Paul V.J. Dwyer grew up in North Philadelphia and was from St. Edward’s parish. He attended Roman from 1911 until 1914, but he unfortunately had to leave school during his junior year so that he could help support his mother who was raising a family of 7 alone. When Paul was just 3 years old, his father, a Trolley Car Conductor, had tragically died in a trolley-car accident. While Paul always regretted not receiving a diploma from Roman, he knew he had to help his family.
Just three months after the U.S. entered World War I, Paul enlisted in the U.S. Army, serving in Company L of the 109th Infantry Regiment in the 28th Division. On July 16, 1918, during the Second Battle of the Marne, Paul was captured by enemy forces after sustaining injuries from poison gas used by the enemy on U.S. troops. He was held as a prisoner of war until released at the end of the war in December 1918.
Following the war, Paul married his wife, Mary, in 1921 and they had 3 children – Mary, Paul, Jr., and Joseph. Paul Jr. graduated from Roman in 1944 and served in the U.S. Navy during World War II, and Joe graduated from Roman in 1955 and served in the U.S. Air Force from 1956 until 1960.
Paul Sr. was an accountant with Graham Parsons Co, a downtown Philadelphia Accounting Firm, and he was a leader in Our Lady of Holy Souls Catholic Church in Tioga and is known to be one of the founders of the Holy Souls Credit Union. He died in 1946 at the young age of 49. His doctor attributed Paul’s death partially to the physical damage he sustained from the German Army’s poison gas attack during the Second Battle of the Marne in 1918. He is buried in the Dwyer Family plot at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery.
As previously noted, Paul always regretted not being able to complete his 4 years at Roman and receive his diploma from Catholic High. But on November 7, 2024, during Roman Catholic High School’s Annual Veterans Day Assembly, Joe Dwyer from Roman’s Class of 1955 proudly accepted an honorary diploma that was posthumously awarded to his father, Paul.
Edward Hyland was from St. Columba’s parish in North Philadelphia. While at Roman he was an honor student and also played on the football and track teams. Edward graduated from Roman in 1939.
Just one month after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the Army Air Forces and trained in Texas as a fighter pilot. Edward then served in the European Theater of Operations during World War 2 as a Lieutenant with the 368th Fighter Squadron of the 8th Air Force. On January 11th, 1944, Edward was piloting his P-47 Thunderbolt fighter plane while escorting a bomber mission to Germany. Edward was killed when the mission was attacked by an overwhelming force of German fighter planes near the German border. He is buried at the Netherlands American Cemetery in Margraten. Edward left behind a loving family who remember and honor him to this day.
William “Bill” Graham was from St. Stephen’s parish in North Philadelphia. Like his classmate, Edward Hyland, while at Roman Bill was an honor student and played on the football and track teams. He graduated from Roman in 1939.
Just a few weeks shy of his 19th birthday, Bill enlisted in the Marines in 1942. He served in the 1st Marine Division and almost immediately after completing boot camp, he fought at the Battle of Guadalcanal in 1942. On December 26, 1943, Bill’s regiment was the first ashore at the Battle of Cape Gloucester. Bill lost his life during the battle. He was awarded the Bronze Star for bravery and is buried at the Punch Bowl Cemetery in the Philippines. Bill left behind a loving family with many memories and a legacy that has not dimmed with the passage of time.
James J. O’Donnell grew up in North Philadelphia and attended Gesu Parish grade school. He graduated from Roman in 1941 and while there he was involved in the Band and the Yearbook Committee.
James served in the U.S. Navy during World War II from 1943 until 1946 and was a sailor aboard the U.S.S. Rockaway. During his service he had spent some time in a Boston area hospital after his ship took enemy fire. While aboard ship he was a member of the Seabees, where he learned his carpentry skills.
James married his wife, Dorothy, in 1945. After discharge from the Navy, he joined the United Brotherhood of Carpenters. James served as an apprentice, journeyman carpenter, foreman and superintendent. He was a member of Carpenter’s Local Union #122 and was also President of the Local for 20 years. James and his wife raised three children, and he was the proud grandfather of five grandsons. James passed away in November of 1988.
Francis X. Hannigan, known to most as “Hank”, enlisted for military service shortly after graduating from Roman in 1968. He served in the U.S. Army in Vietnam from March 20, 1969 to March 16, 1970, and he was in the 9th Infantry Division eventually earning the rank of sergeant.
Hank’s unit saw heavy combat throughout his time in Vietnam and was presented with the Vietnamese Gallantry Cross with Palm. At one point during battle Hank’s unit was in danger of being overrun by the enemy. Hank, carrying the radio, called in desperately needed support, saving the lives of many American soldiers. For his meritorious service that day, Hank was awarded the Bronze Star.
Roman had a big influence on Hank’s life and he was a proud Vietnam veteran, although he seldom spoke of his time in Vietnam. He often paid tribute to those who served by attending ceremonies held at the Philadelphia Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Hank worked for 42 years at W.W. Grainger, Inc. He and his wife, Joan, were married for over 46 years, raised 3 children and were blessed with 5 grandchildren. Four nephews have attended Roman and two great-nephews are presently Roman freshmen. Hank died in 2023, leaving behind a loving wife and family and many wonderful memories.
James F. Dahl was from Ascension of Our Lord parish and was raised in the Kensington and Fishtown neighborhoods of Philadelphia. While at Roman, Jim was actively involved in the school community, playing in the band for all four years, and helping to run the intramural floor hockey program for three years. Jim graduated from Roman in 1993.
Jim chose to follow in his late father’s footsteps by enlisting in the United States Navy in 1994. He served as a Radioman aboard the USS Shreveport from 1995 to 1996. During his time on the Shreveport, the ship participated in missions such as Operations Deny Flight, Provide Promise, and Joint/Decisive Endeavor. While in port in Haifa, Israel, during this deployment, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated, and the ship remained stationed for two weeks, providing security for the state funeral.
Following his military service, Jim has held a variety of IT and managment roles, obtained dual bachelor’s degrees in information technology and information systems security, as well as a master’s degree in information systems security and assurance. He has also been extremely active in Roman’s Alumni Association and Board of Trustees. Jim currently resides in Northeast Philadelphia with his wife, Kristina, and his two stepsons: Christopher Zampirri, a member of Roman Catholic High School’s class of 2025, and Tyler, who will enter Roman in the fall of 2025 as a member of the class of 2029. He is also a proud father of three sons.
One of the truly amazing things about modern technology tools, such as Ancestry.com and Newspapers.com, is our enhanced ability now to find forgotten stories from Roman’s past. The headline that you see here from the Philadelphia Inquirer reveals one of these stories as the paper reported that William Graham was killed in action and his friend, teammate, and classmate from Roman, Edward Hyland, was missing in action. It would later be confirmed that Edward was killed when his fighter plane was shot down over Europe. On November 7th, 2024, during Roman’s Annual Veterans Day Assembly, another remarkable and memorable moment took place at the legendary school at Broad and Vine. Over 80 years after they gave their lives in World War II, not only were William Graham and Edward Hyland honored, but Roman also brought their families together as members of the Graham and Hyland families that were in attendance were recognized by the students, alumni, and military veterans.
(Excerpt from his book, Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life. This story was originally published in the June 4, 2004, Philadelphia Daily News)
“They were chosen by fate and circumstance to represent us on the beaches that day.” (Filmmaker and historian Charles Guggenheim)
On June 5, 1944, Dwight Eisenhower casually walked among the young paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division who were preparing themselves for the D-Day invasion. He had just given the order for the invasion to commence early the next morning and the soldiers, with their blackened faces, rifles, and assorted equipment, momentarily stopped their preparations to talk to the General. The men were understandably apprehensive, and Ike tried to calm their fears. He told them not to worry, and that he had confidence in them. “We ain’t worried, General,” a young sergeant said. “It’s the Germans that ought to be worrying now.”
Eisenhower watched all of the big C-47 transport planes carrying the paratroopers take off that night. He often affectionately referred to the soldiers as “my boys”, and it was feared that the 101st would suffer 70 percent casualties. As the last plane left the runway, the General had tears in his eyes.
Although the Allies had meticulously planned every detail of the operation, the success of the invasion was by no means a given. Eisenhower and the other Allied generals knew that all of the planning in the world couldn’t compensate for the courage and improvisation necessary for the invasion to succeed. Ultimately, it would all come down to the performance of the various combat units and their soldiers that would decide the outcome.
The individual acts of bravery on that day were astonishing. Despite witnessing several soldiers die in failed attempts to cut through barbed wire that had his platoon trapped on the beach, Sergeant Philip Streczyk of the 16th RCT ran through a barrage of German machine-gun fire to cut the wire, and then waved the rest of his troops through. Paratrooper Sgt. John Ray landed in the middle of a Ste.-Mere-Eglise town-square full of alarmed German soldiers. Shot in the stomach and dying, Ray still managed to shoot a German soldier who was about to kill two other American paratroopers. Technician John Pinder, shot twice and terribly weakened by loss of blood, continually waded back into the surf to retrieve vital communication equipment. While struggling back out of the water, Pinder was shot for a third time and killed, but not before he had retrieved a workable radio.
Various allied combat units also performed brilliantly that day. The textbook capture of the critical Orne River Bridge by British paratroopers is still marveled at to this day by military strategists. The destruction of the German gun batteries at Brecourt Manor by the outnumbered 101st Division’s Easy Company was immortalized in the HBO miniseries, “Band of Brothers.” And the sacrifice of that day was epitomized by the 29th Division at Omaha Beach. Of the 35 soldiers in the 29th from little Bedford, VA, 19 died in the first 15 minutes and two more died later that day. Fittingly, Bedford is the site of the National D-Day Memorial.
These are just a few of the heroic individuals and military units that distinguished themselves that day. To list them all would surely require every page of this newspaper.
The grave of Charles “Dunnie” Keenan, Roman Catholic High School – Class of 1943, at the Normandy-American Cemetery
It’s so easy to forget and take for granted what happened on the Normandy coast 80 years ago. Had the invasion failed, the resulting consequences to civilization would have been appalling. Accordingly, most historians regard D-Day as the most important day of the 20th century. However, its true meaning to each subsequent generation of Americans has been gradually diminished by the passage of time. Sadly, this 80th anniversary reveals the steadily thinning ranks of “Eisenhower’s boys.” So, if you happen to know a veteran of the D-Day invasion, take a moment while you have the opportunity to thank them for what they did. They represented us on the beaches that day, and all of us should feel privileged to have known them and lived among them. We are obligated to preserve and honor their legacy for all future generations to come.
AFTERWORD
The inspiration for this D-Day essay was Steven Spielberg’s epic war film, “Saving Private Ryan”, and I wrote it shortly after seeing the movie for a second time on HBO. It is still the most intense experience I’ve ever had while watching a movie in a theater. I was so moved by the film that shortly after seeing it for the first time, I wrote a letter to the Philadelphia Daily News that was published in the August 8, 1998 edition. Parts of the letter follow, and it still sums up my feelings quite well: “I was unprepared for the intense and realistic depiction of the Normandy invasion in “Saving Private Ryan.” Throughout the first 25 minutes of the movie, my fists were clenched so tightly that my palms still have fingernail impressions. How, I thought, could those American soldiers face such a murderous barrage of machine-gun and mortar fire and continue to assault that beach? What was it that kept them moving forward? Fighting in a war thousands of miles from home, a generation of Americans was tasked with helping to liberate Nazi-occupied Europe. A madman, whose crimes against humanity were not yet fully known, had to be stopped. How well these men fought would determine our country’s fate. I wondered if they realized that that they were not only fighting for those alive then, but also for those yet to be born? I shudder to think of what might have been if Hitler had pushed the Allies back into the sea that day and the war had been delayed long enough for the Nazis to develop atomic weapons before the United States did. Most of us would not be here today.”
