History That Doesn't Suck - 148: Tales of Christmas from World War I (A Truce, Plum Pudding, and Love)
Episode Date: December 4, 2023“The circumstances under which we are spending this particular Christmas are unusual.” This is the story of the Christmases of World War I. Germans and British troops, singing carols together. F...rench and German troops, kicking, playing sports and exchanging treats. It may not last, but for a brief moment–for Christmas of 1914–these opposing armies refuse the orders of their superiors as they temporarily “beat their swords into plowshares and spears into pruninghooks.” In the years ahead, the United States’ forces have their own Christmas celebrations “over there.” In 1917, New York’s Harlem Rattlers, or Hellfighters, sing and celebrate as they travel to France. In 1918, all ranks of the AEF–be they doughboys or Hello Girls–celebrate a post-armistice Christmas. We’ll catch a speech by the president and a Christmas Bash at Black Jack Pershing’s headquarters where George Patton eats way too much plum pudding. And then, we’ll say goodbye to Black Jack. With a loving Christmas connection years down the road, it’s time to lay him to rest with his beloved doughboys in Arlington. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
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The Civil War and Reconstruction
was a pivotal era in American history.
When a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves.
And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over
turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans.
I'm Tracy.
And I'm Rich.
And we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history.
Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts.
It's a cold early morning, December 24th, 1914.
We're in Belgium's western region known as Flanders,
not far from the town of Ypres in the Plugstert Wood,
or Plug Street Wood, as the men of the London Rifle Brigade put it.
These lads are holding a deep trench that tears through these thinly forested,
grayish-green rolling hills, and right now,
as those who slept last night start to wake up,
they breathe deeply.
It's such a fresh air.
A Christmas air.
Well, maybe it's just that the biting cold and recent snow
have chased off the trench's usual chloride and lime odor.
But no matter.
As rifleman Bernard Brooks peers over the top at the fresh white snow,
masking the grotesque reality of that barren no-man's land before him, he sees what he calls a Christmas
card Christmas Eve. His fellow rifleman, Graham Williams, agrees. It's a welcome respite from
their harsh and death-filled life on the Western Front. Okay, let's allow the London Rifle Brigade to take in this
brief moment of morning peace while I fill you in on their situation. The Great War has been raging
for just a few months now, but already, the death of men counted by the thousands has gone from
cataclysmic to normal, as a series of opposing trenches have spread from the Swiss border to
the English Channel, forming what we now call the Western Front.
The line now held by these Brits, these Tommies, are the result of the first and deadly Battle
of Ypres.
Named for the Belgian city only 8 miles from these woods, this two-month slaughter sent
60,000 Brits and 130,000 Germans to their graves.
This specific battle is now over, and the region is fairly
quiet for the moment. But good God, what a devastating reality check. Any hope that the
Allied or Central Powers once had that this war would be over by Christmas is long gone.
Yet, even as Europe's warring nations refuse to beat their swords into plowshares and spears
into pruning hooks, the new Catholic Pope, Benedict XV, has not given up hope that these armies, populated and led by so many Christians,
might, just for Christmas, cease the slaughter as they reflect on the Prince of Peace.
The Pope made this plea on December 7, 1914, calling for a truce so that,
quote, the guns may fall silent at least upon the night the angel
sang, close quote, but no dice. Neither side trusts the other. Moreover, military leaders
are taking steps to ensure that these troops don't get any ideas of their own. Orders have
come down to these British troops that, quote, friendly intercourse with the enemy, unofficial armistices,
and the exchange of tobacco and other comforts,
however tempting and occasionally amusing they may be,
are absolutely prohibited, close quote.
Thus it is that even on a Christmas card Christmas Eve,
both sides must remain vigilant and ready to fight.
And with that background,
let's return to the London Rifle Brigade. It's still fairly early in the morning, Christmas Eve,
1914. Our rifle-wielding London lads are filling their empty stomachs with some breakfast.
Not far from Graham Williams sits a soldier named Bassingham. Everyone knows this popular soldier.
Bassingham has lifted their war-weary hearts countless times with his beautiful singing voice.
But as they sit, chatting and eating,
a single rifle shot rings out through the cold, clear Christmas evening air.
