Monday, September 12, 2011

TFH 9/12: 2nd Lieutenant J. Hunter Wickersham, USA


Medal of Honor Citations from World War I tend to be shorter than those from later years. Their brevity does not diminish the heroism, service, and sacrifice of their subjects.

*WICKERSHAM, J. HUNTER

Rank and organization: Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army, 353d Infantry, 89th Division. Place and date. Near Limey, France, 12 September 1918. Entered service at: Denver, Colo. Birth: New York, N.Y. G.O. No.: 16, W.D., 1919. Citation: Advancing with his platoon during the St. Mihiel offensive, he was severely wounded in 4 places by the bursting of a high-explosive shell. Before receiving any aid for himself he dressed the wounds of his orderly, who was wounded at the same time. He then ordered and accompanied the further advance of his platoon, although weakened by the loss of blood. His right hand and arm being disabled by wounds, he continued to fire his revolver with his left hand until, exhausted by loss of blood, he fell and died from his wounds before aid could be administered.

The day before Lieutenant Wickersham was mortally wounded during his finest hour, he wrote a letter to his mother in Denver, CO that contained the following poem:

The mist hangs low and quiet on a ragged line of hills,
  There's a whispering of wind across the flat,
You'd be feeling kind of lonesome if it wasn't for one thing—
  The patter of the raindrops on your old tin hat.

An' you can't help a-figuring—sitting there alone—
  About this war and hero stuff and that,
And you wonder if they haven't sort of got things twisted up,
  While the rain keeps up its patter on your old tin hat.

When you step off with the outfit to do your little bit
  You're simply doing what you're s'posed to do—
And you don't take time to figure what you gain or lose—
  It's the spirit of the game that brings you through.

But back at home she's waiting, writing cheerful little notes,
  And every night she offers up a prayer
And just keeps on a-hoping that her soldier boy is safe—
  The Mother of the boy who's over there.

And, fellows, she's the hero of this great, big ugly war,
  And her prayer is on the wind across the flat,
And don't you reckon maybe it's her tears, and not the rain,
  That's keeping up the patter on your old tin hat?

We thank all the heroes who have given their lives for our Nation, and we thank the mothers who have given our Nation their sons and daughters. 

2 comments:

  1. Found your blog on J. Hunter Wickersham and wondered what inspired you to post his story? I've been told I'm a distant relative of James, although I know very little about him, his story inspires. While serving in the USAF in France years ago, I had the honor to visit his grave site and the filed where he died. The people there were thrilled I visited, but truth be told, I was more thrilled. So many forget the sacrifices of those who served and died for our freedom, so thanks for adding this post. David Wickersham

    ReplyDelete
  2. Simple David: it was September 12th, and my search of Medal of Honor Citations for heroic acts on that date pulled up your relative!

    Thanks for visiting, and please keep coming back. While I'm not always best about chronicling "finest hours" on a daily basis, I do try.

    ReplyDelete

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