(Originally published in the April 6, 2017 Philadelphia Inquirer)
It was Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 1919, and the Solemn Military Memorial Mass for the doughboys of Philadelphia’s St. Columba parish had just concluded. The attendees, led by an armed guard and color bearers, two from the Army and two from the Navy, filed out of the beautiful church and gathered in the school yard at 24th and Lehigh.
The December 6, 1919 Catholic Standard and Times noted that during the Mass, seats were reserved in the middle aisle for the members of the families of the twenty seven boys of the parish who gave their lives during the Great War, and now these same family members were accorded the area closest to the cloaked structure now positioned at the front of the school yard. The late-autumn chill and overcast, sullen grey sky not only reflected the somber mood of the crowd, but many of the faithful likely believed that on this day, even God was sad. A ten year old boy stood next to the structure. A respectful silence fell among the crowd, and some wiped away tears, as the sorrowful eyes of the parishioners fell upon the boy. They knew why he had been chosen to unveil the large memorial tablet in honor of the St. Columba’s doughboys who fought in World War I.
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St. Columba’s parish was founded in 1895, and the beautiful Gothic church at 24th and Lehigh was constructed in 1904. The parish was primarily comprised of Irish immigrants from the surrounding neighborhood known as “Swampoodle.” I visited the church, now known as St. Martin de Porres, in March of 2014, and as I glanced up at its facade the Irish heritage of the masons and original parishioners was readily evident within the Gothic architecture of the building itself. High above the main entrance was a huge Celtic Cross, and just under it was a statue of St. Columba, the Irish missionary and Patron Saint of Derry. Statues of St. Brigid and St. Patrick also adorned the front exterior, and as I glanced up at them, I thought I heard my grandfather’s voice, with his thick Irish brogue, whispering in the wind: “Ya see…the saints are lookin’ down upon ya, lad.” Although I knew it was just the wind and my imagination, I smiled anyway and softly answered, “I hope so, Grandpop.”
My search for the Roman Catholic High School alumni who gave their lives in World War I had stalled, and it led me to St. Columba’s that day. My father, an alumnus of both St. Columba’s parochial school and Roman, suggested that I head down to the old church for some new leads. “There’s a big monument in the vestibule”, he told me. “It has the names of all of the guys from the parish who fought in World War I, and it also lists the ones who were killed. St. Columba’s was a big feeder parish to Roman back then. Some of them might have gone to Roman.”
I entered the church and was immediately struck by its beauty. Ornate stone, tiles, and brick trimmed in gold and green lined the walls and ceilings, with elaborate carvings, statues, and stained glass throughout the interior. I entered the vestibule and there, on the far wall, was the largest World War I Memorial tablet I had come across thus far. The December 6, 1919 Catholic Standard and Times described it as “a beautiful massive bronze tablet, 4 feet high and 6 feet wide, said to be the most elaborate of any erected in the city, and which is the gift of the parishioners.” Carved upon the tablet are the names of the 486 members of the parish who served in the armed forces during the Great War. A special section contains the names of the 27 boys who gave their lives. My father turned out to be right, as subsequent research revealed that one of the boys killed, Frank T. Schommer, was a Roman alum. However, there were two names among the 27 that immediately caught my attention: Charles J. Fischer and John J. Fischer. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were related.
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Ten year old Joseph Fischer stood at the front of St. Columba’s school yard that Thanksgiving Day in 1919, and unveiled the Memorial Tablet that held the names of the doughboys of St. Columba’s, including his brothers, Charles and John. A street parade of the parish soldiers who returned home under the command of Lieutenant Joseph Yates followed the unveiling ceremony, and the women of the parish held a banquet that evening for the doughboys. But for the parish families of the boys who never returned, the moment was bittersweet. The parents of St. Columba’s Daniel Lee wrote a poem about their son that was published in the Philadelphia Inquirer just one month before the unveiling of the Memorial tablet that conveys the deep sense of loss and anguish these families must have endured:
“A precious son from me was taken,
A voice we loved is still,
A wound within my heart is sealed,
Which never can be healed,
To France he went a volunteer,
His love, his life was given,
His body was not returned to me,
But his soul was sent to heaven.”
Private Daniel E. Lee, of Philadelphia’s 315th Infantry Regiment, is buried at the St. Mihiel American Cemetery in France.
AFTERWORD
After I obtained the names from the plaque of the 27 parishioners from St. Columba who gave their lives in World War I, I was actually quite surprised to find that only one, Frank T. Schommer, was a Roman alumnus. I expected that there would be several. The parish has been sending students to Roman since its founding in 1895, and, now known as St. Martin de Porres, that tradition continues to this day. In 2018, after I had concluded my annual presentation to the students that details my search for Roman’s WW I alumni, one of the students introduced himself to me and told me that he was from St. Martin de Porres, and he never really took notice of the plaque until my presentation. Indeed, it came as no surprise to the Alumni Association that the parish that had the most members on Roman’s 2015 list of “125 Persons of Distinction” was St. Columba.
(Originally published in the Philadelphia Daily News, March 28, 2008)
“And perhaps across his mind there’ll flit a little errant wish, that a man might not have to become old, never outgrow the parks and the merry-go-rounds of his youth. And he’ll smile then too because he’ll know it is just an errant wish”. Rod Serling narration from the Twilight Zone episode “Walking Distance”
As I walked through a Sporting Goods store recently, I noticed a small sign stating that “Opening Day” for trout season in Philadelphia is Saturday, March 29. I smiled as I read it, because it conjured up pleasant memories from my youth of trout fishing, and opening days spent “back the crick” with my buddies.
The Wissahickon Creek (pronounced “crick” in Philly-speak) snakes through the northwest neighborhoods of Philadelphia, and it was an annual rite of spring for the young boys of Roxborough, Manayunk, and East Falls to prepare for opening day of trout season. I’m told that it was very much the same thing in the NE Philly neighborhoods surrounding Pennypack Creek.
My fellow fishermen in those days were the boys that I had grown up with, most of whom I’d known since I was 6 years old. We hung out under a Henry Avenue bridge, and called ourselves “The Bridge.” Other guys in the neighborhood mockingly called us “The Trolls.” It seemed as if our major goal in life back then was to make each other laugh, and we were pretty good at it, too. We made up amusing nicknames for each other, most of which were references to some unique anatomical feature we possessed. There was Curly, Freckle, Hair, Fly, Gut, and Chalk (because of his pale complexion). A lot of these nicknames centered on head sizes or shapes, so we also had Brick Head, Pineapple Head, Bucket Head, Globin, and Boulder.
We used to make up bawdy songs, with indecent lyrics that we would sing as we walked along the trails of the Wissahickon. We thought of ourselves as being great outdoorsmen simply because we knew how to light a fire with a magnifying glass and cook minute steaks in old pans we confiscated from our kitchens. Our plan was to cook the fish that we caught and pretend that we could “live off the land” if we had to, but most of us weren’t very good at fishing. Bucket Head and I once grabbed a dead trout that was floating downstream and fried it. Of course, we had no idea what we were doing, and didn’t gut and bone the fish. I can still remember my poor mother struggling to scrape the mysterious foul-smelling gristle from that old black pan. But, that was nothing compared to what I had to scrape the day after I ate it.
One of my buddies was really quite good at fishing, and we used to call him “Fisherman.” He could easily catch 25 trout in a single day. He was also smart enough to get as far away from the rest of us as possible. While we were busy un-snagging our lines, pushing each other into the creek, or throwing rocks in the water, Fisherman was 50 yards downstream catching trout and laughing at all of us. We didn’t care though, and in the naïveté and exuberance of our youth we thought those days would last forever. But, our fishing days together, and our adolescence, slowly began to fade with the passage of time.
I still enjoy hiking along the old trails of the Wissahickon Creek. Whenever I’m there, I am always amazed by its beauty, and thankfully, it has changed very little over the years. Walking along the banks of the Wissahickon is like stepping back in time. I’ll often stop and listen to the wind as it whispers through the towering trees. If I listen carefully, sometimes it carries with it the sounds of my past, and I can hear the laughter and singing of familiar young voices as an errant wish momentarily crosses my mind. Perhaps the past can sometimes be within walking distance.
I’ve decided I’m going to get my fishing gear together, and call Bucket Head, Fly, Hair, TK, Fisherman and some of the others from the old crew. So, if you happen to see some middle aged guys with fishing rods walking across Henry Avenue in the early morning hours of some Saturday this spring, and they happen to be laughing while singing a crazy song in unison, don’t be alarmed. It’s just the boys from The Bridge, and we’ll be heading “back the crick”.
AFTERWORD: Whenever I tell people who are from outside of the Philadelphia area my old neighborhood trout-fishing tales, I’m invariably met with a puzzled look, followed by, “I thought you grew up in Philly?” What they don’t realize is that the Wissahickon Valley, which I regard as one of our country’s best kept secrets, is a unique pastoral oasis in our large Northeastern metropolis. As a result of Roxborough’s close proximity to the Wissahickon Creek, it resulted in “Opening Day” of trout fishing season being one of the big annual events in our neighborhood. I received quite a few e-mails from Daily News readers in which they fondly recalled their trout fishing days along the Wissahickon. I also have many other fond memories of the Wissahickon, which include hiking with my father and siblings, and feeding the ducks with my young children, but one memory in particular is not so pleasant. When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I was fishing “back the crick” with my older brothers and my cousins. While we were leaving and climbing a steep hill, I slipped and badly sprained my ankle. I couldn’t walk or put any weight on it, and was in so much pain that I thought it was broken. My cousin Micky, several years older than me, put me on his back and carried me all the way home – a 2 mile journey that was frequently uphill over rugged terrain. I remember thinking at the time that he was the strongest guy in the world. At his father’s funeral in 2019, we tearfully recalled that day, and he told me that he has this article framed and displayed in his home.
(Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer)
The little bridge sits in a quiet, bucolic area of western France, about 2 miles west of the town of Ste. Mere-Eglise. It spans the scenic Merderet River, and thousands of tourists flock to the area every year because of its rich history and beautiful scenery. Right next to the bridge is the charming “a la Bataille de La Fiere Bed and Breakfast”, which was built in 1180 and originally used as a grain mill by Viking settlers. For those looking for a quiet vacation in a beautiful, historic setting, this area is the perfect destination. But when the tourists are told the story of what happened on this little bridge over 70 years ago, and how significant that event was in WW II history, many are stunned. Those from the U.S. will often beam with pride or are moved to tears.
Although it is described by renowned military historian S.L.A. Marshall as “the bloodiest small unit struggle in the history of American arms”, the heroic saga of the battle for the bridge at La Fiere from June 6 to June 9 in 1944 has now become lost among the numerous legendary stories of D-Day. But it was at this bridge that a small group of lightly armed U.S. 82nd Airborne paratroopers waged one of fiercest fights in the annals of U.S. military history, and in doing so, likely saved the lives of thousands of U.S. soldiers who landed at Utah beach on D-Day. The bridge was one of only two in the Utah beach landing area that would enable German armor to cross the river. If the Germans could get their tanks and infantry to the beach, they could wipe out the U.S. forces on Utah beach. The 82nd was given the difficult task of seizing and holding the bridge.
