My father’s mother was a tiny woman everybody called “Shorty.” She was born in 1906. By all accounts, she had a peculiar turn on this blue sphere. The term “iconoclast” seems rather hard-toothed, but perhaps accurate. As a child, I spent a fair amount of time with her. Those times left an indelible mark on my memory. I’m not certain that I owe much of who I am to her influences, but I am amused at the complexity and eccentricity to which I was exposed.
There were typical grandmotherly trappings. She had a blue carnival glass dish on her coffee table. It contained a selection of ancient fruit-flavored candies, each jagged and hard enough to cut a diamond. Her purse smelled of gum and she always had a throng of house cats.
She wasn’t musical, but I have a fond memory of her singing the World War I ditty, “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” It’s a song she would have learned as a little girl. She would sing and I could close my eyes and see Doughboys marching off to war.
I was reminded of this recently with news that Florence Green, a resident of Briar House Care Home in King’s Lynn, eastern England had passed away. Green died just two weeks short of her 111th birthday. She was the last known surviving veteran of World War I. She served with the Women’s Royal Air Force as a waitress at an air base in eastern England. According to a USA Today interview, Retired Air Vice-Marshal Peter Dye, director-general of the RAF Museum, said of Green’s passing, “It reminds us of the Great War, and all warfare since then has been something that involved everyone. It’s a collective experience … Sadly, whether you are in New York, in London, or in Kandahar, warfare touches all of our lives.”
As a Southerner, I grew up in a culture defined by memories of war, the American Civil War to be exact. Yes, we all recognize that conflict was well-decided 147 years ago, but the shared experience of being a conquered people has a profound effect on the collective conscience. I am reminded of the Civil War because of an event in 1911. During May 16 – 18, 1911, 140,000 people, including approximately 12,000 veterans, converged on Little Rock for a reunion. According to Ray Handley’s history of the event, the United Confederate Veterans reunion of 1911 was the largest event in Little Rock history until Bill Clinton’s election night in 1992. It’s worthy to note that city officials expected 6,000 veterans to attend. A vast tent city was erected to accommodate the overflowing throng. The UCV was founded in 1889 and held reunions all over the South.
A little math tells us that the youngest veterans in attendance at Little Rock (assuming they were early teens at time of service) were in their late 50s. Many were much older. With some confidence, we can state that Albert Woolson (February 11, 1847 – August 2, 1956) of Antwerp, New York was probably the last Union Army soldier to die. No such consensus exists about the last Confederate soldier.
It is also notable that the UCV reunion of 1911 was based in what is now known as MacArthur Park. It is so named because it was there, on the site of the former armory, where General Douglas MacArthur was born. MacArthur’s birthplace provides an appropriate subtext for recollection of his famous retirement address, “The world has turned over many times since I took the oath on the plain at West Point, and the hopes and dreams have long since vanished, but I still remember the refrain of one of the most popular barracks ballads of that day which proclaimed most proudly that old soldiers never die; they just fade away.” Indeed the world continues to turn, but as we mark Florence Green’s passing, I can’t help but remember my grandmother’s song, “It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go… It’s a long, long way to Tipperary, but my heart’s right there.” As of last Saturday, the trip to Tipperary just got a little longer.