Over the Backyard Fence

Today is a day we pay homage to all those soldiers who did not come home. It is about remembering those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.

Among a box of genealogical notes from Dan's mom, I came across some documents about someone who hasn't been thought of by anyone that I know of for a long time.

Earl Mountain was 18 years old when he enlisted in the army in 1917. He was the youngest brother of Dan's grandmother, the son of Edward and Ollie Mountain . He and 10 other young men from the town of Ada, Kansas, enlisted together in the artillery branch of the army. He would be the first casualty for the small farm community.

As I scanned through the few letters that were saved, letters from him to his mother and she to him, and the letters to the family from fellow soldiers, I tried to glean what information I could about Earl, tried to imagine what kind of a young man he was.

He was known as the 'big guy' to his friends, he was a good football player, well educated, and dear to his family. The soldier who was with him when he died wrote to his parents and said Earl "was the bravest and most sincere man I ever knew." He had a deep faith in God that was nurtured through the members of the family church in Ada.

Reading through the letters between he and his mother, I couldn't help but well up, imagining Ollie as she knit the hats she sent to him, worrying and praying as she cast on stitches. (From Earl: They must be brown or cannot be worn unless under something else). Earl writes to her about the big, black horse he was assigned to ride while in training before going overseas. It has no name, so I think I will call it Jip. . .  I'd rather ride a horse than in an auto . . . He writes about how he and some other fellows would go out riding bareback every morning. 

On May 3, 1918, Earl's unit was near the little town of La Croix/Meuse in France. The letters written later to his parents describe how Earl and Corporal Williams of Evansville, Indiana, were in the front line trench when the Field Artillery were backing up the 9th Infantry. In the middle of the night, four German soldiers dressed as French Officers came up to the trench. Two entered the dugout and started yelling at the Americans in French, Allez! Les Boches!  rushing them out before they could pick up their weapons.

In the moments that ensued, Earl, suddenly realizing that they'd been duped, fought back and was hit by a grenade by one of the Germans. Corporal Williams was taken prisoner. Left for dead Earl was later picked up by infantrymen and taken to a field hospital where he was able to tell his story before he died 36 hours later.

Earl was buried at Morville, in a pretty little French cemetery beside another member of his battery.  After the war, when his family was able to receive him at home, they buried him in the local cemetery in Ada, Kansas.

I've been thinking about Earl and his family a lot today. I wanted to write this so that he is not forgotten, and that his story is remembered. I think about Ollie and Ed Mountain, the heartache they must have felt, the grief that never went away. War steals so much, the men and women who die, and the generations that would have followed. I know that now, over 100 years later, Earl and his family are reunited. But, as one mother to another, I can't help but feel Ollie's grief for what could have been.