Led by Lieutenant John Dolan, the paratroopers assaulted and eventually took control of the bridge in the late morning hours of D-Day. They set mines and pulled a disabled truck onto the bridge to help block the inevitable German counterattacks. The fields surrounding the causeway (raised road) that led to the bridge had been flooded by the Germans prior to the invasion, and the men could see the parachutes and backpacks of dozens of drowned paratroopers floating in the water. The sight likely served as a reminder to them of what was at stake, stiffening their resolve.
The Germans still controlled the high ground of the western causeway leading to the bridge, and late in the afternoon of June 6, they sent three tanks, followed by infantry, rumbling across in their first attempt to seize it. Private Lenold Peterson stood with his bazooka, bravely exposing himself to the enemy machine gun fire. He took out the two lead tanks, and forced the third to retreat back with the German infantry.
The following morning, the Germans launched an even heavier assault against the paratroopers. The brutal, close-quarters combat that followed reduced Dolan’s force to only 14 men, but the paratroopers held. The fighting was so bloody, that the Germans asked for a truce so that they could retrieve their wounded. When Dolan’s men asked if they should fall back, he told them that they were staying. “I don’t know a better place to die”, he said, and his words lifted the morale of the decimated platoon.
On June 8, Dolan’s men were finally reinforced by the 507th Paratroop Infantry Regiment. U.S. tanks from the 4th Infantry Division had also arrived but couldn’t cross the bridge until the Germans had been cleared from the western end. The paratroopers attacked across the bridge and down the causeway in a suicidal frontal assault. The first wave of men was cut down, and those following behind dropped to the ground, paralyzed with fear. Lieutenant Bruce Hooker, shot in both legs, turned to his men as he lay on the ground and tried to urge them on. “Come on…get up!”, he shouted. As the dead and wounded piled up, the chaos on the bridge mounted.
Just when the battle seemed lost, a group of some 90 men led by Captain R.D. Rae charged across the bridge. Again, many were cut down, but this time, many more kept moving forward. They ran down the causeway and started taking out the enemy positions. The tank commanders then seized the opportunity and streamed across the bridge, destroying the remaining German opposition. The Americans had finally secured the bridge, but at a terrible cost: 60 paratroopers were dead and 529 wounded.
Tom Hanks is Executive Producer for a film project titled “No Better Place to Die”. It is being written and directed by actor and former Marine, Dale Dye. Although the film project has faced a number of hurdles, Dye still hopes that it will soon resume full production and finally reveal to the general public the gallant story of the U.S. paratroopers at the La Fiere Bridge.
Take a moment today to remember the American paratroopers who courageously decided during a pivotal battle that began on D-Day that there was no better place to die than the bridge at La Fiere.
And the tolling of the bell and the cries of the lame,
And the echoes of heroes roll down through the ages to remind us again.”
(From the song “Echoes of Heroes” by Gordon Lightfoot)
The letter addressed to Mrs. Ellen Breen in Philadelphia arrived in early December of 1918, but it was very different than most of the letters the postmen had been delivering that bore U.S. Army postmarks. The Great War in Europe had just ended a few weeks prior, and letters from American soldiers who were still overseas had been arriving in the U.S. by the thousands. The men were sending Christmas wishes to their families which brought great relief and comfort to their loved ones. Although they wouldn’t be home for Christmas, these soldiers were alive and the great anxiety that their families had endured during the war had finally subsided.
Unfortunately, for many other families this was a time of great sorrow as they continued to mourn the recent loss of a loved one in that war, and Christmas for them would never be the same again. So, when this letter arrived at the home of Mrs. Ellen Breen, she knew it couldn’t be from her son, Bernard. He was a sergeant in Company A of the 28th Division’s 108th Machine Gun Battalion, and Mrs. Breen had already been notified that he was killed in France on September 27, 1918 at the start of the great Meuse-Argonne Offensive.
She opened the letter and saw that it was from Captain Ralph C. Crow, her son Bernard’s commanding officer, and was dated November 30, 1918. It was written in response to a letter she had written to the Army asking for more information regarding her son’s death. It read in part:
“Dear Madam:-
Your letter of the 27th reached me today, in reply I will say that it is with a feeling of sorrow that I answer your letter.
On September the 20th, my Company took over a position from the French in the Argonne Forest. Your son Sergeant Bernard F. Breen was in command of two guns in a very responsible position nearest the enemy. Five days later the drive in the Argonne Forest started. I was ordered to send two guns to report to a Battalion when the fight started. I selected Sergeant Bernard F. Breen and his gun crews for the reason that I considered him the best man in my Company…On the morning of Sept. 28th, one of the men who had been with Sergeant Breen reported to me that the section had been all shot up, that Sergeant Breen and another man had been killed, and that most of the men had been wounded…I sent a runner to that section of the field to see if he could locate the bodies, he returned later with the information that the bodies had been buried…I later got a chance to talk to Father Wolf (sic) and he told me himself that he had visited the grave of Sergeant Breen, and had performed the burial service.
Sergeant Bernard F. Breen was killed instantly by the bursting of a shell on a road leading from Monyblainville (sic) to Varennes, he was leading his section when it occurred, I was informed.
In conclusion I will say that I consider Sergeant Breen the best man in my Company, I had recommended him for a commission a short time before his death, he frequently spoke to me about his mother, and a brother who is a Captain in France. The men of my Company felt that they had lost a true comrade when he was killed. As I said in the beginning of this letter, it is with sorrow that I write this, as I had learned to love Sergeant Breen for the many brave deeds he had done on the field of battle.”
My subsequent search of World War I records has revealed that the “Father Wolf” referenced in Crow’s letter was the highly decorated 28th Division Reverend Lieutenant Joseph L. N. Wolfe. In a remarkable yet solemn coincidence, on September 27th, 1918, during the great Battle of the Meuse-Argonne, Joseph Wolfe from Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School Class of 1899 performed the burial service at the battlefield grave of Bernard Breen from Roman’s Class of 1902.
As I read Captain Crow’s letter, I wondered if it had brought any comfort to Ellen Breen to learn that her son was not only loved and respected by the men of his battalion, but that a fellow alumnus from Roman Catholic High School, a school whose alumni motto is ‘brothers for life’, had visited his grave. Was the anguish of her sorrow assuaged in knowing that, although Bernard died so far from home, one of his brothers was there and he wasn’t alone?
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On May 24th, I received an e-mail from Bob Wagner, the former football coach of Roman Catholic High School and a graduate from the Class of 1963. He has been an enthusiastic supporter of my ongoing search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who gave their lives in World War I, and his e-mail informed me that he had just arrived home from a trip to France where he had visited the gravesites of six Roman alumni who had given their lives in World War I. One of those gravesites was that of Bernard Breen in the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery. Bob also found the exact spot along the road where Breen and his gunnery mate were killed, and he wrote: “It was, for sure, a very moving and surreal experience being at the graves of our brothers from RCHS who gave the ultimate gift for their country.”
I sent the photo that Bob took at Bernard Breen’s gravesite to Carol Breen, the great niece of Bernard. She said in response: “It’s a blessing to know that someone cares to go visit the grave of a fallen soldier like this. Even though I never met him, we have shared DNA. Please express my gratitude to those who went. I’m very happy Bernard wasn’t forgotten.”
It is my sincere hope that on this Memorial Day weekend Carol and the Breen family took some small measure of comfort in knowing that a fellow alumnus from Roman Catholic High School had visited the spot where Bernard had fallen and then prayed at his grave. Although nearly 105 years had passed since Bernard Breen had been laid to rest, a brother was with him once again, and he wasn’t alone.
(Chris Gibbons is a Philadelphia writer. His book, “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life”, a compilation of 78 of his essays, is available at Amazon)
Originally published in the June 13, 2012 Philadelphia Inquirer
“It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes, all down the years across Time. Eckels’ mind whirled. It couldn’t change things. Killing one butterfly couldn’t be that important! Could it?
Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers. “Can’t we,” he pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Machine, “can’t we take it back, can’t we make it alive again? Can’t we start over? Can’t we-“
He did not move. Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon.
There was a sound of thunder.”
(From “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury)
As I read the final words of the story, my mouth was agape in astonishment as a chill ran up my spine. The written word had never had so profound an impact upon me. Although I was just 11 years old at the time, I knew that what I’d just read would somehow stay with me forever. The story was “A Sound of Thunder”, and I still regard it as one of the greatest science fiction short-stories ever written. It tells the tale of time travelers hunting a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but an arrogant hunter carelessly steps on, and kills, a butterfly with dire consequences for humanity. I read the story’s chilling ending over and over – at least a hundred times. I stared at the cool sci-fi cover art on the little paperback book for hours, and its title and author were permanently carved into my mind: R is for Rocket by Ray Bradbury.
To most, it was just another one of my big brother Jerry’s numerous $1.50 sci-fi paperbacks from the rotating book-display rack at Woolworth’s department store. But, to me, it was pure gold. I eagerly tore into the book’s other short stories and they captivated my imagination: astronauts fight for their lives after crash landing in the swampy jungles of Venus, an ancient sea creature rises from the depths of the ocean, drawn to the sound of a lighthouse fog horn, and astronauts come to the realization that the paradise planet they discovered has hidden dangers they never anticipated. These were just a few of the brilliant stories written in Bradbury’s unique poetic prose – a wondrous mix of science fiction, fantasy, suspense, and horror.
After that day, I was hooked, and if Jerry couldn’t find his other Bradbury books in his bedroom bookcase, he knew where they’d be. I read Bradbury’s other short story collections found in “S is for Space”, “The Illustrated Man”, “The October Country”, and “The Golden Apples of the Sun” so many times that I cracked the spine of the books. Over the years, Jerry and I would often talk about our favorite Bradbury stories, and whenever he had a new book released we would make sure we let each other know about it.
Although I had always liked to write, and would often tell my family and friends that “one of these days I’m going to write about that”, I never took it seriously until I read Bradbury’s book on writing, “Zen in the Art of Writing.” In it he wrote, “What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them? You fail only if you stop writing.” I remember feeling that he was speaking directly to me. I started to write on a regular basis shortly after I read that.
When I heard the news that Ray Bradbury had died, I felt like I had lost an old friend. I knew who I had to contact first, and I thanked Jerry for introducing me to Ray.
In his seminal novel “Fahrenheit 451”, Ray Bradbury wrote, “It doesn’t matter what you do…so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.”
A Ray Bradbury paperback book is such a small, exquisite thing, and it can change things all down the years and across time. And the stories within that book can touch and change lives forever – including the life of a kid for whom those stories resonated like a sound of thunder.
The Twilight Zone is regarded by many as one of the greatest television series ever produced, certainly the best anthology series, and made a star of its creator, Rod Serling. The show became deeply entrenched in American culture, and the SyFy Channel’s annual New Year’s Twilight Zone Marathon is watched by millions. As an unabashed Twilight Zone fanatic, for what it’s worth, the following are my top 15 TZ episodes.
#15 – Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up? Great episode written by Rod Serling featuring a ‘double-twist’ ending as just after the actual three-armed Martian was finally revealed, another alien from Venus, and with three eyes to boot, shocks the viewers at the very end. Interestingly, in the original story, Serling had a stray dog adopted by the owner of the diner as the hidden alien. And, if you think that wouldn’t have worked, remember that the original form that the alien took in the 1982 movie remake of The Thing (starring Kurt Russell) was a dog.
#14 – Living Doll. Based on an idea by the great Charles Beaumont (who would write many classic TZ episodes) and written by Jerry Sohl, the creepy Talky Tina doll says things like, “I don’t think I like you”, and “I’m going to kill you!” to nasty stepfather, Erich (played by Telly Savalas, later to star in The Dirty Dozen as wacky A.J. Maggott, and after that as famed TV detective, Kojak). The ending is great as after the doll intentionally trips the stepfather on the stairs, causing him to fall and die, the girl’s mother picks up the doll and it eerily says, “My name is Talky Tina, and you’d better be nice to me.” A Fun Fact from The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree – The voice of the doll was done by June Foray, also the voice for Rocky the Flying Squirrel on the epic Bullwinkle cartoon show.