Bassingham slumps over.
Blood trickles and pools from his lifeless head.
The London Rifle Brigade will never enjoy
his friendship or voice again. The men look silently at their fallen mate. He's the first
casualty in a good while, but a far cry from the first. They know loss. They know death.
They know what to do. Respectfully, the Londoners remove his body from the bottom of the trench.
They now await nightfall, when they'll be able to more safely and tear poor Bassingham in the cold ground
of Flanders Fields. It's now late that same night, sometime after 11, perhaps even midnight.
Graham Williams is on sentry duty, standing on the raised portion
of the trench called the Fire Step, gazing out toward the German lines. All he can think about
is how different this is from all his other Christmases. No rum punch, no loving family.
Rather, Graham is spending this Christmas Eve, as he'll later recall, standing in a waterlogged
trench in a muddy Flemish field,
staring out over the flat, empty, and desolate countryside with no signs of life. But just then,
Graham takes note of something in the German trenches. Are those lights? What on earth might
those cruel Germans, the Hun, or the Bosch, as the French prefer to call this foe, be up to now.
Graham stares across no man's land. They've lit candles and they're placing them on trees.
Those are Christmas trees. Graham and the other sentries wake everyone on duty.
British soldiers stream out of their shelters to steal a look at this glimmer of Christmas cheer.
Then, from somewhere in the German trenches, floating in the frigid night's air,
across no man's land and into the Allied lines, comes a song.
What is it?
The Brits are used to hearing the Germans sing Deutschland über alles,
but this?
Graham doesn't know this tune, though he will one day,
as it will soon gain popularity in the English-speaking world.
Well, whatever it is, it's beautiful.
As the Germans finish, the Brits answer in kind,
singing the first Noel.
Now the Germans applaud, and they answer with O Tannenbaum.
But then, after a bit more back-and and forth caroling, something truly magical happens.
The Brits start singing, O Come All Ye Faithful.
Ah, the Germans know this one.
This song that urges Christians to adore the king of angels, Christ the Lord.
They know it in Latin as Edeste Fidelis.
And so, they join in. In this moment, these warring parties,
dressed separately in gray and khaki uniforms,
sent here to kill one another,
can feel their enmity melting away
as they forego the exchange of bullets
to share in a worshipful song of love.
Yes, for this brief moment,
they are not combative soldiers,
but united brothers.
And as the candles burn, these brothers sing carol after carol in the early, dark hours of Christmas morning.
This organic Christmas truce, so well recorded by Graham Williams and others, doesn't happen everywhere on the Western Front.
But I'm happy to say it isn't unique. Such scenes play out at various points across these war-torn lines.
Most British sources credit the Germans in leading the way with carols at night
and exiting the trenches in the morning, but the Germans likewise credit the Brits.
I'm sure both are correct, all depending on the section. But whoever leads, be it the Brits. I'm sure both are correct, all depending on the section. But whoever leads,
be it the Brits, French, or other allies opposite the Germans, these spontaneous Christmas truces
allow both sides to bury their dead, to make their trenches more livable, and to fraternize
with one another. In one section, French poilus and German troops exchange champagne and cigarettes.
Ernie Williams of the 6th Battalion, Cheshire Regiment,
will later recall his astonishment
when the Germans pull out a proper football,
sorry, soccer ball for our American listeners.
Only a 19-year-old British soldier at the time,
Ernie is thrilled,
and soon he's kicking the ball around
with hundreds of other men, German and British alike.
In some places, this truce will only
last one day, in others weeks. But here, in Ploegstert Wood, it will hold astonishingly
well, enduring nearly until Easter. No matter how long their individual Christmas truces
last, all the soldiers involved, be they British, French, Belgian, or German, will always remember
this moment when they miraculously manage to pause the war to remember and celebrate their shared
humanity. Indeed, the unique, transcendent Christmas truce of 1914 is just as Sherlock
Holmes author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle describes it in his history of the first year of the Great War,
and I quote, one human episode amid all the atrocities which have stained the memory of the first year of the Great War, and I quote, one human episode amid all
the atrocities which have stained the memory of the war.
Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck.
I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story.
Welcome to our sixth annual HTDS Christmas special.
