Chris Gibbons: Remember Us

U.S. World War I Centennial Commission U.S. World War I Centennial Commission

As I walked along the nearly 60-foot-long bronze sculpture, Taps, which was played at the conclusion of the formal unveiling ceremony over an hour before, still hauntingly echoed in my mind. My eyes were riveted upon the sculpture’s statues which were now eerily illuminated against the encroaching darkness of the evening. The sculpture graphically depicts the journey and experiences of an American soldier in World War I, and its creator, Sabin Howard, designed it so that visitors to this new monument in Washington, D.C. would view it as a massive storybook with five distinct chapters: departure, initiation, ordeal, aftermath, and return.

I had been invited to attend this formal evening unveiling ceremony on September 13, 2024, by the Doughboy Foundation as I had written several articles published in their Doughboy Dispatch newsletter regarding my ongoing search for the alumni of Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School who gave their lives in World War I. Consequently, as I walked from left to right and gazed up at the sculptures within each chapter, the harrowing stories of the war experiences of Roman’s alumni that I had discovered over these last several years filled my thoughts. 

The opening chapter, “Departure,” depicts an American soldier leaving his wife and daughter. It immediately brought to mind Dr. Vincent Diodati from Roman’s Class of 1906 who enlisted the day the United States declared war on Germany in 1917, leaving behind his young wife and a successful medical practice. The British Army was in dire need of battlefield surgeons, and Diodati was immediately thrust into the hellish maelstrom of the Great War. When the war concluded almost two years later, Diodati was one of only fourteen survivors from his initial military unit of 220 men. He was awarded the British Military Cross for bravery in 1919. 

The next chapter of the sculpture, “Initiation,” portrays American soldiers preparing for war and it reminded me of the story of Raymond Hummell from Roman’s Class of 1911. On October 4, 1917, while on a training flight to become a fighter pilot in the French Aviation service, Hummell was killed when his plane was attacked by the enemy and plunged into the Seine River. 

The “Ordeal” chapter of the sculpture depicts the violence of combat and as I viewed the faces of the statues within this section, I remembered the words of the brother of Walter Wiegand from the Class of 1915. On September 29, 1918, Wiegand was killed during the great Meuse-Argonne offensive and his brother, Harold, later wrote of how he died: “His tank was hit by a German shell while between the enemy lines. He fought alone with a machine gun until killed. His body lies in the American National Cemetery of Guillmont Farms at Bony, France.” Wiegand fought alone before he died – what a painful thing for his family to know.

The next chapter, “Aftermath,” was the most difficult for me to view as the horrific battle experiences endured by numerous Roman alumni that I had discovered over the last several years overwhelmed me. The National Park Service website starkly but effectively describes this section of the sculpture: “The aftermath depicts the physical and mental wounds of the fighters…And here the turbulent, left-to-right narrative pauses, as the hero stops and looks directly at the viewer. The soldier’s look of shock and loss – the thousand-yard stare – along with the empty helmets piled at his feet, invite the viewer to stop and contemplate with him the costs of war.” 

Although I thought of all of the Roman alumni who fought during the Great War, the story of one alumnus in particular stood out as I viewed this section – John Jenkins from the Class of 1912. He fought in the battles of St. Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne, two of the bloodiest of the Great War with the Meuse-Argonne now having the distinction of being the largest and deadliest battle ever fought by U.S. soldiers. It was hard for me to imagine what Jenkins must have experienced during the war, but I was certain that he was scarred by wounds that no one could see. In 1941, at the age of 46 and suffering from mental depression and alcoholism, Jenkins killed himself by connecting a hose to his automobile’s exhaust pipe and running it through the car window as he sat in the front seat. I stared at the statue of the soldier in this section bearing an anguished “look of shock and loss” and couldn’t help but think of John Jenkins.

The final chapter, “Return,” prompted recollections of William J. Armstrong from the Class of 1912. He was a fighter pilot who survived a gunshot wound while being shot down over France. Armstrong returned to Philadelphia, happy to have survived the war. He looked forward to a bright future, eventually married, and raised three sons. But the optimism of the veterans who fought in the “war to end all wars” soon faded, and Armstrong would witness his sons ship off to the killing fields of another war just 24 years after he had left them behind.

I returned the next morning to view the sculpture in the light of day before boarding my train back to Philadelphia. I was astonished to find the sculptor, Sabin Howard, standing by himself and proudly looking up at his magnificent creation. I introduced myself and he warmly greeted me while recollecting his own connections to Philadelphia – as a young man he worked for a Philly cabinet maker and later studied art at the Philadelphia College of Art. I told Howard of my ongoing search for the names of the Roman alumni who gave their lives in World War I, and as I departed he said, “Good luck and thanks for remembering them.”

The author (right) with Sabin Howard

It was at that moment that I realized the true meaning and importance of this new sculpture and it’s epitomized by the words of the poem The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak written by WWI veteran Archibald MacLeish. Fittingly, on the reverse side of Howard’s bronze sculpture is the following inscription from that poem:

Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope

Or for nothing we cannot say; it is you who must say this.

They say: We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.

We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.

Chris Gibbons is a Philadelphia-area writer. His recent book, ‘Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life’, features numerous stories about the harrowing experiences of America’s war veterans.

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6 thoughts on “Chris Gibbons: Remember Us”

  1. Chris,
    Thank you for such a tremendous column. It literally left me with chills, thinking of the sacrifices those young men made so that we can live in freedom. Ed Brodbine, class of 1967, whose both parents served in the navy during World War II.

    1. Chris. As a good writer you can capture better than most the meaning of this beautiful sculpture and the story of the veterans who fought in WWI. You are also performing a great service for all Roman alumni, past and present, by researching the military service contributions of our many alumni and having those plaques installed at the school to honor their memories. Many thanks. I am in deep appreciation of all your initiatives in this area. Scott Willson, Vietnam Veteran, ’68,’69.

  2. Chris – please feel free to contact me about WWI vets from Philadelphia. My grandfather served in Company E, 318th Infantry, 80th Division – the Blue Ridge Division. Many of its members were from Philadelphia. I have an official history of the unit showing the names and addresses of the members. This unit landed in France on 31 May 1918. By the time of the armistice on 11 November of that year 47% of the members of the unit had been either killed or wounded. I think I may have documentary information that can help you identify Roman Catholic High School alumni who served.

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