#13 – To Serve Man.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling, but it is based on the short story by the great Damon Knight (if you’ve never read Damon Knight’s short stories, you should go on Amazon and order one of his short story anthologies immediately!) Many TZ fanatics regard the twist-ending of this episode to be the most shocking as the supposedly altruistic aliens are revealed to really only have one purpose for humans – to put them on the menu! A book with the title “To Serve Man” was ultimately decrypted and discovered to be a cookbook on the different ways that humans could be served as a meal!! The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree reveals that Damon Knight would later say that “I thought the adaptation was kind of neat – it made me famous in Milford, Pennsylvania, suddenly everyone knew who I was.”
#12 – Five Characters in Search of an Exit.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling, but it was based on the short story The Depository by Marvin Petal. Great episode that leaves the viewer focusing on, and subsequently trying to guess, exactly where these five characters are, and by doing so, the viewer never focuses on actually what they may be. And what’s with that freaking bell they keep hearing!!?? The classic ending reveals that the five characters are actually toy dolls in a Christmas toy donation barrel. The unimaginative among us, upon watching this episode in 1961, might have said, “Well…that was a dumb premise.” But, who would have guessed that 34 years later a Disney film about toy dolls that come to life, Toy Story, would take the world by storm and become a multimedia franchise with 3 record-setting sequels?!
#11 – Eye of the Beholder.Written by Rod Serling. One of the most iconic of all TZ episodes, this particular one absolutely scared the living sh** out of me when I was a kid! My older brothers set me up and said I could take my hands down from covering my eyes as the supposedly horrific-looking woman under the bandages was finally revealed to be the beautiful Donna Douglas (Ellie May from The Beverly Hillbillies). Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived as the camera quickly cut to the horrible, terrifying, and truly scary faces of the surrounding doctors and nurses. I couldn’t sleep for days. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one for whom this episode left an impact. As recounted in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, Producer Buck Houghton wanted to see what the viewers might think of the episode, and he screened it for a guy named Lud Gluskin, head of music at CBS, before it was televised. Houghton said that Lud was “a very imperturbable old German…sixty-five, and pretty hard to move. And at the end of that he said, ‘Jesus Christ!’…”
#10 – Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.Written by the great Richard Matheson. “Who’s that?”, you may ask – While Matheson wrote many TZ episodes, he is also one of the great sci-fi/fantasy/horror writers of the 20th century in his own right. He wrote I Am Legend, Duel, The Night Stalker, Stir of Echoes, What Dreams May Come, and Prey (that crazy 1970’s TV episode in which that terrifying Zuni Warrior doll attacks actress Karen Black), just to name a few. Again – grab a book of his short stories if you see one. This was another episode that frightened me as a kid, even though, as I look back on it now, the gremlin-monster on the wing of the plane that terrified William Shatner was pretty lame-looking by today’s standards. It’s still a very scary episode, and it was one of the episodes that was remade for The Twilight Zone Movie in 1983, with a much scarier gremlin thanks to a bigger budget and modern special effects. A funny story regarding the episode from The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree – a few weeks after it aired, Rod Serling had worked with Western Airlines to set-up having a life-size poster of the gremlin secretly placed on the outside window of the plane seat that Matheson was going to sit in. The idea was that Matheson would take his seat, open the window curtains, and shockingly see the gremlin looking in at him. So, they had it all set up, Matheson was in his seat, the plane’s engines start up, but the propellers of the plane blew the poster off the window before Matheson opened the curtain! Oh well…it would have been funny.
#9 – The Howling Man.Written by Charles Beaumont. Again, like Damon Knight and Richard Matheson, Beaumont was a superb writer, although not as prolific. In this episode, a lost European traveler comes upon a seemingly kooky order of monks who have what appears to be a normal, sane man imprisoned because they claim he is actually the devil himself. The only thing weird about the imprisoned man is that he howls like a wounded wolf. The traveler eventually frees the man, only to realize the mistake he has made – for the monks were right!! With the limited resources of an early 1960’s TV show, they did a great job with the special effects in showing the freed man gradually transforming into the hideous devil. A shout-out to Beaumont for recognizing the often-forgotten Korean War in his script. When the traveler realizes the enormity of what he had done just prior to World War 2 and the evil he had released onto the world he says: “The evil that soon took the shape of the Second World War, the Korean War, the hideous new weapons of war. I swore I’d find him again, as Brother Jerome had done.” My Dad was a Korean War veteran, and too often it’s not mentioned in historical context, almost as if it never happened – a disgrace to the men who fought and died there. So, kudos to Beaumont for remembering that war in his script.
#8 – Mirror Image.Another classic episode written by Rod Serling in which a woman causes a stir at a bus depot claiming that she is being stalked by another woman, and that other woman is….herself! Actually…her double from a co-existing reality that wants to take over for her. A sympathetic man at the bus depot, played by Martin Milner – later of Adam-12 fame, pretends to believe her but instead ends up calling the police to have the “crazed woman” taken away to get psychiatric help. The ending is classic Serling as the man chases someone who has stolen his briefcase. As he is running after him down the street, the thief turns his head, and the man horrifyingly sees that he is chasing….himself! As revealed in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, Serling got the idea for this story when he was at an airport in London and noticed a man who had his back to him, but was eerily dressed exactly the same as Serling, with the same height, and holding the exact same leather briefcase. When the man turned around, Serling said, “…he was ten years younger….but this did leave its imprint sufficiently to write a story about it.”
#7 – The Monsters are Due on Maple Street. Written by Rod Serling. After a meteor is spotted overhead by the residents of Maple Street, inexplicable things start to happen: lights flicker on and off, cars start by themselves, and phones ring for no reason. A young boy says it’s the start of an alien invasion and one of the residents may be an alien. This starts paranoid-driven and senseless suspicions among the neighbors that ultimately leads them to violently turn on each other. The classic ending reveals that the cause of the flickering lights and other malfunctions was, in fact, aliens who then conclude that the conquest of Earth should be easy: “Throw them into darkness for a few hours and then just sit back and watch the pattern…They pick the most dangerous enemy they can find…and its themselves. And all we need to do is sit back…and watch.” The episode was Serling’s commentary on prejudice in our society and he summed it up eloquently in his closing narration: “For the record, prejudices can kill, and suspicions can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own – for the children, and the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is that these things cannot be confined to the Twilight Zone.”
#6 – Time Enough at Last.The teleplay was written by Rod Serling but it is based on a short story by Lynn Venable. Bookworm Henry Bemis, with extremely thick eyeglasses for his poor eyesight and played by the great Burgess Meredith, sneaks off into the vault of his bank employer during lunchbreak to engage in his favorite activity – reading. While in the vault, there was an all-out nuclear war. When Bemis emerges from the vault and searches the ruins, he realizes that he may be the last man on Earth. As he is about to take his own life he notices the ruins of the public library, and believes that instead of hell, he may have just stepped into paradise as now he has all the time in the world – “time enough at last” – to read for the remainder of his days! In one of the greatest endings of all Twilight Zone episodes, the nearly blind Bemis has his thick glasses fall from his face and break on the rubble. “It isn’t fair”, a weeping Bemis says into the camera as he stands among the ruins of the library. As written in The Twilight Zone Companion by M.S. Zicree, the episode had such an impact on the American public that Meredith would say many years later that “I don’t suppose a month goes by, even to this day, that people don’t come up and remind me of that episode.”
#5 – Deaths Head Revisited. Written by Rod Serling. A sadistic former Nazi death-camp guard returns to Dachau prison to fondly remember his days there, just 15 years prior, where he tortured and killed thousands of the inmates. However, the former guard has a terrifying surprise awaiting him at the camp – the ghosts of the inmates he killed, who then put him on trial for his crimes. He is found guilty, and his sentence is that he will now experience all of the physical pain he inflicted on the inmates. This renders the former guard permanently insane. The doctor who finds the now incoherent, babbling guard angrily asks the question: “Dachau…why do we keep it standing?” Serling answers the Doctor’s question in what I believe is his greatest ending narration. It should be noted that Dachau was liberated by American soldiers, and Serling, a World War II veteran himself, knew that many of those liberating soldiers, only in their 30’s and 40’s when the episode first aired, would be watching. Quite a few suffered debilitating PTSD from what they found at Dachau, and I interviewed one of them for one of my essays, Don Greenbaum, as well as a survivor of Dachau, Ernie Gross. The ending narration stands the test of time and is now a great way to address the increasing and nonsensical claims that the Holocaust never happened. “There is an answer to the doctor’s question. All the Dachaus must remain standing. The Dachaus, the Belsens, the Buchenwalds, the Auschwitzes, all of them. They must remain standing because they are a monument to a moment in time when some men decided to turn the earth into a graveyard. Into it, they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worst of all, their conscience. And the moment we forget this, the moment we cease to be haunted by its remembrance, then we become the gravediggers. Something to dwell on and to remember, not only in the Twilight Zone, but wherever men walk God’s earth.”
#4 – I Shot An Arrow Into the Air.Written by Rod Serling but based on an idea by Madelon Champion. The Arrow One, the first manned spacecraft, suddenly disappears off the radar screens after launch, and all contact is lost. It turns out that Arrow One crashed on an uncharted asteroid. Three of the eight astronauts have survived the wreck, but their precious remaining water is in short supply. One of the astronauts, Corey, played by Dewey Martin, intends to kill his fellow astronauts for the remaining water. One of the astronauts he attacked and left for dead cannot speak, but still indicates that he saw something over the hill before he died, and he scrawls a symbol of it in the sand before he dies. Corey, now the last astronaut remaining after he kills Commander Donlin, heads to the hill with the strange symbol. In an absolutely killer ending, Corey, to his horror, discovers the meaning of the strange symbol – it was a telephone pole. The Arrow One had not crashed on an asteroid…it simply fell back to the Earth and crashed into the Nevada desert. One of the highlights of the episode is Serling’s sudden mid-episode narration in which he mockingly urges “Corey, yeah, you better keep moving. That’s the order of the moment: keep moving.” I can still remember my older brothers hysterically laughing at Serling’s mocking of Corey, as they clearly wanted to see him get what was coming to him. Per The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling and Champion were in a social setting when Champion pitched the idea to Serling, who then paid Champion “$500 on the spot. But it never happened again.”
#3 – The Purple Testament. Written by Rod Serling. The setting is during World War II on the Philippine Islands in 1945. Lieutenant Fitzgerald, leader of an infantry platoon, realizes that whenever he sees an eerie glow in the face of one of his soldiers, that soldier ends up being killed. Fitzgerald is relieved to hear that he is being sent back to division headquarters so that he will no longer have to look at the faces of the men in his platoon. However, while he is looking into the mirror when shaving before his trip back to headquarters, he sees the eerie glow in his own face. He then sees the same glow in the face of his driver. After the two of them leave in their Jeep, the men of the platoon hear a distant explosion in the direction that the Jeep traveled. Nothing more needed to be said of their fate. Serling clearly drew upon his own experiences when depicting the men of the platoon as he was a World War II paratrooper who fought and was wounded in the Philippines. A crazy story associated with this episode from The Twilight Zone Companion is that on the day that it was first set to air, the actor who played Lieutenant Fitzgerald, William Reynolds, and the director of the episode, William Bare, were on a small plane flying from Jamaica to Miami. The plane’s engines died, and it went down in the ocean, killing one of the five people on board. Bare had two broken legs, but he and Reynolds decided to try and swim, on their backs, the 4 miles back to the Jamaican shore. While they were swimming, Bare said to Reynolds “You know what’s playing tonight?” Reynolds replied, “Yeah, The Purple Testament.” Bare said, “Bill, please don’t look at me.”