And after some 20 episodes focused on the Great War,
it only feels right that this year's Christmas stories come from the American front.
Okay, I know the famous Christmas truce of 1914 was long before America's entry,
but I couldn't very well skip this loving scene that only happened during World War I's
first Christmas. While it's true that soldiers strike other unofficial truces in the years ahead,
only this first holiday season brought the war such a unique silent night.
But with that taste of the famous Christmas truce, we now pivot to spend a few Christmases
with some of the people we've met in recent episodes serving over there in the American Expeditionary Force,
or the AEF.
We'll start with those brave New Yorkers
we met in episode 138, the 15th New York,
better known as the 369th, the Harlem Hellfighters,
or as they preferred, the Harlem Rattlers.
We'll meet them as they deploy for France,
longing for their families and sweethearts
just before Christmas in 1917.
It's a stressful time, but they more than make the most of it. From there, we'll press into 1918
to take a brief glimpse of how the gun-silencing armistice of November 11th is driving some
interfaith holiday celebrations back in the States. But since the AEF can't return home just yet,
we'll stay in France for Christmas as President Woodrow Wilson meets some of the troops, and AEF Commander Black Jack Pershing throws a Christmas bash, at which George Patton eats far too much.
We'll then follow Black Jack's story to its end, to his death in 1948, because, well, although he passes in the summer, his death has a Christmas connection.
But you have to wait for that.
I'm not giving that part away.
Sounds like our path is set.
So let's get to some bittersweet Great War American Christmases,
starting with the old 15th New York as they prepare to head across the Atlantic.
Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!
It's November 11th, 1917.
We're at the Armory
on the corner of 92nd Street and Park Avenue,
New York City,
where the 15th New York,
also known by their federalized designation
as the 369th,
but better known as the Harlem Rattlers or Hellfighters,
are packing it up and moving out. Again. Yes, the Rattlers have moved quite a bit of late.
Only last month, these Black Doughboys began training at a camp in Spartanburg,
South Carolina, but the realities and tensions of the Jim Crow South put an end to that in a
matter of two weeks. There were no complaints when the regiment came back north,
neither from the troops nor local residents.
But now, as a result of that uncomfortable situation
and lack of facilities in which they can train without facing discrimination,
the Rattlers are once again moving out.
They're heading straight to France and will finish their training there.
Colonel William Hayward bellows out,
The words send a shiver down the spine of the gifted Harlem musician, Sergeant Noble Sissel, aka Sis, as the reality of going overseas hits him.
This is so abrupt. He's not alone in his thoughts. Everywhere he hears soldiers making similar
complaints. Says one, gee, I have not told my folks goodbye.
Another exclaims,
What kind of army is this?
Here I got to leave that brown-skinned gal of mine without last goodbye?
Another rattler answers him sarcastically,
Sing them blues, brother.
But nothing hits Sis harder than the words of his fellow musician, Lieutenant Jim Mura.
Leaning in close, Jim
whispers to Sis, I'm sure sorry I sent you in after those papers in Spartansburg. Here, the man
has kicked us right to France. Oh, Jim meant no harm in the comment. On the contrary, he's joking
around. But Sis had clean forgotten the humiliation of that day when that Spartansburg
hotelier literally kicked his backside, driving him from the establishment for daring to try to
buy a newspaper. Suddenly, all the shame and embarrassment of those kicks come crashing back
down on Sis's memory. But then, the bugle sounds as the colonel calls out, Forward march!
Sis tries to let it all go as he raises his blue-corded, brass-knobbed hickory stick high in the air,
then brings it down, signaling forward march to the whole regiment.
Simultaneously, the more than 3,000 well-disciplined black doughboys step forward in lockstep,
marching down 92nd Street toward the East River, where city
excursion boats await, ready to transport them to Hoboken, New Jersey. From there, the
Rattlers will ship out to the 564-foot-long, 17-year-old-seized German steamer now known
as the Pocahontas and head to France.
The Rattlers secretly board the Pocahontas that night.
They are the first black troops to disembark for France.
But only three days later and 150 miles out to sea,
one of the ship's engines throws a piston rod,
forcing the ship to return to port in Hoboken.
