Dear Reader,
My beat is money, markets, politics… and how they all tuck together.
Yet today is Veteran’s Day. And so I turn from the world of manna, from the election, from the rest of it to honor America’s martial veterans.
Specifically, I recall the sad, neglected history of Armistice Day itself — Nov. 11, 1918.
It is a tale of waste. It is a tale of tragedy. That is, it is a tale all too human.
At the 11th hour the guns went quiet on the Western Front… and the white doves of peace took wing.
By 5 a.m. that morning, official word came issuing.
The news went immediately fanning out across the Western Front, wafting even to the remotest switch trench.
The long, homicidal nightmare, beginning in August 1914, was ending — to the relief of all.
More accurately, I should say, to the relief of most.
Not all were eager to spike the cannons, stow the machine guns and lay down the rifles that morning.
Some wanted to keep the war god satiated and the bloodletting to keep going. Who were they? And why did they want to keep the homicide running? Historian Joseph Persico:
- Allied commanders wanted to punish the enemy to the very last moment, and career officers saw a fast-fading chance for glory and promotion.
Gen. John “Black Jack” Pershing, boss of American forces— for example — considered the armistice terms far too lenient on the Kaiser.
He was hot to teach the hell-sent Hun “a lesson.”
Thus Black Jack and his glory dogs reached for their lesson planners, grabbed the chalk and took to the blackboard.
The lesson they taught was ultimately a lesson in waste… written in blood.
Claw-mad for battle, the bloodlusters charted plans to raid German positions that morning — clear through to 11.
Not until the referee blew the whistle would they call a halt.
One divisional commander promised court-martial for any artillery chief who hadn’t gone through all his shells by 11.
Near 8 a.m. the furious assaults commenced…
American forces took a severe trouncing crossing the River Meuse that morning — a river they could have waded across unmolested had they only waited until 11.
Meantime, men of the 89th Division were ordered to seize the pinprick village of Stenay. Why?
So the men could bathe. That is correct — so the men could bathe.
The village housed public bathing facilities. And the 89th’s senior officer decided his grimy men should take the waters of the charming French village.
You may not believe it. Yet that was the explanation on offer.
The attack commenced. Perplexed and disbelieving German gunners attempted to wave off the marauding Americans:
“Was machen sie? Der Krieg ist vorbei!”
The reluctant Germans responded as they must.
The men of the 89th steeled their nerves, lowered their chins and stepped forth, as if proceeding into sheets of hail.
The war ended three hours later. Yet 61 men of the 89th would not see it.
They died not that others may live. They died rather that others may bathe.
Another 304 would take their baths not in Stenay but in a hospital… where they licked their needless wounds.
I hazard all 365 would have happily waited until 11:01 that morning — when the baths would have been theirs for the asking.
In all: At least 320 Americans fell dead that needless, crimson morning of Nov. 11, 1918. More than 3,240 suffered grievous wounds.
Why the needless bloodspilling… when peace was at immediate hand… and merely hours off?
The answer reduces to personal ambition.
The divisional chieftain who condemned 61 of his men to the grave that morning — purportedly to bathe — was a certain William Mason Wright.
This dracula received promotion to Executive Assistant to the Chief of Staff of the Army at war’s conclusion.
He was a “good soldier” to the end. He could claim the distinction, after all, of capturing the final American objective of the war.
And so he got his promotion.
A far less gaudy distinction fell to a young man under his command that morning of Nov. 11, 1918.
I refer here to Sgt. Henry Gunther, aged 23 years, of Baltimore, Maryland.
This poor fellow was the last allied fatality of that fateful morning — and of the Great War itself.
His time of death: 10:59 a.m.
The United States Army was so decent as to decorate Sgt. Gunther for “exceptional bravery and heroic action that resulted in his death one minute before the Armistice.”
Yet true decency would demand a formal apology from the same United States Army.
True decency would demand a formal apology for ordering Baltimore’s Sgt. Henry N. Gunther, aged 23 years, needlessly into battle three hours before peace.
True decency would demand a formal apology for cherishing this man’s existence less than the career ambitions of Gen. William Mason Wright.
True decency would demand not a promotion for the general, but a court-martial.
You deserved far better, Sgt.Gunther — far more than your decoration for exceptional bravery and heroic action.
You deserved a chance in life… the chance denied you that pointless morning of Nov. 11, 1918…
One minute before the doves flew.
Regards,
Brian Maher
for Freedom Financial News
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