#2 – One For The Angels. Written by Rod Serling. An old man, Lewis J. Bookman (played by Ed Wynn), is confronted by Mr. Death, brilliantly played by veteran actor, Murray Hamilton (he later played the sleazy mayor in Jaws). Death informs sidewalk-salesman Bookman that his time on this Earth is up, but Bookman does not want to go until he makes his final “Big Pitch – a Pitch for the angels.” He convinces Death to let him live until he does this ‘Pitch’, but he actually has no intention of ever giving it. Unfortunately, Death has to take someone else in Bookman’s place, and after a little girl from the neighborhood is hit by a truck and left fighting for her life, Bookman terrifyingly realizes that she is the one chosen by Death in place of Bookman. He also learns that the time that Death will be taking her is midnight. Bookman realizes that if he can prevent Death from making his “appointment at midnight”, then the little girl will live. He then proceeds to try and distract Death from his appointment by selling him his various street merchandise. Bookman gives the pitch of a lifetime, and the distracted Death then misses his midnight appointment. The little girl lives, but it also means that Bookman must now accompany Death. In what many regard as The Twilight Zone’s most beloved episode, the emotional ending as Bookman and Death walk down the deserted street together always leaves a lump in the throat. Interestingly, per The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling actually wrote One For The Angels many years prior, just after college. In the original story, “an unsuccessful sidewalk pitchman tries to save his two-bit punk brother from a couple of hitmen by giving a pitch so beguiling that they will always be surrounded by a crowd.” Serling specifically wanted a story for the much-admired Wynn and re-wrote his old Angels story just for him. The re-written story proved superior to the original.
#1 – Walking Distance. Written by Rod Serling. An advertising executive, Martin Sloan, weary of his fast paced, busy, and unfulfilling life stops at a gas station outside of his boyhood home and decides to take a nostalgic walk to his old hometown, commenting that it is within “walking distance.” While walking through the town, he gradually realizes that he has somehow miraculously been transported back in time to when he was just a child. He confronts his parents, but they think he is some crazy kook and angrily shut their door in his face. He then tries to talk to himself as a young boy, to simply tell the boy to enjoy this wonderful period of his life. But, the frightened child runs from him, trips off of the merry-go-round and injures his leg, a pain that the elder Sloan immediately feels. In what many regard as one of the greatest scenes in Twilight Zone history, Sloan’s father confronts Sloan after reading through the contents of his dropped wallet. The father knows that this man is actually his son, Martin, who has somehow traveled back in time. Despite the fact that Martin is now the same age as his father, he still seeks his counsel – the same way, and with the same respectful deference that he always had in their father-son dynamic. After Martin reluctantly agrees with his father that he must go back, his father says, “Martin, is it so bad where you’re from?” Martin responds, “I thought so, Pop. I’ve been living on a dead run, and I was tired. And one day I knew I had to come back here. I had to come back and get on the merry-go-round, and eat cotton candy, and listen to a band concert. To stop and breathe and close my eyes and smell and listen. His father wisely advises, “I guess we all want that. Maybe when you go back, Martin, you’ll find that there are merry-go-rounds and band concerts where you are. Maybe you haven’t been looking in the right place. You’ve been looking behind you. Try looking ahead.” The episode is deeply personal for Serling, and most regard the character of Martin Sloan as Serling himself who was clearly suffering from the enormous responsibilities associated with maintaining the production and quality of The Twilight Zone. As revealed in The Twilight Zone Companion, Serling got the idea for this episode “while walking on a set at MGM when I was suddenly hit by the similarity of it to my hometown. Feeling an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, it struck me that all of us have a deep longing to go back – not to our home as it is today, but as we remember it. It was from this simple incident that I wove the story Walking Distance…”
Edward A. Duff hailed from St. Francis Xavier parish and graduated from Roman in 1903.
After graduating from Roman, he was ordained a priest and later served in Europe as a Naval Chaplain during World War I aboard the USS Nevada. He was also aboard the U.S.S. Olympia during its famous voyage from France to the United States in 1921 to deliver the body of the Unknown Soldier. Duff was also decorated in 1920 by the king of Italy with the Chevalier of the Crown of Italy for his service aboard the Italian battleship Puglia in the Adriatic, and was promoted to captain in 1925. In 1937 he was named Chief of the Navy Chaplain Corps, the first Catholic to hold that position. His lectures on the Unknown Soldier were estimated to have been heard by over 300,000 people. Unfortunately, a heart ailment forced his early retirement and he died in Philadelphia at the age of 58 in 1943.
John R. Corkery – Class of 1936
John R. Corkery hailed from St. Anne’s parish and following graduation from Roman in 1936, he served in the U.S. Army during World War 2.
During the Battle of Rapido River in 1944, Corkery courageously battled under furious artillery, mortar, and machine gun fire for more than 10 hours, to establish position so he could maintain constant communications with his battalion. Over 1,300 U.S. soldiers would lose their lives in the battle with more than 600 captured. Corkery was later wounded in Italy. For his actions in battle he was awarded 2 Bronze Stars, an Oak Leaf Cluster, and a Purple Heart.
Following the war, Corkery would go on to raise a family of 11 children with a highly successful career with the VA. He also established himself as a great CYO basketball coach with St. Anne Parish in Port Richmond, and was founder of what became the Port Richmond Boys Club by starting their football program. He died at the young age of 52, and is beloved by a generation of boys in the neighborhood who to this day speak with love and reverence for him.
Bernard Donahue – Class of 1941
Bernard Donahue grew up on Park Avenue in North Philadelphia, hailing from St. Malachy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1941.
After high school, Bernard worked at John Wanamaker’s before enlisting in the Army as an Aviation Cadet. Ultimately, he earned his wings as a B-17 pilot and flew 26 combat missions over Germany and Austria. Among other honors, then 1st Lieutenant Donahue was awarded the Distinguish Flying Cross for returning his crippled bomber from a raid over Berlin.
In 1944, he married Rosemary Kirwan, a Hallahan graduate. He returned to Rosemary, Philadelphia and Wanamaker’s after the war. Bernard and Rosemary had 7 children, including an Air Force Colonel and a Navy Chief Petty Officer. Bernard later became vice president of a men’s’ clothing retailer here in Philadelphia. He died at age 54 from complications from diabetes. He was buried with full military honors in Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon.
Francis J. E. Ampthor – Class of 1942
Francis Ampthor hailed from St. Mary of the Assumption parish in Manayunk and while at Roman he was a member of 1942 city championship crew team, as well as the school band and Cahillite staff. He attended St. Joseph’s College for one year, then enlisted in the U.S. Navy during World War 2.
He served on the battleship U.S.S. Missouri in the Gunnery Department, witnessing the surrender of Japan in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945. He received the Victory Medal, the American Theater Ribbon and the Asiatic-Pacific Theater Ribbon with 2 Stars. After the war, he was part of the U.S.S. Missouri’s goodwill tour of the Mediterranean Sea region.
Following the war Ampthor was a chemical engineer at Rohm & Haas for nearly 44 years, helping farmers to formulate herbicides and pesticides, and later helping to develop fiberglass panels for Ford and Chevrolet cars. For many years, he taught Organic Chemistry Lab at night at St. Joseph’s University, was active in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and in retirement drove the Roxborough Hospital patient shuttle and volunteered at St. Bridget’s Church in East Falls. He died in 1993.
Charles Fuller – Class of 1956
Charles Fuller hailed from North Philadelphia and graduated from Roman in 1956. Following Roman, he then studied for two years at Villanova University.
Fuller joined the U.S. Army in 1959 and served for 3 years overseas in Japan and South Korea.
He later graduated from LaSalle University and was a co-founder of the Afro-American Arts Theater in Philadelphia. Fuller became a noted playwright and in 1982 he won the Pulitzer Prize for drama for “A Soldier’s Play” that centered on the murder of a Black Army sergeant and the search for the culprit. The play would later make it to Broadway and win two Tony Awards. The movie version received three Oscar nominations. He was a member of the Writers Guild of America and wrote numerous short fiction and screenplays, as well as worked as a movie producer.
In 2015, Fuller was named one of Roman Catholic High School’s 125 Men of Distinction. He died on October 3, 2022.
Al Zimmerman – Class of 1965
Al Zimmerman graduated from Roman in 1965, hailing from St. Bridget’s parish. Following graduation, he joined the U.S. Army in 1966 and was selected to attend Officer Candidate School.
During the Vietnam War, Zimmerman served as a Helicopter Pilot, Platoon Leader, and Operations Officer with the 1st Air Cavalry Division. In 1969, during an operation to rescue wounded U.S. soldiers, Zimmerman’s Cobra helicopter was hit by enemy fire and forced down. He was later picked up by another helicopter crew, where Zimmerman manned a gun and placed suppressive fire on the enemy and called in air strikes against the enemy positions. The action resulted in the decimation of a large enemy unit, and Zimmerman was awarded the Silver Star for his actions. His other awards include: four awards of the Distinguished Flying Cross for heroism, the Bronze Star, the Purple Heart, and 27 Air Medals. Zimmerman is believed to be one of the most decorated alumni in Roman’s history and he was recently inducted into the U.S. Army Ranger Hall of Fame.
Edward Seeburger – Class of 1940
Edward Seeburger was born in Philadelphia and was a member of Our Lady of Mercy parish. He graduated from Roman in 1940. Following graduation, he immediately enlisted in the Marines and fought in the Pacific during World War II.
Seeburger also served as a First Lieutenant in the 1st Marine Division during the Korean War. During the Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, in temperatures that plummeted to minus 20 degrees, Seeburger was leading the remains of his Unit as they desperately fought their way south. Of the 220 Marines originally in his Company, only about 20 were still fit to fight. Out of seven officers, only Seeburger remained. His unit was ambushed by the enemy and, although bleeding profusely from a bullet wound in his leg, Seeburger was able to direct his tank gunners as to where to fire at the enemy positions which wiped out the enemy and enabled his convoy to escape. For his selfless act of courage during the battle, Seeburger was awarded the prestigious Navy Cross, just one grade below the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Following the war, Seeburger retired from the Marines and returned to Philadelphia, where he and his wife, Helen, raised a daughter, Dolores. Seeburger worked as a park police officer and then as an engraver for 32 years at Becks Engraving Co. He died in 2007 at the age of 85.
By Chris Gibbons Special to the Doughboy Dispatch newsletter – October, 2021
It was December of 2019 when I first came upon the letter from 28th Division Captain Ralph C. Crow to Mrs. Ellen Breen of Philadelphia. Like so many of the letters that I’ve discovered during my now 10-year search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who gave their lives in World War I, it was heartbreaking. However, this letter was different, and I was astonished as I read it for it revealed a surprising and unexpected connection related to my search.