And so, the Harlem Rattlers wait,
but without complaint,
as this means getting to say those last goodbyes after all,
even if that means going AWOL to do so. But finally, come December 2nd, it's time.
These Harlem Doughboys climb aboard the repaired Pocahontas, ready to sail for France and take part
in the Great War. Or so they would, if coal stored deep in the ship's hull didn't somehow combust
the next day. This explosion destroys the coal bunkers, forcing their ship back to New Jersey yet again for repairs.
The repairs are made. A new coal supply is loaded.
On December 12, 1917, a week and a half after their last failed departure,
the Harlem Rattlers board the Pocahontas for the third time,
ready to steam across the
Atlantic as a part of the American Expeditionary Force and do their part in the Great War.
And they would, if not for the blizzard that strikes that very night.
Again, the Harlem Rattlers find their ship forced back to the dock. And if that isn't enough,
a British oil tanker drifts into the Pocahontas during the night,
tearing metal plates off of the starboard side.
So once again, the ship undergoes repairs.
But there's no way these men are going back yet again.
So, soldiers and sailors with experience in the trades take up the work themselves.
Working in the freezing cold of 10 degrees and above an ice-chunk-laden
ocean, the men complete the necessary repairs, allowing the ship to leave with a convoy that
night. This time, it's for real. But if you thought their troubles at sea were over,
think again. Because no American vessel is without troubles when German U-boats are in the waters. It's a frigid night, December 24th, 1917,
Christmas Eve. But to the musical sergeant, Noble Sissel, now standing on the Pocahontas' deck,
there's not much about the ice-cold wind and churning Atlantic Ocean that feels like a holiday.
See, as their ship draws closer to France's shores,
they've entered what's called the danger zone. That is, the waters in which German submarines,
aka U-boats, are most likely to unleash an unseen and deadly torpedo. That's why Sis,
all his fellow doughboys, and the ship's whole crew are in full uniform and not lighting anything not a lamp not even a
cigarette the smallest flash of light is all the germans need to spot them and if that happens
their next stop won't be france but the bottom of the ocean it's with these stressful thoughts
that sis and a few others stand on deck this Christmas Eve, casting longing looks back toward home.
His mind drifts right along with the rise and fall of the Pocahontas as it steams through the Atlantic's dark waters. But then, a sound snaps Cis back to reality. What is that? Is that singing?
It is. And it's coming from below deck. Cis knows the song. The title is Steal Away, an old spiritual
that enslaved black Americans first sang on plantations. Its meaning and power hasn't
decreased with time. Sis listens as one voice joins with many. I'll let him describe it.
There would rise from the hatch a strain of heavenly harmony that would sweep from one section of the hole to another,
and in perfect harmony, you would hear the resonant melody come floating up through the hatchways.
As you get closer, you would become conscious that you were really listening to a sincere voice,
calling on Almighty God in fervent prayer, asking God to protect the
mothers and loved ones at home, that we might be able to give our services so that this would be
a better place to live in, that all mankind was created free and equal in God's sight,
and would be given an equal chance to live and enjoy the pursuits of peace
and happiness.
In the morning, Christmas morning, the men of the 15th New York get the best Christmas
present they could have asked for, an escort of destroyers. These powerful warships encircle
the Pocahontas as three airplanes fly overhead.
What a relief!
It feels like nothing less than a Christmas miracle.
It seems the good Lord has heard the Harlem Rattlers' prayers.
And the day only gets better.
The ship's captain ensures that the whole regiment enjoys a proper Christmas dinner.
Turkey for all, and cranberry sauce no less.
The chaplain prays, and the men dig in while Sis leads K Company's quartet.
Lieutenant Jim Europe soon jumps in, tickling the ivories.
And before too long, bradlers of all ranks are seen.
We of course know the hell that lies ahead for these brave black troops.
We know this from episode 138.
They will face hard fighting and will do so with
such courage that France will decorate the whole regiment for their undeniable valor. In other
words, this is the last Christmas some of these singing, laughing New Yorkers will ever see.
