, even tho I may not be able to answer any questions if they are asked.
Best of luck,
Hubert A. Dawson