Captain Ralph C. Crow’s letter to Mrs. Ellen Breen
Ellen Breen’s son, Bernard, was a sergeant in Crow’s Company A – 108th Machine Gun Battalion in the opening days of the great Meuse-Argonne Offensive, the largest and deadliest battle ever fought by American soldiers. The letter read in part: “…I was ordered to send two guns to report to a Batallion (sic) when the fight started, I selected Sergeant Bernard F. Breen, and his gun crew for the reason that I considered him the best man in my Company…On the morning of September 28th, one of the men who had been with Sergeant Breen reported to me that the section had all been shot up, that Sergeant Breen and another man had been killed…”
The letter went on to state that one of the soldiers informed Captain Crow that they searched for, and eventually found, a “Father Wolf (sic)” to perform Breen’s burial service. A subsequent search of World War I records indicates that the only chaplain that could have been was the highly decorated 28th Division Lieutenant Reverend Joseph L. N. Wolfe. Crowe wrote: “I later got a chance to talk to Father Wolf (sic) and he told me himself that he had visited the grave of Sergeant Breen, and had performed the burial service…the men of my Company felt that they had lost a true Comrade when he was killed, as I said in the beginning of this letter it is with sorrow that I write this, as I had learned to love Sergeant Breen for the many brave deeds he (had) done on the field of battle.”
On September 27th, 1918, during the great Battle of the Meuse-Argonne, Joseph Wolfe from Roman Catholic High School’s Class of 1899 performed the burial service of Bernard Breen from Roman’s Class of 1902. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had known each other.
It was another remarkable moment of discovery for me, one of many I’ve had over these last several years. It was also another reminder that what I had initially and naively assumed would be a relatively straightforward search for names had instead become an incredible revelation of stories.
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Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School – circa 1900
“I resolved to find what remained of Company D for (my grandfather), and for (his fellow soldiers), and for myself, as well, and complete a story begun on a hot July day so long ago, when young men raced across open fields toward machine guns and disappeared into history.” (From “The Remains of Company D – A Story of the Great War” by James Carl Nelson)
As an avid military history buff, I had always been intrigued by World War I. When I was just 12 years old, I worked on Saturdays at a local Gun Club as a ‘trap-boy’ – putting the clay pigeons on the machine that would fling them out of the trap-bunker. There was an old man who also worked there that everyone called “Gunner”. I never knew his real name, but was told that he was a veteran of World War I. I remember that Gunner was missing the tops of a few of his fingers after the first knuckle and often wondered if it was an injury sustained in the war. Whenever he clutched his ever-present lit cigar with those finger-stubs, I wanted to ask him what happened, but never did. I now wish that I had. Additionally, my father, a Korean War veteran, occasionally recounted particularly disturbing memories from his childhood of disabled Great War veterans begging for money on the streets of Philadelphia during the Great Depression.
In the late 1990’s, my then 84-year-old next-door neighbor, Murray, fascinated me with his childhood recollections of attending the May 1919 parade held in Philadelphia for the returning 28th Division soldiers.
Consequently, when my freelance writing career began in 2004 many of my initial published essays focused on war veterans, and several chronicled the exploits of the doughboys of the Great War. However, it was while reading James Carl Nelson’s The Remains of Company D – A Story of the Great War in 2011, particularly the passage above, that I committed myself to finding the names of the alumni of my high school alma mater who gave their lives in World War I.
Philadelphia’s Roman Catholic High School is the oldest Diocesan high school in the United States, as well as the nation’s first free Catholic high school. The school’s founder, Thomas E. Cahill, amassed a fortune from his coal and ice businesses, and when he died in 1878 he left the bulk of his estate for the establishment of the school as specified in his will. His wife, Sophia, and the initial members of the Board of Trustees, a few of them Civil War veterans, saw to it that Cahill’s dream would come to fruition and, in September of 1890, “Catholic High”, as it was commonly known, first opened the doors of its grand Gothic building at Broad and Vine streets. Students and alumni are known as “Cahillites” and the school has become a veritable institution in Philadelphia that continues to thrive to this day.
WW 2 Memorial Plaque at Roman Catholic High School
While walking the halls of Roman as a student in the late 1970’s, I would often glance up at the memorial plaques hanging on a first-floor wall that listed the names of the 121 Roman alumni who gave their lives in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. The largest of those plaques, by far, is the bronze World War II plaque listing 108 names. It was dedicated by the Alumni Association in 1947, and the guest speaker at the dedication ceremony was Federal Judge James P. McGranery, a World War I veteran from Roman’s Class of 1913. McGranery would later serve as a Pennsylvania Congressman and Attorney General under President Harry Truman.
I wondered why there was no commemorative plaque for the Roman alumni who gave their lives in World War I and simply assumed it was because no alumni had died in the Great War. Surely, I reassured myself, that must be the case, otherwise a plaque would have been dedicated by our Alumni Association a long time ago.
In the years following my graduation in 1979, I tried to remain active in Roman’s Alumni Association and often attended the Association’s quarterly meetings held at the school. Prior to these meetings, I would occasionally walk the storied halls of the old building and stop to glance up at the memorial plaques. I once wrote down the names from the Korean War plaque for my father, a Korean War veteran and Roman graduate from the class of 1948. He told me that there were some names missing. “Believe me”, he said, “I know guys who were killed in Korea – Roman guys – and they’re not on there.” He wrote down their names for me and because my Dad’s mind and memory were always razor-sharp, I wasn’t surprised to later confirm that he was right. But this finding also puzzled me: Why were these names not listed on Roman’s Korean War memorial plaque? Was it simply a matter of the school and the alumni not being informed by their next of kin? Could the same thing have happened to the Roman alumni who gave their lives in World War I?
As my interest and knowledge of the Great War deepened over the years, particularly its impact on the Philadelphia region, these visits to the school gradually amplified my suspicions that it was highly unlikely that Roman alumni did not die in the war. Nelson’s book not only inspired me to confirm this but, if true, to also try and determine why the saga of Roman’s alumni of World War I had become lost and forgotten in the fog of time and the torn pages of history.
Philadelphia and the Great War
When the Great War started in August 1914, the United States was determined to remain neutral. However, as the war progressed, public sentiment gradually favored England and France (the Allied Powers), particularly after a German submarine torpedoed and sank the British ocean liner Lusitania on May 7, 1915, killing 128 Americans, 27 of whom were Philadelphians. During this period of neutrality, massive amounts of materials and goods supporting the Allied Powers war efforts were manufactured and shipped from the United States. Philadelphia, then the 3rd largest city in the country with a population of just over 1.5 million people, was a major manufacturing, trade, and shipping hub, and the war was a boon for the region’s industries as chronicled by historian Jacob Downs in The Encyclopedia of Greater Philadelphia – World War I:
“War created a significant boost to the region’s industries, which produced clothing, ammunition, weapons, and war machines for the U.S. military and the Allies. Even before U.S. entry into the conflict on April 6, 1917, the war helped to reinvigorate the region’s textile industry, which had been suffering in the early twentieth century. For example, the Dobson’s Mills, located in Kensington, Manayunk, and Germantown, filled an order for 100,000 blankets to the French army in the first year of the war, while the Roxford Knitting Mill in Kensington filled a similar-sized order for underwear. Area shipyards expanded, producing 328 ships during the war years. The New York Shipbuilding Corporation in South Camden and the Pusey and Jones Shipbuilding Corporation in Gloucester City became major contributors to the war effort. The war also vastly expanded the Camden Forge, a major supplier for the shipyards. The Baldwin Locomotive Works manufactured artillery shells and other munitions. Seventy-five percent of the military’s boots and shoes came from Philadelphia tanners.”
After the U.S. declared war on Germany on April 6, 1917, Philadelphia lived up to its new nickname – “Workshop of the World” – as it became one of the key cities crucial to sustaining America’s war efforts. Philadelphia industries not only manufactured munitions, helmets, clothing, and various other supplies for the military, but hundreds of battleships, destroyers, and transport vessels were produced at the city’s Hog Island, Delaware River, and Naval Shipyards. Together, these facilities formed the largest ship building complex in the world at the time.
Philadelphia Home Defense troops parade at Broad and Arch Streets, just three blocks from Roman Catholic High School (Photo from “Philadelphia in the World War”)
Thousands of men and women from the Philadelphia area enlisted in the armed services following the war declaration. As noted in the 1922 publication, Philadelphia in the World War: 1914-1919 by the Philadelphia War History Committee, at least 90,000 Philadelphians joined some branch of the Army, Navy, or Marine Corps during the war, with approximately 60,000 men from the Philadelphia area serving overseas, primarily in the 28th and 79th Divisions. Of the nearly 2,000 Philadelphians (some later estimates placed it closer to 3,000) who died while in service, approximately 1,000 were Catholics from the Philadelphia Archdiocese.
With this data serving as my background knowledge, and Nelson’s book providing inspiration, I was certain that my search would confirm my belief that Roman alumni did indeed give their lives in World War I. I even thought it was likely that a dust-covered bronze memorial plaque with the names that I sought was probably sitting in some forgotten corner of the school’s Annex building where the records were stored. But what I never anticipated were the remarkable stories this quest would uncover.
The Search and its Discoveries
In the autumn of 2011, with the enthusiastic assistance of Roman’s resident historian, Ed Keenan from the Class of 1954, the search for Roman’s so called “lost boys” of World War I began.
Ed and I sorted through the school’s voluminous documents and discovered a passage from the Alumni section of the 1919 yearbook that read: “Some fourteen of our Alumni, former students of Catholic High, have made the supreme sacrifice and laid down their lives on the fields of France for their country.” Although initially pleased that my suspicions had been confirmed, I was disappointed that the names of these fourteen former students were not listed. Further examination of other yearbooks as well as old newspaper articles only revealed the names of three of these alumni – Edward Kelley from the Class of 1908, Raymond Hummel from the Class of 1911, and Louis McGinnis from the Class of 1913. Additionally, in response to a 2012 Op-Ed piece that I wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer regarding my search a reader informed me via e-mail that his uncle, Richard Currie from the Class of 1911, also died in the war. Follow-up research confirmed this.
By mid-2012, eight months into the search, the first four names were known.
June 1919 RCHS Yearbook passage (left), Nov. 1917 Catholic Standard & Times (center), and Aug. 20, 1918 Philadelphia Public Ledger(right)November 16, 1918 Philadelphia Public Ledger
Thanks to the efforts of Patrick Conville from Roman’s Class of 1976, spreadsheets listing the names of the Roman graduates from 1894 through 1918 were compiled and then compared to a list of Philadelphians and Pennsylvanians who died while in service during the war. Any matches were then subsequently researched for verification which resulted in the confirmation of two more alumni: John Gerngross from the Class of 1909 and James Feely from the Class of 1906.
Photo of John Gerngross and the Jan. 28, 1922 Philadelphia Public Ledger (left), Oct. 1918 Catholic Standard & Times (right)
While hopes for a quick resolution were momentarily buoyed by these finds, it was also in compiling these spreadsheets of Roman graduates that a major issue severely hampering the search became apparent. The records of the names of the graduates from 1894 through 1918 are readily available from the school records, sorted by graduation year, with the names of these graduates listed in alphabetical order. With an average number of about 59 graduates per year for that time period, it was a tedious, yet ultimately manageable task to compile a complete list of these graduates for comparison purposes. However, the search is not just limited to the school’s graduates, but it encompasses the entire alumni – all former students of the school. During that era, it was extremely common for students to attend high school for 1 to 3 years before joining the work force. Indeed, it is estimated that only about 25% of Roman students in the late 19th and early 20th centuries stayed at the school from freshman through senior year to receive their diplomas.
Unfortunately, the issue arose due to the fact that the records of all Roman alumni who ever attended the school – which includes crucial data such as address, birth date, mother’s name, and father’s name – not only number in the tens of thousands, but are maintained on outdated microfiche film in alphabetical order by student last name, and not by class year. While I would certainly use these records, and continue to do so, for ultimate verification of a potential find, it was nearly impossible to manually update a spreadsheet with the key information that would have enabled quick comparisons against the list of Philadelphians and Pennsylvanians who died in the Great War.