So enjoy the day, you brave sons of Harlem. Live or die, you deserve this final Merry Christmas
before facing the horrors of Great
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In life, interact. Christmas 1917 will be their last, is not short. From Cantigny to the blood-soaked wheat fields
and trees of Belleau Wood, to the red-tinged waters of the Marne River, the dead at Saint-Miel,
and the absolute slaughter at the Musargon, bullets, mortars, gas, artillery, and disease
all do their part in putting well over 100,000 young soldiers of the American Expeditionary Force
in graves before the armistice of November 11, 1918. Surely, their collective millions of friends
and family members back in the States missed them mightily that December. Many will miss seeing
their laughing, smiling faces sipping on eggnog for countless Decembers to come. Yet the holiday season of 1918 isn't as mournful
as that last sentence might sound.
The armistice fills Americans with deep gratitude
as Thanksgiving approaches.
Indeed, this feeling of thanks hits so forcefully
that it creates an interfaith bond
as the nation's Christians and Jews combine two holidays
about giving thanks and celebrating miracles.
See, it just so happens that, in 1918, the first day of Hanukkah falls on Thanksgiving.
This leads to combined services across the nation, from a German language service at the
Balk Street Synagogue in Akron, Ohio, to an address by Rabbi Stephen Wise to a congregation
of Presbyterians at the Free Synagogue in Manhattan.
But the victory seen in Yonkers is particularly impressive. Here, Reverend Wendell Keel and
Father Richard O'Hughes deliver sermons, a crowd of 3,000 joins in with a massive choir to sing
the Star-Spangled Banner, and finally, Rabbi Gabriel Shulman offers a benediction. To quote
Mayor William Wallen's opening speech,
not since there appeared to those lonely shepherds
on the hills of Bethlehem, the angel of the Lord,
has there been echoed through any land a song so joyful
as the one now being sung
throughout the length and breadth of America.
But grateful as Americans are for the end of the fighting,
Uncle Sam's doughboy nephews won't be home for Christmas. Not in 1918 at any rate. As we know from the past two episodes, an armistice is not
the same as a peace treaty. And so, even though the guns are silent, General Black Jack Pershing
and his now million-strong AEF must remain in France, ready to recommence hostilities if terms
are not honored. This doesn't only mean the men on the front. Let's remember the many men and women who hold
the combined American forces together from behind the lines, like the Service of Supply,
our Red Cross nurses, and those brilliant, bilingual, switchboard-operating women we
met in Episode 139, the Hello Girls. Lieutenant Colonel Roy H. Coles understands and appreciates
the crucial role that the Hello Girls have played in the war and wants them to know of his
appreciation for their continued sacrifice of being away from home for the holidays.
He writes to them on Christmas Day, 1918, quote,
The circumstances under which we are spending this particular Christmas are unusual.
The consciousness of your skillful performance
and the realization that you have contributed in no small measure to the success which has
crowned our arms are your recompenses." That same Christmas day, President Woodrow
Wilson sees several thousand khaki-clad doughboys. Having just come to France for the yet-to-begin peace conference,
the professorial president visits the AEF training center located a little less than 200 miles
southeast of Paris, near the town of Langres. Dressed in a top hat and fine fur coat,
Woodrow stands with his wife Edith, General Blackjack Pershing, and other dignitaries on
a wooden platform as thousands of American soldiers parade
across the open, muddy field. It's a fine display. Black Jack then says a few words and introduces
the president, who, in turn, addresses these young Americans whose hard fighting and sacrifices
have played a pivotal role in leading to the war-ending negotiations that will start in a
matter of weeks. So how does the president's speech go?
Although Woodrow says all the right things, it doesn't go great. Major General James L. Collins
says that the president, and I quote, lacked fire and fell flat. Well, despite being a wartime
president, Woodrow's never felt comfortable in a military setting, and perhaps his mind is on that
unhappy Congress back home, or his still unfinished draft of the covenant for his proposed League of Nations.
So I guess we'll cut the guy some slack.
But thankfully, once the serious-minded president takes off, Blackjack can bring a bit more Christmas cheer to his boys.
Or at least least his officers. It's Christmas evening, December 25th, 1918. We're in Chaumont,
France, at AEF Commander Blackjack Pershing's headquarters for a veritable Christmas feast.
The invitees include Blackjack's current staff, as well as others near and dear to the American
Commander, like his nephew, Captain Frank Pershing, as well as temporary-ranked Lieutenant Colonel George S.
