Sunday will be the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I. In commemoration, I am sharing a photograph of my grandfather, who served in the war. In 1917 he was a nineteen-year old clerk in a Milwaukee bank. He and his brother John, both sons of German immigrants, volunteered in hope of getting a more favorable posting rather than waiting for the draft to catch up with them.
My grandfather got the lucky draw: he ended up serving as a typist in a North Carolina army training camp, but John went to France where he was badly gassed and sent back home. John recovered, but was never quite the same either physically or mentally. My grandfather looked after him for the rest of John’s sadly short life, considering it a small price to pay.
My own father was named after John, and I had the great privilege to know my grandfather quite well. He had a mind like a steep trap and shared countless fascinating details about life in the army camp, military politics, and life after the war. I learned so much from his insight into German-American immigrant culture and life in American cities as the industrial revolution got underway. I’ve ultimately funneled a lot of that insight into my novels, and I sometimes wonder what he would think if he knew how big a role he played in shaping my novels.
Some of my fellow authors have also posted stories about their family members who were involved in the war. You can read about them here: http://bethanyfiction.com/2018/11/08/ww1/