Consequently, the next phase of the search consisted of extensive reviews of numerous Philadelphia newspapers from that era as well as visiting old Philadelphia Catholic Churches that still had WW I commemorative plaques listing the names of parishoners who gave their lives in the war. Additionally, tips received from individuals who heard about the search led to the discovery of two names.
Newspapers – Current technology enables me to electronically search digitally archived newspapers utilizing key words or phrases, while also narrowing the search to a particular time period. This has been crucial in not only the discovery of the Roman alumni who served and died in the war, but also those who were wounded as well. The additional names of Roman alumni that have been discovered from these newspapers are listed below:
Joseph D. Waples – Class of 1914 (thanks to the efforts of Steve Johnston, Class of 2010)
Walter J. Spearing – Class of 1909
Joseph F. Murray – Class of 1908
John J. Boyle – Class of 1914
James W.Callahan – Class of 1918
Bernard F. Breen – Class of 1902
Daniel P. Lafferty – Class of 1916
Michael R. Leonard – Class of 1910
John F. Owens – Class of 1908 (died in 1922 from wounds sustained during the war)
Assorted newspaper articles that I’ve gathered from the search identifying Roman alumni who were killed in action are shown below:
Names listed on WW I Commemorative Plaques at old Philadelphia Catholic Churches – When I informed my father of the difficulties I was encountering in the early days of my search, he suggested checking the names listed on the large WW I memorial plaque in the vestibule of St. Columba Church, his parish as a youth that dates back to 1895. The Catholic boys from this North Philadelphia parish, now known as St. Martin de Porres, have a long-standing tradition of attending Roman and my father thought it was likely that some of those parishoners who gave their lives in World War I also attended Roman. Dad turned out to be right as this led to the discovery of another name – Francis T. Schommer from the Class of 1914. This, in turn, led me to checking the names from several other old Catholic church commemorative WW I plaques: St. John the Evangelist, St. Patrick’s, Visitation B.V.M., St. Vincent DePaul, St. John the Baptist, St. Bridget’s, Corpus Christi, St. Michael’s, and St. Bartholemew’s. While these searches did not reveal any new names, a few of these plaques did list names that were previously discovered.
Francis T. Schommer in uniform (left), and St. Columba Church – now known as St. Martin DePorres – and its large 4’x6′ WW I Memorial plaque (right)
Tips from those who have heard of the search – I was fortunate to have had several of my Op-Ed essays chronicling this search published in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Consequently, there were many people who were not only aware of it, but also provided information that led to the confirmation of two additional Roman alumni who died in World War I:
Peter J. Conway – Class of 1910: His great niece contacted me via e-mail and wasn’t sure if he attended Roman, but thought that it was likely based on family history. Roman’s records confirmed that Conway was an alumnus.
Walter J. Wiegand – Class of 1915: A researcher who checked the Roman digital archives maintained on Villanova University’s Falvey Memorial Digital Library contacted me via e-mail after finding a Roman document dating back to 1940 that was written by Paul Jones from the Class of 1915. Jones, then a columnist for the Philadelphia Bulletin, reminisced about his graduation year at Roman in this document and revealed the following “…Walt Wiegand, another classmate, would die three years later in a tank attack on the plains between Amiens and St. Quentin.” Again, a review of newspaper articles as well as Roman’s records confirmed that Wiegand was an alumnus.
Philadelphia Record – 1918 (left), Catholic Standard & Times – 1918 (center), Philadelphia Press – 1918 (right)
The Wounded
One of the more surprising results of the search has been the discovery of numerous Roman alumni who were wounded in the Great War. Initially these discoveries were unexpectedly made while looking over various newspaper articles in a search for the Roman alumni who were killed in action. However, another method that I used that also resulted in discovering the wounded was taking the list of Roman graduates and then searching the military records on Ancestry.com in the hopes of finding information that would be helpful in my search. Just based upon the number of wounded I’ve found somewhat accidentally, as well as in relatively cursory attempts, I’ve concluded that it’s likely that a few hundred Roman alumni were wounded in World War I.
A particularly interesting finding regarding the wounded was the story of Joseph P. Collins from the Class of 1912. He served as a Corporal in Company B of the 145th Infantry Regiment of the famed 28th Division. Using Ancestry.com, I discovered the account he wrote of the early days of the Meuse-Argonne Offensive when he was wounded, a portion of which states: “…advanced to Toul Sector, then to St. Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne fight starting 9/25/18 here on this front I was 4 days out during time capturing about 30 prisoners and killing about 10, then on the morning of the 29th Sept. I was hit with a German 77 on the left ankle bone, some striking me before it struck the ground then piecing off same shell shot down the field about 100 yards killing several other boys. Then I was carried back to the 1st Aid Station for treatment where I laid under Jerry’s fire for 10 hrs. Afterward I was moved for 60 hrs until I received special attention, then on Oct 1, 1918 my leg was amputated….”
Below are an assortment of newspaper articles and Pennsylvania Veteran’s Compensation Application records found of the Roman alumni who were wounded in battle (all were confirmed to be alumni):
A Search for Names Becomes a Revelation of Stories
Among the most surprising and gratifying aspects of the search thus far has been the discovery of long forgotten exploits of some of the Roman alumni who served in the Great War. What I had naively assumed would be a simple search for names has instead become a remarkable revelation of stories, not only of those who gave their lives, but those who survived as well.
I’ve compiled quite a few of these stories during my research, but space limitations preclude me from summarizing all of them in this article. What follows are some of the more noteworthy among them:
Edward J. Kelley – Class of 1908: Kelley was not only the first Roman alumnus to give his life in the Great War, but he was also among the first Americans to die as well. He joined the American Ambulance Field Service in 1916, some 8 months before the U.S. even entered the war. On September 23, 1916, during the Battle of Verdun, while helping to transport wounded French soldiers, Kelley was killed when an ambulance he was in was hit by German shrapnel fire. He was held in such high regard by the French Army that they gave Kelley a full military funeral as well as posthumously awarding him the French Croix de Guerre medal for bravery. Kelley’s family read my 2014 story about him in the Philadelphia Inquirer and sent me a photo of a letter signed by all of the French soldiers who attended his funeral, as well as a photo of a French soldier standing at his gravesite.
Sept. 25, 1916 Philadelphia Public Ledger (left), letter to the Kelley family from the French soldiers who attended his funeral (center), French soldier at Kelley’s gravesite (right)
Vincent Diodati – Class of 1906: After graduating from Roman, Diodati earned his medical degree from Jefferson Medical College and practiced medicine in Philadelphia. He enlisted in the Army the day the U.S. declared war on Germany on April 6, 1917 and was quickly commissioned a lieutenant. Because the British were in dire need of battlefield surgeons, he was immediately assigned to British forces before any U.S. troops even entered the battlefield. During his entire time in Europe he was under constant fire. In the battles that his unit was involved in, Diodati was wounded three times and gassed twice. At one point, he was severely wounded but refused to leave the field hospital because he wanted to continue to tend to the wounded Allied soldiers. Of his original outfit of 220 men, Diodati was one of only 14 survivors. For his gallantry, Diodati was promoted to Major and received the coveted British Military Cross which was personally presented to him by King George of England. Following the war, Diodati resumed practicing medicine in Philadelphia and was a member of the American Medical Association. He died in 1970 at the age of 81. Upon reading my story about Diodati in the Philadelphia Inquirer, his niece contacted me and sent a photo of his British Military Cross that she inherited.
March 28, 1919 Philadelphia Public Ledger (left), Dr. Vincent Diodati – circa 1960’s (center), Diodati’s British Military Cross (right)
Joseph L. N. Wolfe – Class of 1899: After graduating from Roman, Wolfe was ordained a priest in 1906, serving in the Philadelphia Archdiocese. He enlisted in the Army at the outbreak of World War I and was among an incredible 16 Roman alumni who served as priest-chaplains during the war. Wolfe served in the 110th Infantry Regiment and 55th Infantry Brigade of Pennsylvania’s 28th Division. He participated in some of the bloodiest fighting of the war as his division fought in nearly every major U.S. Army engagement, including the great Battle of the Meuse-Argonne. Wolfe consistently put himself in harm’s way as he tended to the wounded soldiers on the battlefield, and also administered last rites to dying soldiers during battle. For his courage and bravery, Wolfe was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal, and 2 Silver Star Citations. He went on to become National Chaplain of the American Legion and also served as a pastor in the West Philadelphia parishes of Saint Barbara’s and Saint Gregory’s. He died in 1949 at the age of 67.
Reverend Lt. Joseph L.N. Wolfe (left), Sept. 28, 1918 Philadelphia Public Ledger (center), June 17, 1919 Philadelphia Public Ledger (right)
John W. Friel – Class of 1910: Following graduation, Friel attended the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School. He served as a corporal in the 37th Division’s 145th Infantry Regiment. During World War I’s great Battle of the Meuse-Argonne, on Nov. 2, 1918, in full view of the enemy and under heavy artillery and machine-gun fire, Friel and two fellow soldiers swam across the Escaut/Scheldt River to complete the construction of a crucial footbridge. The other two soldiers with Friel were killed during the action. Friel managed to make it to the other side and completed the footbridge which enabled American troops to cross the river during the battle. For his actions, Friel was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Croix de Guerre with 2 palms from France, the Croix de Guerre from Belgium, and the Purple Heart. Following the war, Friel worked for the Standard Press Steel Company for 42 years, retiring as Executive Vice President. In 1963, Friel was named National Commander of the Legion of Valor, an organization that dates to the Civil War for military personnel who have been awarded either the Medal of Honor, the Distinguished Service Cross, or the Navy Cross. Friel was honored in a White House ceremony by President Lyndon Johnson. He died in 1970, and his legacy was so revered that his obituary was printed in the New York Times.
John Friel (right) awards Legion of Valor to John Geoghegan – circa 1960 (left), Friel’s grave in Queenstown, Maryland (right)
John F. Owens – Class of 1908: Owens enlisted in the Army in 1916 and served at the Mexican border. At the outbreak of World War I, he served in the 109th Infantry Regiment of the 28th Division. He participated in five major battles, including Fismette and Chateau-Thierry. At Chateau-Thierry he was severely wounded with a machine gun wound to his hip. This injury necessitated several operations both during and after the war, and, in 1922, four years after the war ended, Owens died from those wounds. However, on March 13, 1930, Owens was posthumously awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action during the Battle of Fismette. The Army citation reads as follows: “Pvt. Owens was a member of a detachment consisting of two automatic rifle squads that was holding a position north of the bridgehead in the town of Fismette. During the severe enemy artillery bombardment of their position the members of the detachment were buried under falling buildings on three different occasions, but each time they were able to rescue one another, salvage their guns and continue to hold the position.”
John F. Owens – circa 1917 (left), Feb 14, 2022 Philadelphia Public Ledger (center, Owens’ Silver Star Citation (right)
John T. McFall – Class of 1917: McFall served as a private in the 5th Regiment of the 2nd Marine Division. In June 1918, McFall’s regiment fought in the Battle of Belleau Wood. The battle is now legendary in Marine lore and noted for the tenacious hand-to-hand fighting that ensued and the heavy casualties sustained by both sides. U.S. forces suffered 9,777 casualties, including 1,811 killed. At least one Roman alumnus, Walter J. Spearing from the Class of 1909, was killed in the fighting. McFall was awarded the French Croix de Guerre medal for bravery. He died in 1941.