Patton. Yes, George may not have fully recovered from that machine gun fire he took to the thigh
last September, but the tank commander won't let that keep him from dining with his old mentor,
Blackjack, especially with plum pudding on the menu i'm not kidding george loves the stuff
so much blackjack cuts him off george will later joke in a letter to his aunt that the general
thereby saved my life the party only continues after dinner with a roaring fire and a gorgeous
christmas tree the officers and their guests dance the night away.
As for gifts, well, George Patton was the only one to bring any last year, so he figured he wouldn't this time around.
But it seems his former example has rubbed off on the group.
The wounded tank warrior is surprised to find himself overwhelmed by his gift-giving colleagues.
He receives a cigarette case, a pocketbook, cigars,
and a fine new scarf from Black Jack himself.
I'm sure George would prefer to be back home with his wife, Beatrice, and their two daughters.
But his later writings make it quite clear
that he's very much enjoying this Christmas
with his military family.
As the peace treaties are signed and the war truly ends,
the host of our 1918 Christmas bash,
Commander Black Jack Pershing and his doughboys return to the United States.
In doing so, many can't help but wonder,
will the famed leader of the largest American force ever assembled,
coming home victorious from the deadliest war the world has ever seen,
follow in the footsteps of his likewise famed predecessors, the Revolutionary Wars General George Washington and the Civil Wars General Ulysses S. Grant, by ascending to the office
of the president. Will Blackjack run for the White House in 1920? No, it's just not for him.
In fact, when his friend Sally Fryer asks him about running,
Blackjack responds,
Do you think I'm a damn fool?
But there is one last promotion to come.
Congress names Blackjack General of the Armies.
It's a title that he will share exclusively
with his famed Revolutionary War and Civil War predecessors,
though they both received this rank posthumously
and not for
decades yet to come. George Washington will be named General of the Armies during the nation's
bicentennial in 1976. Ulysses will likewise be so honored in 2023. Dodging politics, Blackjack
simply continues his career in the Army. He serves as the Chief of Staff of the United States Army from 1921 to 1924.
In this position, he builds up the Army school system, thus making use of his early experience
as an educator back in Missouri so many years ago. Blackjack retires, but only in the sense that
he keeps working, settling a border dispute between Peru and Chile in 1926 and writing his
memoirs in 1931. He lives to see the Second War, though
the octogenarian can only read about it from his office in Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C.
It's here that his heart fails. Blackjack passes away on July 15, 1948.
The old mustachioed general of the armies had two requests regarding his death.
First, he wished to be buried with his valiant World War I soldiers in Arlington National Cemetery.
Of course, general, a grateful nation must first mourn this fallen hero,
which includes Black Jack's body lying in state at the U.S. Capitol.
But four days later, on July 19th, he is indeed laid to rest in a humble and simple grave
with his doughboys in Arlington.
It rains that day.
Even still, 300,000 people stand at attention
as the general of the army's casket passes.
Among them are two generals
who came up through West Point together, both of whom
we haven't met, but most certainly will come to know well in later episodes. Generals Dwight D.
Eisenhower and Omar Bradley. As the rain continues to fall, Dwight turns to his fellow commander
and asks about getting out of this downpour, saying, Brad, what do you think?
Bradley responds,
Black Jack Pershing, I think it would be proper if we walked in the rain.
Upon reaching Arlington National Cemetery, it falls to Chaplain Luther D. Miller to speak.
So many men who served under Black Jack Pershing are here.
Some are those who served under him as young men,
only to bear the burden of leadership
in that second and even more devastating world war,
which has so recently ended.
Men like President Harry Truman
and Secretary of State George C. Marshall.
Looking out on such a crowd,
the chaplain pays tribute to their former commander
with fitting words.
The march of another soldier is ended.
His battles are all fought and his victories all won, and he lies down to rest while awaiting
the bugle's call. Rest in peace, Blackjack. I know you will. How can you not? You're with your doughboys.
But wait, if Blackjack's first request upon his death was to be laid to rest with his men,
what was his second? Ah, this request goes to the only member of his family to survive
that horrible house fire we heard about in episode 133, the one that took his wife Frankie
and three daughters, his son Warren. Upon his death, Blackjack wanted Warren to give a
letter to Micheline Rescoe, his second wife. That's right. The heartbroken widower general
did find love again. He and Micheline married in secret in 1946. So who is this mystery woman?
Blackjack met Micheline all the way back when the U.S. first entered World
War I at a cocktail party in Paris during the summer of 1917. He was introduced to the 23-year-old
Romanian-born, short, blonde, Parisian portrait artist, and she immediately asked to paint him.
Blackjack readily accepted. From there, all we can say is that the two met often to
paint his portrait. As the relationship developed, he told can say is that the two met often to paint his portrait.
As the relationship developed, he told his chauffeur that she was teaching him French.
Apparently, Blackjack really enjoyed studying French. Okay, so Blackjack fell head over heels
for this petite Parisienne, but he tried to keep this all very hush-hush. To say nothing of their
almost 40-year age difference,
he'd also made his feelings about soldiers
fraternizing with French women very clear.
But despite the age gap
and Blackjack's do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do policies,
Micheline seemed to be just as in love with him.
A later newspaper article quotes her
as she explains keeping their relationship a secret because
I don't want to risk tarnishing his reputation at any price.
Blackjack couldn't forget about Micheline, not even after the war.
He visited her in Paris. She visited him in the States.
They always kept up their correspondence and eventually,
Blackjack paid the way to get her and her mother out of France
once the nation had fallen to the Nazis early in the Second World War.
Why am I telling you this love story in the midst of a Christmas episode?
Because the letter that Warren Pershing gives Micheline
on the day of Black Jack's funeral was penned by the Missourian at Christmastime
on December 20th, 1929. That's right. He wrote and saved that letter
for almost 20 years. So just what were these powerful emotions that made the gruff, fist
smashing, tough as nails, mustachioed Great War commander of the American Expeditionary Force,
one who could face down the most powerful generals
and armies of Europe,
grow so timid that for two decades
he couldn't express them to the petite woman
who eventually became his second wife,
that lone figure who could conquer
the general of the army's heart?
Well, let's peek over Micheline's shoulder
and read what Blackjack wrote to her so very many
Christmases ago on his Washington, D.C. stationery. My dear Michette, what a beautiful love has been
ours. How perfect the confidence and the communion. How happy have been the days we have spent
together. At the twilight of my life, God sent you to be near me.
In my hours of sadness, you have been my strength.
In my moments of triumph, you have been there to share them with me.
Ever since we first met, you have been in my thoughts by day and my dreams by night.
Your beauty, your greatness of soul, your brilliance of mind have been the
inspiration of the sincerest admiration and the purest love. I fain would think your presence,
unseen perhaps, has always filled my heart. As my dear companion in life, you must be with me
through eternity. I cannot but believe, Cherie,
that together we shall pluck the flowers that grow in some fairer land.
So, do not weep.
Be brave.
Say not goodbye, but say goodnight.
And in some brighter clime,
bid me good morning,
where you will hold me in your dear arms,
and I shall be your own.
In all the future,
the lingering fragrances of your kisses shall be fresh on my lips. As always, much love.
History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Episode research and written
by Greg Jackson and Will King.
Initial research and outlining by Darby Glass and Riley Neubauer.
Noble Sissel read by special guest Ray Christian, host of the What's Ray Saying podcast.
Stille Nacht, Vokam all je faithful, and Edestes Fidelis,
performed by Steve Nordstrom, Ian McDougall, and Tracy Hall.
Production by Airship.
Sound design by Molly Bach.
Theme music composed by Greg Jackson.
Arrangement and additional composition
by Lindsey Graham of Airship.
For bibliography of all primary and secondary sources
consulted in writing this episode,
visit htbspodcast.com.
HTDS is supported by premium membership fans.
You can join by clicking the link
in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. Thank you. John Boovey, John Keller, John Oliveros, John Radlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs, Justin May, Kristen Pratt, Karen Bartholomew, Cassie Conecco, Kim R., Kyle Decker, Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nick Seconder, Nick Caffrell, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goeringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphreys-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Theisen, Sean Baines,
Steve Williams,
The Creepy Girl,
Tisha Black,
and Zach Jackson.
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