July 1918, Catholic Standard & Times – listed incorrect middle initial (left), McFall’s grave at Miami City Cemetery (right)
William J. Armstrong – Class of 1912: While at Roman, Armstrong was Captain of the football team. During World War I he served as a First Lieutenant and fighter pilot in the 17th United States Aero Squadron. In July of 1918 Armstrong was cited by the British for bringing down an enemy aircraft, and on August 11, 1918, during a dog-fight in which Armstrong was engaged against 4 German fighter planes, he reportedly shot down one, and possibly two, enemy planes. He was severely injured during the engagement but still managed to land his plane. The incident made headline news in the Philadelphia newspapers. In 1934, Armstrong was a founding member of the Order of Daedalians, formed by a representative group of American World War I pilots to perpetuate the spirit of patriotism and love of country that advocated for air and space power to ensure American preeminence as well as foster an esprit de corps in the military air forces. The Daedalians are still active today.
Oct. 1, 1918 Philadelphia Public Ledger (left), Sept. 30, 1918 Philadelphia Press (center), Armstrong writes of his wartime experiences(right)
John F. McCloskey – Class of 1896: Following graduation from Roman, McCloskey served in the U.S. Army’s Battery “A” of the Pennsylvania Volunteers during the Puerto Rican Campaign of the Spanish-American War in 1898. After the war, he enrolled at the University of Pennsylvania and was named an All-American football player. He graduated from Penn’s Medical School in 1901. McCloskey co-founded Chestnut Hill Hospital in Philadelphia in 1904. In 1915, before the United States formally entered World War 1, McCloskey volunteered to help the French Army and served in the famed American Ambulance Corp. When the U.S. declared war on Germany in 1917, he then served in the U.S. Army Medical Corps with the 42nd Division, attaining the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. McCloskey became an expert surgeon in facial reconstruction for soldiers inflicted with severe facial wounds suffered in battle. He later went on to become a prominent Philadelphia physician, a clinical professor of surgery at Woman’s Medical College, and Register of Wills for the city of Philadelphia. After nearly 50 years of service at Chestnut Hill Hospital, McCloskey died in 1951. There is a grammar school named after him in the Mt. Airy section of Philadelphia.
Dr. John F. McCloskey – 1950 (left), March 20, 1941 Philadelphia Inquirer (center), John F. McCloskey Public School – Philadelphia (right)
Another interesting aspect of the search has been the rediscovery of Roman alumni with ties to World War I who would later distinguish themselves in their careers. Some of the more noteworthy are summarized below:
James P. McGranery – Class of 1914: McGranery served in World War I with the 111th Infantry Division as a Balloon Observation pilot. He would go on to become a Federal Judge and U.S. Congressman and was appointed as Attorney General under President Harry Truman in 1952.
Tommy Loughran – Class of 1920: While a sophomore at Roman in 1917, Loughran, eager to fight for his country, lied about his age and enlisted in the Army. Just prior to shipping out overseas, military authorities discovered the 15-year old’s true age and sent him home. He would later go on to become one of the greatest light-heavyweight champions in boxing history, eventually inducted into both the Boxing Hall of Fame and the Marine Sports Hall of Fame (Loughran served in WW II).
Vincent A. Carroll – Class of 1909: One of the most prominent Philadelphians of his era, Carroll served as a Captain in the 79th Division’s Artillery Field Battalion in WW I. His unit was involved in heavy fighting in the battles of St. Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne. Carroll received an Army citation for gallantry in battle and was promoted to Major. Following the war, Carroll continued to practice law in Philadelphia, then served as Assistant District Attorney and a Judge in the Court of Common Pleas. He was eventually chosen by his fellow judges as the first President Judge of the Philadelphia Court of Common Pleas. Carroll is also the founder of the modern St. Patrick’s Day parade in Philadelphia.
Peter Guilday – Class of 1901: Guilday, the founder of the American Catholic Historical Association, was ordained a priest following graduation from Roman and later tried to enlist in the Army at the outbreak of the war but was denied due to poor eyesight. However, as one of the most prominent Church historians and authors, Guilday would later be named as Secretary of the historic records of the National Catholic War Council, and he would also chronicle the history of Catholics in World War I.
William F. Dalton – Class of 1904: Dalton served as an Army Infantry Captain in the 154th Depot Brigade during World War I, though not overseas until 1919. He also served as a Lieutenant Colonel in World War II and was captured by the Japanese when the Philippines fell in 1942. Dalton was held as a POW until 1945 when he was liberated by Russian troops in Manchuria, and he was awarded the Silver Star for bravery.
The Status of the Search
During the first 3 years of the search for the Roman alumni who gave their lives in the Great War, the working assumption, based upon the 1919 Yearbook passage, was that a total of 14 alumni had died. However, in 2014, I was stunned to discover newspaper articles referencing a December 28, 1919, Memorial Mass that was held at the school “to honor the memory of the 32 former students who died in the war…” Additionally, another crucial piece of information was gleaned from these articles as, apparently, the total number of alumni who served was listed as 1,500. Not only did these new revelations take me by complete surprise, but I was again frustrated that the names of these deceased 32 alumni were not provided in the articles. However, I now believe that a brochure or a pamphlet was likely handed out at this Memorial Mass that did list these names. I’m convinced that in the attic of an old Philadelphia rowhome are the long-forgotten belongings of someone who attended the Mass and kept that pamphlet – perhaps a relative of one of the dead soldiers. Finding it is now my “Holy Grail.”
Since that time, I have subsequently discovered that at least two additional alumni, John F. Owens from the Class of 1908 and William H. Barrow from the Class of 1913, died in 1922 of wounds sustained in battle during the war, thus raising the total now to 34.
One of the most puzzling and frustrating mysteries surrounding this search has been trying to find the reason why Roman did not have a memorial plaque to honor its fallen alumni of World War I. It has perplexed all the alumni, both young and old, who I’ve spoken to. The mystery only deepened with the discovery of early 1919 newspaper articles stating that Roman’s Alumni Association named a memorial committee whose planning would eventually culminate in the unveiling of a bronze tablet at the school that honored the “martyrs to nation.”
In December of 1919, the Alumni Association again publicly stated that it still planned to move forward with a memorial but hadn’t yet decided what “form it would take.” My search for additional news following this last pronouncement has come up empty and it is unknown as to what eventually became of those plans. Was there once a memorial or a plaque to honor the Roman alumni of World War I? If so, what happened to it, and if not, why? To those who are unfamiliar with the fierce loyalty that the Roman alumni have always had for their school, this mystery may seem trivial. But our motto is “Brothers for Life”, and these ideals have been largely embraced by, and passed down to, each subsequent class since 1894. This unyielding allegiance was never more evident than in the 1980’s when the alumni fought against, and prevented, the Philadelphia Archdiocese’s plans to close the school. So, the idea that the Alumni Association’s publicly announced plans for this memorial were somehow scrapped and forgotten is almost unimaginable for most of us to accept. For me, the resolution of this mystery is just as vital as finding the names of the fallen.
At Roman Catholic High School’s annual Veteran’s Day Assembly in 2013, a new World War I Memorial plaque commissioned by the Alumni Association was unveiled. It was designed to only list 14 alumni names, so shortly after the discovery that it was actually 32 alumni, and possibly more, who had given their lives, another plaque for these additional names was approved. Together, both plaques can hold a total of 36 names if necessary. They are pictured here with the 19 names discovered thus far and are now hanging next to the World War II memorial plaque in the first-floor hall at Roman.
A relatively recent discovery has now raised my hopes for finding most, if not all, of the remaining names. With the help of John Corrigan, history teacher and Chairman of Roman Catholic High School’s Social Studies Department, I was provided a copy of a pamphlet that was distributed at a May 30, 1919, Memorial Mass for Philadelphia’s Catholic war dead. It was held in Philadelphia’s massive Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, just a few blocks from Roman Catholic High School. The pamphlet lists 619 names of the known Catholic soldiers and sailors who died during the Great War and also provides their address, military unit, how they died, when, and their home parish. While it is certainly not a complete list of all those Philadelphia Catholics who died, it does narrow my search enough to make it a bit more manageable. It is now just a matter of setting aside some time and manually checking each name against Roman’s microfiche records. The first pages of the pamphlet are shown below.
In closing, perhaps the most poignant discovery I have made thus far is the story of John Jenkins from the Class of 1912. He was the Class Vice President and Editor of Roman’s monthly journal and yearbook, the Purple and Gold. While conducting a search on Ancestry.com of the records that may be available for the Roman graduates from the Class of 1912, I discovered that Jenkins enlisted in the Army just one month after the U.S. had declared war on Germany. He served in the 79th, 29th, and 28th Divisions eventually attaining the rank of 1st lieutenant. On his Pennsylvania Veterans Compensation Application he listed his “Engagements” (battles he fought in) as St. Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne, two of the bloodiest battles of the war with the Meuse-Argonne now having the distinction of being the largest and deadliest battle ever fought by U.S. soldiers. I could only imagine what Jenkins must have experienced.
I continued to browse his records and learned that he was a real estate salesman and that he and his wife, Lola, never had any children. As I continued to search, I then found that he died in 1941, at the young age of 46. On his Pennsylvania Certificate of Death, the coroner stated that the cause of death was “Suicide by carbon monoxide gas as he sat in an automobile with hose connected to the exhaust pipe.” Other contributory causes were also listed: “Mental depression & alcohol addiction.”
I sat staring at my computer screen, repeatedly reading the Death Certificate over and over. I then went back to read his Veterans Compensation Application. Next to “Wounds or other injuries received”, Jenkins wrote: “None.” However, I don’t believe this is true. Although John Jenkins had no wounds from the Great War that could be seen, it certainly didn’t mean that he had none. While I cannot say for sure that his experiences during the war were the cause of his mental depression, it would be negligent to believe that he was not deeply scarred by St. Mihiel and the Meuse-Argonne.
I’m now convinced that the Great War killed John Jenkins as surely as it killed our other alumni, and although I have yet to find all the Cahillites who gave their lives, I believe it’s likely that I’ve already found Roman Catholic High School’s final casualty of World War I.
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The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak
Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.
They say, We were young. We have died. Remember us.
They say, We have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.
They say, We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.
They say, Our deaths are not ours: they are yours: they will mean what you make them.
They say, 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: give them an end to the war and a true peace: give them a victory that ends the war and a peace afterwards: give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.
(Archibald Macleish was a World War I veteran and Pulitzer Prize winning poet)
Although my search for the Roman Catholic High School alumni who gave their lives in World War I has resulted in numerous, rewarding moments of discovery, it has also wrought many instances of frustration and disappointment. Dead-ends, fractured records, and a busy schedule have hindered my search from the outset. But whenever my confidence in finding Roman’s ‘lost boys’ of the Great War begins to waver, I think of the poem by Archibald Macleish. These young dead soldiers cannot speak, and, like everyone else, I did not remember them, but only because I knew nothing about them. Now that I know a bit more about who they were, where they lived, and what they strived to be, I cannot forget them. We share a common bond as we were shaped during our formative years at the same legendary high school. Borne of the same philanthropic father, we are brothers for life, and I will never give up in trying to find them. I no longer worry about completing this task for I know that if I cannot, others will.
The Roman alumni of World War I were young and they died, and they do not speak, yet faint whispers can still be heard from their graves: “Remember us.”
I will…and I shall not forget.
Chris Gibbons is a Philadelphia writer. His recent book, “Soldiers, Space, and Stories of Life” is available via Amazon.com (see below link) and Barnesandnoble.com. The book is a compilation of his published stories with many focusing on war veterans. An entire chapter features those stories chronicling his search for the alumni of Roman Catholic High School who fought in World War I.
